Flash Fiction | The Replacements (D&D Style)

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Another lunch break and another piece of flash fiction inspired by Writing Prompts on Reddit.


The prompt:

[WP] You’re usual D&D group was a no show for your campaign, jokingly you wish for interesting players to play with… That’s when 3 people from history appear at your table complete with character sheets.


The Story:

“For the last time, no, Julius, you can’t cast magic missile,” I said as I rubbed my temples, thinking that perhaps wishing for these idiots was a bad idea. Maybe if I wished hard enough my usual gang would show up and I could kick these guys out.

“Why not?” asked the Caesar, breaking my train of thought. “I have prepared my spells.”

“Yes, but you’ve already cast your limit for today. Who was next in initiative order, JFK or Genghis?” I said, consulting my notes.

“Me,” Genghis Kahn growled from across the table. His eyes studied the map laid out before him.

“Right. So Genghis, what do you want to do?”

Genghis said nothing but moved his half-orc figure across the grid.

“Ah, you’re going to need to roll me a reflex save,” I said once he’d plotted his path.

Genghis picked up and rolled his blood-red D20.

“Natural 1,” I said. “Okay, Genghis, your half-orc blindly rushes through the field without bothering to look first. As such, he falls face-first into a tiger pit. Roll for damage.”

Genghis rolled again, and everyone collectively inhaled as the die came to rest.

“Another natural 1. I’m sorry, but rules are rules. Roll again. If you roll another natural 1, you’re auto-killed. Nothing I can do to save you,” I said.

Genghis looked at me through narrowed eyes and picked up the D20. He clasped his hands around it and rolled it around, then released it onto the table.

“Son of a…” Genghis said, slamming his fists on the table.

“There’s nothing I can do. Genghis, your half-orc slams into the sharpened spikes at the bottom of the tiger pit. One pierces his right eye and bursts out through the back of his skull, killing him instantly.”

Julius and JFK burst out laughing. Genghis screamed at the heavens then swept his arms across the table, sending the map and everyone’s figurines flying across the kitchen.

“Fuck this,” I said. “A great dragon appears as if from nowhere. It swoops down and incinerates everyone with its fiery breath. No saving throw will help you. You’re all burned to a crisp. Game over. TPK.”

I got up from the table, stalked over to the refrigerator, and grabbed a bottle of Bud Lite. Without looking back, I headed outside and took a swig of my beer while three of the mostly insanely stupid players I’d ever GM’d for bickered and complained in my kitchen.

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