Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction prompt HERE
What I got from the D&D character generator:
"enterprising Gnome Warlock from a small town on the border who was expelled from the royal guards"
To be honest, I've never played D&D but I have heard enough about it and knew a bunch of people in school who played it so I decided to try my hand at a little 1,000 word short story.
on the trail through the Bogs, I got a serious hankering for
fermented witch hazel that would not quit. I knew that the township
of Clearwater had a tavern that served crispy frog's legs that would
go perfectly with the witch hazel. My stomach growled at the
thought of it.
Clearwater was a good distance in the opposite direction I was
heading once I left the Bogs but I had already decided it would be
worth the lost time. The soggy ground of the Bogs got firmer and I gained some
footing. I quickened my pace; exiting the mucky marsh before
Now I was back on the Kingdom Road. I had put a huge gap
between me and the royal guards by taking the shortcut through the
Bogs. None of those loiter-sacks knew the shortcut so
they were a good day or two behind me. If I stayed on the road to the right, I'd get to the Mountain
Trail by morning but like I said, this was a serious hankering; the
kind that would plague me until it was satisfied.
Clearwater was dead ahead about five miles.
I ran the whole way.
When I reached the edge of town, I could see the tavern in the middle of town, light spilling out from the open doors.
It was crowded; lots of horses tied up
Fucking men, don't bring me no trouble.
Walking down the street, I pulled a few stares from some men
hanging around outside the tavern. A bald one, in particular, stopped
groping his woman long enough to stare at me the entire time I walked
past. He craned his neck and then whipped it around in the other
direction to keep staring at my back. I turned my head slightly and
gave the side eye,
"Got a problem?" I asked.
"Gnomes are assholes" he replied.
"Your woman looks insulted you're paying more attention to
assholes than her." I entered the tavern, not waiting for a
response. Inside the bar there was enough going on that none of the patrons
noticed a gnome walk in and take a seat in the shadows. A serving
wench, whose job it is to notice, sauntered up to my table.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Frog legs and a pint of witch hazel." I shoved some coin to the middle of the table.
Her eyes widened, then settled back into her lids.
"That's a lot of coin for a gnome."
"The fuck does that mean?" her nose crinkled like I
had just admitted I was sick with disease.
make sure the legs are crispy and the witch hazel is cold. Nobody needs to know I'm here, keep your trap shut and there's
coin for that too." I rattled my pocket for effect.
The bar wench knew a good deal when she saw one. She spun on her
heel and made for the kitchen. I sunk further into
the shadows and began rolling cigarettes. The chill from the damp Bogs began to leave my bones. My eyes closed while I took long drags, exhaling the
blue tinged smoke slowly. My hand rubbed my beard; I could take a nap right here, right now. Maybe a bit more coin
would get me a place to bed for the night?
The sound of metal clanking on the table jarred me from my rest. A
pewter plate filled with steaming, crispy frog legs was in front
of me along with a frosty glass of witch hazel.
Just when I brought a juicy, greasy leg to my lips, the bald man
groping that woman outside entered the bar, found me out and pointed,
“There!” he shouted.
Behind him, the royal guard was pushing
their way in.