Fantasy Fiction | Writing Prompts

The People’s Republic of Dungeonville

A fantasy flash fiction story

This is a response to Hodgepodge Challenge #2.

“At least I can get one thing right,” murmured Naya Flameweaver, as she summoned up flames. Soon her bonfire was glowing, and she snuggled inside a pair of stitched-together woollen blankets, eyes drifting shut.

“Is it wise to sleep here?” said a voice.

Naya sat up with a start, reaching for her dagger. “Who’s there?” She looked around the clearing, but there was no sign of any bandit. A drop of rain landed on her nose, causing her to start, but there was no obvious threat.

Then, a tree began to fall. No, not fall — move. A branch lowered and then rose again. As her eyes tried to make sense of what she was seeing, Naya realized that it was walking.

She raised her dagger, and her other hand, too. “I warn you, creature. I am a master of fire magic.”

With a grumbling noise, the tree stopped. “You’re skilled, human, but no Master.” Its voice was like the rippling of a stream. “I heard you talking. You were ejected from the Royal College.”

“A spy, then,” Naya shot back.

“No. A concerned citizen. My name is Oaksblade, and I mean you no harm.” He threw a pair of old boots down near the fire. “Here, are these your boots? I found them.”

Naya shook her head, but lowered her blade. She was curious, and confident in her firebolt spell if the need arose. Besides, the tree-creature was no taller than herself. “If you’re not spying, what are you doing here?”

There was a rustling as it stepped closer. “This is a dangerous forest, and it’s starting to rain. Come — I can guide you to the nearby caves.”

Naya frowned. “Caves? Those are notorious! One of my uncles, a famed adventurer, never returned from their depths.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, “but it’s different nowadays. Civilized, you might say. Better than the rest of the realm, actually.”

“Well,” she replied, getting up. “You have a point about the rain…”

Soon, with her bedroll packed and the fire doused, Naya and Oaksblade set off along a broad path. She looked sideways at him. “I had expected tree warriors to be much taller.”

He made a whooshing noise, which may have been a sigh. “Warrior, singular. I am the last of us. Now, let’s hurry. I want you to meet my noble friends. And we could really use a mage on the team.”

Light rain was still falling when the pair reached a set of cliffs. The dungeon entrance was obvious to Naya, surrounded by ornate carvings. Strangely, there was a cleared area with crops and fruit trees. Were there villagers nearby?

Closer still was a large obsidian statue of a cloaked man.

“What’s all this?” Naya asked, pointing.

“Self-sufficiency,” replied Oaksblade. “We grow food here. And the statue helps to judge new arrivals. It reads your character.”

“That’s… kinda intrusive,” Naya replied. But she continued to walk closer, wondering what magic the statue might employ.

A deep, grating voice sounded: “Naya Flameweaver. A mage who will never reach greatness.”

“Fucking guy,” muttered Naya sourly.

“It’s cool,” said Oaksblade, his branch-like arms spread. “We don’t want greatness here. We want equality.”

“Huh?”

Just then, two strangers rounded the cliffs to the west. One was a monstrous snarl-bear, a hulking and dangerous humanoid. The other was an elf with a scarred, menacing face that was famous throughout the realm: Greenspell, leader of a band of outlaws.

The pair led a human captive by a rope. Naya recognised the tied-up man as the prince of the realm, Prince Ashat.

Naya pulled her dagger again. “Look out, Oaksblade! Those two criminals have captured his Highness.”

The snarl-bear chuckled darkly, and walked closer. “The Kingdom pushed us to this, mage,” they called out.

“But he’s your ruler! You want a ransom, I suppose?”

Now Greenspell laughed. “Nope. Merely recognition of our realm.”

“Realm?”

“Aye,” growled the snarl-bear, and pointed to the entrance. “We call it the People’s Republic of Dungeonville. For independence, and equality for all!”

“Indeed. Let’s go look around,” added Oaksblade, striding to the entrance.

“Hmm…” Naya looked again at the prince. He was gagged, or might have had something to say about the new republic. She noticed, too, that he had a stuffed rabbit protruding from the pocket of his velvet coat.

She felt a little sorry for him.

“Maybe you should just let this dude go free?” she suggested.

Greenspell took a step closer. “All we want is to live in freedom. Free from royal taxes, soldiers, brutality… Paradise.”

Naya looked at him skeptically, but she followed as the others walked inside.

“To each, according to their need,” growled the Snarl-bear. “No princes.”

“Then who sets the rules here?” Naya asked, flicking her fingers to generate a flaming ball of light in lieu of a torch. She frowned when she noticed a pair of what looked like the same worn boots that they had left in the forest.

“Well, we three are the Organizing Committee,” explained Oaksblade softly, pointing around. “Me, Ark-Roth here, Greenspell… plus the dragon on level seven, of course.”

“Of course.”

The first cave was certainly spectacular; a circular area with quartz for walls — and clean! Two goblins were busy with sponges and buckets of soapy water. A third sat behind a desk. “Identity passes, please,” he said.

“See?” said Greenspell. “Freedom for all citizens. And newbies need only apply for citizenship.”

“And prisoners…?”

“We have a place for them, too,” growled Ark-Roth. “From each according to their skills. The orcs on level three are good at imprisonment, information extraction…”

Naya’s eyes widened. “You ally with such creatures?”

“Within limits,” added Oaksblade reassuringly.

Naya looked at the wretched prince again.

“So — are you in?” asked Oaksblade.

The goblin had come over from the desk, proffering a printed stone. An identity pass, Naya realized.

“You know,” she said. “I think I’ll pick my own path.” She looked again at Oaksblade. “But if you’re offering a free bed for the night — I’m in.”

Main prompts: the last tree warrior; someone kidnapped for reasons other than ransom (1 point each)

Elements: worn out boots that follow you (short of); a talking statue that proclaims your protagonist's inability; 
an author-fabricated creature (the snarl-bear); a campfire; a child’s stuffed toy (5pts total).

Bonus: a 1,000-word story – it's 1000 exactly, not including the title (1 pt).

Thanks for reading this fantasy short story! It was a response to a challenge set by Sweet Chaos. Perhaps Eko BP, C.A. Jaymes, Shanice Lawton and Novus Grey would like to give challenge #3 a try?

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And meet Naya Flameweaver again below…