“Wow.” Anders stopped lumbering forward, letting his greatsword fall. “Just…. Wow.”

“Your descriptive powers are as sharp as ever, for a barbarian,” Astrid, the halfling rogue, snarked from behind him. She pulled her hood back from her face, craning her neck around Anders’ unmoving bulk. “What’s the problem now - oh.” Sharp intake of breath. “Wow.”

The skeleton - easily Anders’ height and breadth - was glaring menacingly in their direction. Wait, how is it glaring? Astrid thought wildly. It doesn’t even have eyebrows.

It held a black cane in one hand, now pointing directly at the halfling. “I don’t care how short you are or how sneaky you little twerps think you can be! Get… off.. My…. LAWN!!” The other hand was busy hoisting a blue, fluffy bathrobe up around its ribs.

“Um… sir?” Anders started. “Excuse me, sir. It’s just that there’s no lawn here.” He spread out an arm, gesturing at the dirt and rocks within the underground cavern in which they were standing; it was, at most, 30 meters wide. Anders and his group had entered the cavern via a narrow, manmade tunnel at the north end; the skeleton stood in front of a tunnel at the south end. Oddly, there was a rocking chair near the entrance to the south tunnel, with a table nearby.

Therin, the cleric of the group, snickered. “You’re calling him ‘sir’? Are we back in school or something?” he said in a loud whisper.

“It’s just that he sounds like one of my old training masters… well, a little, anyway,” Anders stage-whispered back, embarrassed.

“Best be civil. For now. Until we know what we’re dealing with,” said Grilda tersely. The wizard came out of the tunnel, up behind the others, now standing a few feet off to Therin’s right. She produced a ragged piece of parchment, holding it up in one hand while her other hand supported a small orb of light. “Hmm. This cavern doesn’t have any notes. Just… tunnel in, tunnel out. Nothing special.”

The skeleton wasn’t done, though. “You think I don’t know there’s no grass here now, boy!?” It took a few steps forward, seizing on their reluctance to engage. “Of course there isn’t! The last batch of whippersnappers through here burned it up! Doesn’t mean I’m not trying to regrow it now, does it!?” The skeleton turned back towards the rocking chair and table, fuming and muttering: “Kids these days….no respect for other peoples’ property…” Anders looked down at the ground, and realized it was indeed scorched; any plants that might have grown there had long since burnt to a crisp.

It suddenly reached out for something on the table, whirling around and shaking the cane at the group again. “They even made me spill my drink! My last Innersea Ale…” It held a plain iron stein up in a bony hand.

“How does a skeleton drink ale?” Astrid wondered aloud.

The skeleton heard this. “Just never you mind, halfling!” it snapped, returning the stein to the table.

Anders cleared his throat. “Umm.. sir, it’s just that. Well. We need to get into the tunnel over there.” He pointed. “The one behind your chair.”

“Therin,” Grilda murmured, nudging the cleric in the ribs. “Isn’t that the stuff you like? You still got any?”

He looked at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“If it gets us through? Yeah, it’d be a bit faster.” She shrugged at the others. “Besides, I’m thinking it might be a good idea to leave him alone, in case there’s a reason he’s here that we haven’t figured out yet.”

Therin took a serious tone. “You know, maybe this was some kind of…incomplete reincarnation? It might explain the attitude, at least.” He sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine.”

The cleric slowly pulled out a small flask from the waistband around his crimson robes. He held it up a moment, then stepped forward, holding it out towards the skeleton, who was now watching him warily. “Excuse me? I have some Innersea Ale here. I’ll give it to you if you’ll let us pass.”

The skeleton regarded him a moment. “Well…” it finally said, lowering its cane and adjusting the bathrobe once more. “I wouldn’t say no to some of that stuff… it’s been a long time, you know.” With sudden speed it lurched forward, snatching the flask out of the cleric’s startled hands.

“DONE!” it bellowed. “Just mind you walk around the edges! No more traipsing across other peoples’ property like you own the place.” Grasping the flask firmly, it retreated to the rocking chair, now pulling it away from the entrance to the south tunnel.

–

Several minutes later - after having edged around the “lawn” as the skeleton had instructed - the group resumed their journey through the south tunnel, walking single file. Therin finally said, “Not happy about this, guys. That was all the ale I had.”

Astrid smirked over her shoulder at him, holding up a flask. “You didn’t exactly have it.”

Therin stared at her. “Wait… you stole it from me before I traded it to him?” he stammered. “What did I give him, then?”

Astrid put the flask back in the depths of her robes. “Just saving you from yourself, you know. Yours was empty.”

“But that means…” Anders started.

Suddenly there was a howl from the cavern behind them. “ARRRGH!! YOU DAMN KIDS!!!!!”

Weaving through the maze of the underground dungeon had been a cinch for someone like myself. I had spent the last two decades going through dungeons with my wife, and this one promised to be easy pickings, so I didn't think twice about her staying home this time.

There were countless rooms I had passed with nearly endless loot. I can't be luckier, I thought. I'm the first one to clear this dungeon, or at least get this far! I noticed there were strange things in the rooms I had entered - tables and beds and brushes, amongst other goods. I didn't think twice of it, nor of the clattering skeletons that attacked me with nothing but their meatless fists.

Finally, through chance, I came to a particularly nice look door. As expected, a skeleton came out as soon as I approached. What wasn't expected was its gear: a fluffy pink bathrobe with fluffy pink bath slippers.

"Uh...?"

"Sir!" spoke the skeleton, the first one to do so thus far. "Sir. You cannot- no. You are stepping on the fungi! Back it up!"

"What?" I looked down at my feet to see there was indeed a plot of earth with mushrooms growing out of it. I stepped backwards until I had stepped nearly all of the ones in my path, as walking on them was unavoidable. "Shit! Sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't MEAN to, but you did! How are you going to compensate me for my losses, hmmm?" asked the skeleton, putting its hands on its hips. "I was enjoying my tea before your clumsy, ungraceful living self trampled over my precious Fly Agaric."

"Your what?"

"Of course you don't kn-"

"Wait a second. I don't care. I'm here for the loot, and you're undead," I said, placing one hand on my forehead and extending the other palm-side out in an attempt to silence the skeleton.

"Loot? LOOT? You're lucky if you find anything worthwhile in these hovels - especially with you going about with reckless abandon, lowering property values. Do you know how long it took me to earn enough to get this close to the center of the dungeon?"

"A... long time?"

The skeleton said in a mocking, high-pitched voice, "A long time?" Before growling out, "Yes, a long time. A very, very long time. Now you leave here before I call for security and have a painting of you posted all over this dungeon!"

"Okay, Snake, Snake, Whale; that did it!"

The group tensed as the mechanism whirred, heavy iron bolts sliding back into the round door, each settling with a satisfying thunk. With an ear grating cacophony of dry stone upon stone; the door rolled away to open the tomb. Stepping through the entrance, weapons ready and torches raised; they approached the dais in the centre of the room that held the large black sarcophagus.

As they edged further, skeletal hands clutched the edges of the sarcophagus and tensed as the occupant animated and raised itself. Terror quickly turned to mirth as the first thing they saw was the knitted nightcap topped with a pompom.

Halfdan the Mighty stifled a giggle as the skeleton continued to rise, it was wearing a matching fluffy dressing gown and a small teddy-bear spilled out of the sarcophagus to tumble on the floor.

Vermithrax the Lich glowered at the group, its eyes blazing in each socket like a captured galaxy, unfortunately the effect was somewhat spoiled as the pompom bobbed in front of one of them.

"IS IT THE END OF DAYS?"

Vernithrax rasped, a cloud of fine dust erupting from its mouth as it spoke.

"IS IT FINALLY TIME FOR THE GREAT SUNDERING OF THE WORLD AND..."

"Um... No!"

Arnissa, the diminutive rogue giggled as she interrupted

Vermithrax reached up to adjust the pompom and with seemingly an afterthought; blasted the group with an arcing chain of black lightning, leaving only smoking boots where they stood.

"THEN FUCK OFF AND LET ME SLEEP!"

Pause. Blink. Pause. All I could do was stare ahead at the skeleton, arms clanking against each other as they were crossed in front of the...

"Dearest me, my humble lord, but are you perhaps wearing a fluffy bathrobe?"

The snort that answered me caused me to crack a grin.

"And pray tell, my lord. Why does one such as yourself need a bathrobe?"

The skeletal head creaked and cracked as it turned a what I believe was an impetuous stare on me.

"Well, it's a wee bit dafty, don't ye know? Can ye not feel it?"

"I can feel it, good sir. I'm just surprised that you can. You are after all, a skeleton."

The skeleton slowly turned its head, the creaking and cracking grinding against my ears.

"Well, I'll be. I didn't know dat. I suppose ye'd feel better if I were to be laid to rest, den? Of course I knew dat I'm a skeleton, ye daft old coon! It a wee bit drafty because here I am, supposed to be happily retired and instead, party after party after party comes stomping through here, wrecking me garden and me lawn. And ain't one has da decency to reimburse me for deir mistakes. What's da damned world crumbled to if adventurers are afraid to go for da loot behind dat closed door where something made noise. Dat was da fun! Naught knowing what ye'd face, but doing so fer honor, glory, yer name written in bardsong! Now, ye talk bout dis loot ye chase. Is dat all adventuring has come ta? Looting da easy rooms? Bah! But, if ye're looking ta keep going, it's dat tunnel behind da house."

I nodded stupidly as I walked over, removing my coin purse and withdrawing 500 gold coins from it. I held them aloft in an open palm towards the skeleton.

"For the troubles I've caused. And if it'd please you, I'd have your name, fine adventurer. To pray for you. And to see that those who came before me pay their accounts off."

The skeleton remained silent as he slowly reached up, touching the gold coins.

"Blessed be ye, adventurer. Blessed be ye. My name is Bjornir, a fighter of the Great Clan. What be yer name?"

"I am Hallig! Paladin of the Seven Temples."

"Then by me blessing, Hallig. Go ferth and adventure!" --‐------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Many moons had passed before a tentative knock on the door of Bjornir's house had him creaking towards the door. Upon opening it, he was greeted by a young man, sporting short cropped blonde hair, distant features recalling a far off memory of another young man.

"I'm looking for Master Bjornir? I've news to give him."

"Aye, dat'd be me. How can I assist ye, son?"

"I'm here to pay off the balance of those who have wronged you, so many years ago."

"Have ye, now? And what concern is it of yers?"

"I am Hallinor, son of Hallig, Paladin of the Seven Temples. My father swore on his dying breath that he was still collecting the coin to repay you. I am here to deliver his final wish."

Bjornir took a tentative peek out the door. With Hallinor stood 6 hulking men, each carrying two bags filled to the brim. Bjornir stepped back, staring at Hallinor.

"Tell me of yer father and come in, young Paladin. By de gods, please tell me of yer father."

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

I stare at my great-grandson, who looks back at me in exasperation.

Handsome lad, but oh! So inexperienced, so young and stupid, still! After all. He's only seventeen. Or twenty-seven. I can't very well remeber. Either way, he's young. Too young to be telling me what to do.

"Gammie, please listen to me this once! If you do this, you'll be buried by next Monday." Charles huffed, clearly upset.

I readjust my pince-nez, golden framed glasses and meet his stern glower with a severity I believe he didn't expect.

"Charles Cassian Chill!"

He snorts, and I supress a smile. He hates being called by his full name.

"I'm going, and that's it. Call Darla. And no backchatting me, young man!"

I hear him fiercely dialling a number and smile to myself. I haven't seen Charles this upset in a long time. He had better not attempt some sort of trick to stop me.

I'm only one-hundred-and-one. And even though I probably have thrice as many wrinkles, I know there's nothing stopping me from making my dream a reality.

I'm going to see what is lurking in those long-forgotten dungeons, even if it means I'm buried by Monday.