Flash Fiction: Looking for Adventuring Party: Dwarf Fighter/Cook

This piece of flash fiction was written for Writer’s Digest’s 2021 February Flash Fiction Challenge Day 18. I spent an hour and a half on this story; this is the third draft. The prompt: “Write someone’s online dating profile.” I can’t even write my own dating profile, so I took a bit of liberty with this prompt. Being in an adventuring party can be a little like dating, so I figured this idea still works. Enjoy!

Image from Pinterest.com

Looking for Adventuring Party: Dwarf Fighter/Cook

Illustration description: An older looking, clean-shaven dwarf man with a broad smile resting under a wide, round nose. His face is full of laugh and worry lines. He stands proudly in what looks to be an expansive underground kitchen filled with wooden counters, iron pots and pans, and giant wood-burning stoves made of carved stone. Peeking out from behind a well-stained tan cooking apron is a shirt of shiny chain mail that falls over his chest and over a potbelly. A shortsword hangs sheathed at his side while he leans on a larger, two-handed maul.

Fargrim Runeheim, 283


  • While I’m starting to get a bit on in years for a dwarf, I am still hearty as ever with a strong back. I won’t be going down easy to no constitution afflictions or strength challenges.
  • A life of stirring hearty soups, pounding thick bread dough, and hefting large crates of food and casks of ale have given me plenty of strength to swing my maul something fierce.
  • Spent most of my life up till now cooking and baking. I reckon I can whip up a good meal most days while traveling the roads between towns and trekking through the wilderness. 


  • I’m like my grandmum: I hate not seeing people eat, and I tend to force food onto people even if they don’t want it.
  • My hearing is not so great. I also need reading glasses now. 
  • Not much of a fan of magic. Damn wizard once came into the kitchen and started casting spells. “To help,” he said. Lotta help he did. The bread morphed into golems that had mean right hooks; damn shepherd’s pie turned into a slime monster; the dumplings started popping off like fireballs; the spaghetti pasta tried strangling people. Magic ain’t worth the bloody hassle, I tell ya.

The life of a cook in Belnor’s Deep has been good to me. It put food on the table—pun very much intended—and gave me a comfortable life. The job helped me understand how integral food is in forming friendships and helping people through the toughest of times. But I’ve been restless for a few decades now. Looking to try something new. Can’t think of a much better way to spend some of my later years than adventuring around helping people. I promise, I’ll keep us well fed and have your back. If we get into a scrap, I’ll just imagine our foes insulted my chicken pot pie. The fury that shall descend upon them will be legendary.

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