Dungeon level fifteen, east wing, subsection 17A&B.
Most people think that we’re down here searching for wealth and fame. While it is true that our dwarven pack mules are staggering under the weight of accumulated gems and gold pieces, they weren’t our primary motivation.
We’ve been down here for months. The beasts we battle aren’t going to make us famous, but they keep us fed. I’ve gotta tell you, dragon steaks aren’t the taste sensation that some believe. Dragons are just honking big lizards, you know. Gamey. Tough.
You see, we lost the section of maps with the dungeon’s entrance.
100 words, for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt:
The wind blew, the leaves parted, and there it was; the dreadful beast the priest had warned me about. A most puissant foe, it stood fully forty-five cubits tall. Its four arms were each equipped with an enormous scything blade, and its beady little eyes peered out from beneath a massive wooden helm.
With a sound that would surely chill the bones of a lesser knight, it groaned as a soul lost to perdition. I stood in my saddle and flung my helm over its head in a challenge, and lowered my lance to the ready position.
Forward, bold Rocinante. Our destiny is at hand, for fair Dulcinea del Toboso!
110 words, for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt:
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
ParkInkSpot 