Writing Prompt Responses | Flash fiction | Sci-Fi

Rebels

A response to JC Lovero’s ‘May the 4th’ prompts

This story is based on my Shadow Kingdoms game world. You could check out a previous story featuring Petra below, as the narrative follows on directly, and a few others pieces in the same setting are linked, too. However, this is intended to work as a stand-alone short story.

The streets looked a little different — the stalls, the faces, the fashions — but the layout was just as Petra remembered it. She made her way to Maluhk’s tower, occasionally rubbing at the spear wound in her back that was now only a figment of her memory.

But when she got to the squat sorcerer’s tower, she stopped dead. Two Imperial guards stood outside, and the door was cordoned off.

Had the master sorcerer gotten into trouble with the authorities? If so, that was the end of her hopes of finding a solution to her curse…

Not wanting another run-in with Katresburg city guards, Petra approached a passer-by, a ripe-smelling dwarven merchant whose clothes were mud-splattered and his face strangely sooty. “Hey there, stranger, ” she called out, grabbing him by the tunic and pointing towards the tower. “Any idea where Maluhk the sorcerer has got to these days?”

“I’m new in town,” he replied, pulling away from her with a scowl. “But I can tell you one thing — that sorcerer is nothing but trouble.” With that, the merchant hurried off.

Petra scowled too. When did people get so edgy and unhelpful? It wasn’t like the city she had grown up in…

In fact, she reflected as she looked around. There was a very strange atmosphere in general. Something in the air; people on the streets seemed on high alert. Many were walking rapidly, looking over their shoulders as if expecting to be mugged. Several street vendors had packed up and vanished. Even the guards at the tower were fidgeting with tension.

Perhaps she should get off the street, Petra reflected, and take some time to figure out what was going on. She could speak to the one group of residents who could always be counted on to talk freely… drunkards.

Petra stepped inside the first tavern that she saw — the Black Mackerel — and ordered an ale. The half-orc bartender passed it to her without a word, and Petra seated herself near the door.

Across the room, roughly opposite the window, an ogre was eating something disgusting, trails of slobber and charred meat running down her wide cheeks. At the far end, a long-haired lute player was thoughtfully strumming her instrument. Closer by, at the next table along from Petra, a slender traveler was drinking in watchful silence, sitting beside a halfling who was… reading?

That last part was unusual for a low-grade tavern.

It had been a long time since Petra was last in town, and none of the patrons looked familiar. She was on the verge of striking up a conversation with her neighbor and the halfling to get more information when the lute player stood up. “Welcome, patrons!” she cried out. “Or should I say — free people of Katresburg!”

“Quiet,” snarled the ogre.

The player made a mock hurt face. “Oh, but Shekarbana — I’m just about to recount an important legend.”

“Siddown!” the ogre responded.

“Always so appreciative of the arts, Shekarbana!” chuckled the bard. Several patrons laughed at this, at least until the Shekarbana looked at them, whereupon they looked away, then returned to their conversations.

Glancing around, Petra noticed that the mud-splattered dwarven merchant from the street had come in, looking more harassed than ever. He ordered a drink, standing at the bar rather than sitting among the locals.

Just then, the bard spoke up again, tapping her feet in time to music that, for now, was only playing in her mind. “Gather round and close the door,” she called out, “and I’ll tell you the story of the doomed hero of Dathmir, Gaax van Genk.”

At this, the taproom fell as silent as if the filthiest of curses had been uttered at a family dinner table. Drinks were set down on tables. People cast their eyes down toward the tavern floor.

But the bard just grinned and began to strum.

“Ah… the last days of the Kingdom of Dathmir. Some may think of it as a golden age of the early Empire, long before Zoltan IV ruined the Imperial City and gutted the places where the common folk lived. But it was a cruel time, too. Not least, for the victims of the wars and strife.”

People were listening now and looking, but the tavern remained very still — almost silent, but for the bard’s foot tapping on the wooden floor and the gentle but persistent strum of the lute. But suddenly, the dwarven merchant slammed down his drink with a hiss, turned from the bar, and strode into the center of the tavern, his cheeks coloring. “You should not be singing about that,” he fumed.

There was some nodding and muttering, and someone called out, “Not safe.”

Petra didn’t need to know why. Since the days when Dathmir was absorbed as a province of the Empire, any celebration of Gaax van Genke and his rebels was considered treasonous.

And she also knew that the local duke was known for his cruel and punitive approach to law and order. Even as a former soldier, Petra considered it overkill.

But just as the bard had fallen silent, the slender traveler by Petra stood up. “Citizens, didn’t you hear?” they called out, spreading their arms. “Duke Frage has fled! Nimblefoot and I accompanied his son Lewis to the royal palace. His allies have evaporated into the winds. Lewis has openly called for Princess Thacla von Dathmir to return for talks. We’re free!”

The halfling marked her page, closed her book, and nodded in affirmation.

Several patrons raised their drinks to toast this news, though they did so warily. Fear of the Duke ran deep.

The dwarven merchant, however, balked at the news. His eyes widening still further, he blurted out, “von Dathmir? But her family are rebel scum! This will lead to civil war, and disrupt valuable trade, mark my words! You’re all traitors!”

With that, he scurried from the tavern, cursing.

“Aye,” said the bard, beginning to strum her lute once again. “The Duke has fled. Katresburg is free! That means we’re all rebels now.”

There was a fuller cheer to this sentiment.

“So let’s celebrate the legacy of van Genke,” continued the bard, “and live our lives to the full. At least until…”

Without finishing her sentence, the bard hit a louder chord on her instrument and began to sing: “Gaax van Genke was Dathmir’s hero of old…”

Soon, she had launched into the heroic tale of the valiant van Genk, his enemy-turned-lover Annemarijn, the archer Rimpor, and the last stand of Dathmir against Imperial forces.

The bard was right, thought Petra. The people of Katresburg were now rebels, whether they liked it or not. But how long until Katresburg faced the same deadly fate as Dathmir once had?

Dismissing the thought, Petra drank deeply from her ale and tried to relax until the music and verse about the heroic deeds of old began to calm her mind. Today was not the day to think about defeat.

And even Shekarbana was tapping her feet.

Prompt: Write a story about rebels rising against an oppressive government.

Thanks for reading! You can find more of my fiction here, as well as all of my advice and guidance on creative writing right here. Want stories like this in advance, along with thoughts on the creative process? Check out my Ko-Fi! 🧠