Last night’s regular D&D game inspired me to pen a flash fiction, recounting an all too common occurrence for our unfortunate dwarf.
© 2017 Karen J Carlisle
The stench of brimstone caught in Dagnal’s nostrils, burned her throat. The faint crackle crept closer.
Fire giants. She licked her lips and peered into the darkness. Finally! She hefted her war axe in her hand, turned to her companions and grinned.
Moth nodded, skittered up the wall and clung to its smooth surface. An arrow dropped silently onto its rest. Tasheen remained on the ground. Her fingers slipped into her belt pouch and retrieved a fresh sprig of mistletoe.
Flames roared as the giant charged.
Dagnal’s heart raced. She gripped the axe in both hands and raised it high in the air. Mithral armour tinkled as it rippled down her arm. The air shivered and rushed over her face, tugging at her fiery braids as it ebbed away from the oncoming giant.
The giant slowed. Its fire sputtered.
Dagnal strode forward as the braid settled onto her back.
The giant’s flame withered; its skin faded to ash. Its eyes widened.
Dagnal’s axe swung through the air.
Three arrows whistled past her ear, sinking into the giant’s arm and chest and forehead. It halted mid-step. Blood trickled down its forehead.
The axe sliced through the now vacant space and trailed her toppling quarry to the ground. Both shuddered at they hit stone.
Dagnal sucked in a breath. The axe scraped on stone. She roared with frustration. The giant was dead. She glared at her companions. And not by her hand.