Tales from the Plough & Pitchfork | A Microfantasy Story Collection
Four 100-word microfantasy stories for busy readers.
Well, here we are; we’ve made it through another week.
I’m feeling a little worn down by constant edits and revisions for my book, so today, I’m changing things up a bit and sharing four microfantasy stories, all of which take place in a fictional tavern called the Plough & Pitchfork.
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Snake Eyes
By J. Louis
“There I was, trudgin’ ‘cross an ocean of sand,” Silas slurred over the din of the common room, “feet burnin’, throat parched, when a sandship sails right by. A sandship!”
“An ocean of sand?” Niklaus nursed his tankard, rolling a pair of dice in his palm. “Impossible.”
“Bah! You ain’t seen nothin’ but hills and trees, boy.” Silas belched. “Don’t tell me what’s possible.”
“Tell you what.” Niklaus cast the dice. Snake eyes. “You win this next round, you can tell me all about it.”
Silas snatched up the dice, then swapped them with the weighted pair up his sleeve.
“Deal.”
Gorman’s Golden Hearth
By J. Louis
Gorman’s boots stuck to the floor of the Plough & Pitchfork as he slopped soapy water onto its tired old floorboards.
He scrubbed with the mop, struggling against a stubborn stain. Blood, piss, or vomit, he couldn’t tell. He daydreamed about owning his own establishment. Not that Walt and Wilma were unkind to him, no, but some days were harder than others.
That’s when he saw it; glinting in the dying embers of the firelight, a lonely coin slept under a table. He looked around, smiled, then stuffed it in his pocket.
Gorman’s Golden Hearth, he thought, returning to his daydream.
The Ale-Wife’s Jig
By J. Louis
Fletch, still groggy from the previous night’s performance, slid his callused fingers across the fiddle’s strings with practiced precision.
Wilma, the innkeeper, watched from the crowd. She leaned forward–her hair smelling of lavender and freshly baked bread–and whispered in his ear.
Fletch perked up. The tune had many names, but in these parts, it was called The Ale-Wife’s Jig. His exhaustion faded as the crowd stomped and cheered in time with the music. He swept his bow into the air with a flourish and brought it down for the final note.
The old strings gave way with a wicked snap.
Walt’s Famous Stew
By J. Louis
Walt stirred his famous stew, chunks of pork and onion bubbling in broth as it simmered over the hearth.
All rooms had been filled tonight; they even swept out the attic and set up cots. He licked his lips and doled out a generous portion for himself.
That’s when everything fell apart. Fights in the common room. Drunkards heckling the talent. Gamblers cheating at dice.
By the time Walt returned, his bowl had grown cold, a viscous layer congealing on the surface.
He picked up his spoon and sighed, listening to the minstrel’s last sad notes fade into the night.
From the Prompt Vault
Next, it’s your turn!
Write a story inspired by these prompts:
Snake
Clean
Jig
Stew
If you use this prompt, restack this post and tag me in it so I can read your work. I love seeing what the fantasy community comes up with week to week.
That’s all I’ve got for now. Until next time…
Cheers,
Josh
Clever! I love these independent stories happening in roughly the same place at the same time!
This is so fun! I want to know more of the sandship!