Rosie would rather be anywhere than a rubbish pit crawling with zombies. But when her allies urge her to search for treasure among the trash, her greatest discovery won’t be hauled away in her pack.

Actual-play flash fiction from a TTRPG campaign in which I am a player.

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“Rosie! Do you want a potion to hide you from zombies?” Dheavar, an elven lorekeeper, shouts through the hole in the ground above me.

Thorfinn—the halfling swordsman—and I find ourselves in an underground pit, our leap of faith into the cavernous place cushioned by my scroll’s magic slowing our descent. I’ll have to unpack the intimacy of the halfling hitching a ride on my back later. But first, I have a more urgent problem to deal with.

This pit is some sort of wretched rubbish hole situated on the outskirts of a fortified goblin settlement, and it’s clear the goblins have a positively troglodytic standard for “rubbish.” Everything down here has been worn well beyond any measure of usefulness—from filthy tattered rags to old chewed-up bones—and the heaps of refuse are vile enough to wake the dead.

Literally.

The goblins have tossed a few of their dead onto the heap, which have since stood back up. These risen goblins have taken interest in Thorfinn and my arrival, and wish to welcome us with a filthy, claw-laden group hug that I did not consent to.

No Dheavar, I would very much not like a potion to hide from zombies. What I would like is to be anywhere other than this bloody hellhole. And that would be the case if we’d taken my suggestion instead. “You know,” I shout back, “I’m not the one who wanted to come down here in the first place!”

“What?” Dheavar says defensively, understandably lost by my train of thought. “I’d have given you the potion beforehand if I knew there were zombies.”

“I know that.” I swat away a zombie’s mingy claws as it swings at me like a drunken sailor. “What I meant to say is: that sounds perfect! Please toss it down.”

A second zombie approaches me from the side. The monsters are slow, but strong, and I won’t survive more than one at a time. The potion might arrive too late.

I can’t die. Panic sets in. Not here, not now. I glance around for a way out, but I’m cornered by rubbish and undead. Besides, this would be a bloody wretched place for that to happen.

Suddenly, an arrow impales the goblin zombie in front of me through the top of its skull. I follow the trajectory upward—the gnome Davrick is leaning over the pit, bow aimed downward.

What a mint shot. If he keeps that up, maybe I’m not doomed after all.

Dheavar retrieves the potion and reaches it over the opening. “Rosie, catch!”

The second zombie is hit by Davrick’s next arrow through its clavicle, buckling from the impact. Two for two.

I look up at the proffered potion. “Alright, send it in!” Dheavar releases the vial, and my heart skips a beat as I realize I’m going to have to catch the glass container from a two-story fall.

My eyes lock onto the silhouette of the vial in the sun. Tracking the item, I shuffle back and forth as it plummets erratically through the air. It disappears when it enters the pit’s shadow, and I cup my hands, guessing where it might fall.

-Thwunk-

The vial miraculously lands in my open palms, glass slapping bare skin. It stings, but I caught the bloody thing. Wasting no time, I pop the cork and drink the potion.

I observe my bare forearms. There is a translucent white sheen across them, but I can still see my own body. I turn as another zombie climbs over a rubbish pile towards me; it reroutes towards Thorfinn. I take that to mean the potion is working as intended.

Over my shoulder, a safe path through the mounds of rubbish has opened up , leading to a clearing. It’s inviting. I could wait there, hidden, until the pit is clear—out of the lad’s way while they finish the zombies. They wouldn’t blame me.

I face forward. Thorfinn valiantly fends off a pair of the monsters, but more are closing in around him. In moments, he’ll be surrounded. This battle isn’t won yet.

My heart swells for the chivalrous halfling. I have to help him. I think someone getting in the way is exactly what he needs.

I step forward, imposing myself between Thorfinn and two incoming zombies. Unwitting to my presence, they intend to walk directly through me on their way to the halfling swordsman. I wait.

When one zombie is close enough, I thrust my foot into its chest and an embarrassing shriek escapes me. The surprised zombie swings where it heard my voice, but I duck, the claw wooshing over my head.

Back to back with the half-sized swordsman, I feel Thorfinn sweep his blade in a wide arc. When I turn, he has slain one zombie and cut another’s knee.

Another arrow hits the monster in front of me with a sickening crunch. Davrick’s done it again, and yet another zombie crumples.

By now, the horde is whittled down enough for the rest of the lads to safely start leaping into the pit, despite the rough fall. The zombies are finished off, largely thanks to Davrick’s uncanny aim.

That could’ve been much, much, worse. Thorfinn turns to me, eyes wide. “Well, I feel like we crushed that.” I nod approvingly.

Dheavar’s voice echoes in the quiet of the pit. “Look at this place! It’s one of those caves from the Esis era.”

Eh? I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but his unshakeable enthusiasm tells me he is delighted despite the mess.

I wander to the sides of the pit, glad to be away from the heap of rubbish in the middle. The walls are smooth and worked. “Do you suppose we are the first to discover it? Other than the dead, that is.”

“We can find out.” Davrick says with a twinkle in his eye. “If we are the first, that’s good news for you, Rosie.”

“Oh?” I ask doubtfully. “And what makes you suppose that?”

Davrick answers, “In my experience, these sorts of ancient ruins contain relics that are quite valuable. We might find something good if no one else got it first.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Woulda been a shame if those zombies got you, and you missed out on this, hey Rosie?”

My heart flips, but not for the promise of wealth. It’s the conversation I had with Davrick about my search for valuables. That was weeks ago, yet he still remembered. I’d learned to never expect that from the men I know.

Loathe as I am to be in this place, the gnome sharpshooter is quite right. I have to keep going if I want to escape the cycle, as it were. I look around the pit. Hmph, a bit of a metaphor for my life, isn’t it?

This one is for you, then, Davrick. It’s time for my next leap of faith. 

Stepping around the edge of the room, I go to Thorfinn, who has selected one of the many doors exiting the rubbish pit. He reaches halfway to the door’s handle before stopping and looking over his shoulder. “You good?” he asks.

“Ready,” I say, adjusting my tunic. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?”