Fiction

Wishful Thinking

A Shadow Kingdoms flash fiction story

This is a comical (I hope) and heartfelt fantasy tale. It is set in the location also seen in my Sorcerer web-novel, and both could be described as ‘gamelit’, as they are in a world that is based on the settings of roleplaying games and RPG video games.

Bralgg, the half-orc apprentice barman of the Black Mackerel tavern, looked up as he polished a tankard. An admiring smile began to spread across his face.

The door to the tavern had just opened. Briefly silhouetted by the light as he moved into the doorway, a very large and muscular figure walked in, looked around the taproom, sniffed, and then burped.

“Oh, my…” murmured Bralgg, feeling his heart rate rise.

For the new arrival was none other than the famous adventurer Zaxon, a famed barbarian warrior from the far northern province of Khranul. A hero. An icon. And someone who was living the life of adventure that Bralgg had always dreamed of…

The barbarian had a bare chest and muscular hairy arms. He wore a fur cape, with a large sword slung across his back. His wavy hair was tied in a topknot, with several loose strands falling across across his handsome face. With a wink at Christia — the barmaid who owned the tavern — Zaxon swaggered over to the far side of the taproom, sat down, and put his feet up on the nearest table.

“Shall I…” began Bralgg, looking towards Christia.

But the tattooed barmaid shook her head sharply. “I’ll get this one, kid. Just get on with polishing those tankards.”

“But, I…”

“Count yourself lucky that you’re not cleaning the latrines right now.”

With this, Christia finished pouring ale into a foaming tankard and strode over to Zaxon’s table. Soon she was chatting to the warrior in a low voice, while he lounged back in his seat.

Bralgg leaned on the bar, and gazed at the famed warrior. Lately, everyone in the tavern seemed to have been talking about Zaxon. Even the grouchy halfling rogue that spent so many silver moons on ale had only positive things to say about the barbarian.

“He’ll want another drink in a minute — you’ll see,” said Christia on her return to the bar. “Now, it’s time to make yourself useful, kid. ”

“So you need me to serve the next one?” asked Bralgg, his purple orcish eyes widening.

“Well, what else are we here to do?” responded Christia, putting her hands on her broad hips and raising one eyebrow. “But that’s not what I’m asking. I need to go upstairs to my chambers for a while. I hope I can trust you to keep an eye on things?”

She stepped towards the staff door behind the bar.

“Oh, I’m very reliable,” replied Bralgg.

And shortly, he was the only member of staff in the dingy, cheap tavern.

It was quiet.

At the back, a group of elves were keeping their hoods up, sipping at black ale and talking quietly in their own language, with the occasional furtive glance in Bralgg’s direction.

To his right, one of the cat-like Felaxian people, a trader from abroad most likely, was alone at a table near the door, apparently half asleep and with her boots resting upon a large leather bag.

Bralgg looked again at Zaxon. Just as predicted, the barbarian was almost finished his first ale already. As Bralgg watched on, the man raised the bronze vessel to his mouth and drained the rest, a few splashes running down his bearded chin and splashing down over his flawless skin.

“He really is a fine adventurer,” murmured Bralgg quietly, feeling slightly light-headed he gazed at the muscular warrior.

Just then, Zaxon looked in his direction, and Bralgg suddenly remembered Christia’s instruction.

“Another ale coming,” he called out hurriedly, filling another tankard as quickly as he could. Soon, he was rounding the bar that half-filled one end of the room, and crossing over to Zaxon’s table.

The barbarian grunted as Bralgg put the tankard down on the table. “Good.” He then looked up. “You’re an orc?”

“Well… half-orc, sir,” Bralgg replied, taking one step back and wringing his hands nervously. “My name is Bralgg.”

“Half. Your mother had some fun, then. Or your dad? Ha!”

“Uh… yes, sir.”

Zaxon patted his long sword, which was now propped up on the chair beside him. “Can you fight, Bralgg?”

Bralgg briefly considered the many times he had practised with a wooden sword in his tiny attic room. Granted, he was naturally clumsy, and his skinny arms were rather weak. All the same — he had been trying. Dreaming that one day, he would lead a more exciting life.

“I can swing a sword a bit, sir,” he replied at last.

“My name’s Zaxon, not ‘sir’,” replied the barbarian, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head, revealing his very hairy and damp-looking armpits. “A swordsman is always good to have around. Especially if they are brave like me. Ha! And strong! I am a hero back home in Khranul, you know.”

“So I have heard people say, si… uh…. Mister Zaxon.”

Zaxon paused for a minute, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. Then, he nodded, dark curls falling across his face again. “Very good, half-orc. I’ll shout if I need you.”

As he walked back to the bar, Bralgg played the warrior’s last phrase over in his mind.

If I need you.

What had Zaxon said about being a brave swordsman? Was it possible that he could be hiring? That he, Bralgg, could come along on the great barbarian’s next adventure?

As he stood at the bar pouring the next round of ale, Bralgg allowed himself to dream. As a child, he had lived in a village in the nearby Ironrock Mountains, working on a farm. The only hint of adventure in the dull area was the very rare sight of a passing group of exotic-looking travellers.

And if anything more dangerous had appeared on the horizon — a griffon, perhaps, or a gang of kobolds — Bralgg and the other children would always run and find a barn to hide in. He had always been too scared to even contemplate an adventure.

But now?

He was wrenched out of his reflections by Zaxon loudly slapping his hands down on the bar, and leaning forward. At this close distance, the man’s very musky body odor was very obvious to Bralgg — rich, like woodsmoke.

“Half-orc!” said Zaxon firmly, though he was looking past Bralgg and at the staff door behind the bar.

“Yes, I, uh… how can I serve you, Zaxon?”

“You are a reliable person, are you not?”

“Of course!”

Zaxon pushed the hair back from his face, his big dark eyes now glittering as he looked directly at Bralgg. “Not a thief?”

“No! I am very honest, sir. I am trusted by Christia who runs this place.”

Was this the moment, Bralgg wondered to himself? Could it be that Zaxon was about to recruit him — to ask him to come along for days of heroics and adventures, and nights under the stars?

Then, the big warrior sniffed, half-turned, and pointed to his sword, which was still propped up against the table. “Good. I need someone to keep an eye on that. I don’t trust those fucking elves over there, to tell the truth.”

“Uh… you want me to watch your sword, Zaxon?”

“Right. And don’t take your eyes off it!” The barbarian warrior reached down and began to unbuckle his belt. “I have arranged to visit your boss upstairs.”

Bralgg’s narrow shoulders sagged as Zaxon brushed past him and walked out of sight.

Read more gamelit fantasy fiction: Sorcerer, chapter 1: Adventure Awaits

J. F. Danskin is an author of LitRPG and historical fantasy. His series Sparta Online is based on ancient Greek wars and myths, while Sorcerer, Level 1 and related stories are based around a fantasy game world called Shadow Kingdoms.

You can also find a short story based in the same world in the free LitRPG anthology, Git Gud. Find out more here!