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okaywolfWritten to the prompt by Making Up Adventurers — Adventurer who knows that the best lie is built around a grain of truth.
You can download the first four instalments of Some Guy Party as 8-page printable zines on my itch.
Originally posted on cohost on August 23rd, 2024.
Having broadly agreed no caravan guarding jobs since the return trip is rarely included, the party found themselves on a meandering road between governing bodies with paperwork to make the return trip. They mostly clear deadfall, spending no small portion of their time sawing rounds that they take turns chopping into firewood at evening camp. It’s the the third evening when some guy ties a rope with a forgiving tension knot and makes quick work of the round.
Newer to the party and no lesser less a fan of caravan guarding jobs watches with a ‘well, damn’ expression. She’s not the sole audience member, but when no one else speaks up she asks, “Where might have you learned that?”
Some guy pauses between ax swings, taking the opportunity to pull from their waterskin. “Where I was real lil.” They drop their waterskin against the rapidly grown stack of firewood and pick up the ax again.
“Where might that be?”
Hefting the ax into a familiar balance of weight, some guy simply says, “Where doesn’t exist anymore,” and returns to splitting wood.
No lesser less a fan frowns and looks about but neither of the other party members watching the display have an answer for her. One shrugs and indicates they ought to busy themselves lest someone else bother them for idling.
The caravan stops just outside of their destination, sending a representative ahead into the body to sort out the caravan’s arrival, stowage of wagons and other such logistics that had the party standing around kicking stones. It was early enough in the day that they could make good distance on the return trip if the caravan representative made quick and retrieving paperwork made quicker. Alternatively, they could spend the night and start out in the morning.
Some guy shakes their head with a wince. The party watches until they nod at markings on the top stone of where the body’s stone wall met gatehouse.
No lesser less a fan looks about but none of the other party members can interpret the chisel marks either. She levels some guy with a look unimpressed about their evident unforthcoming nature. “What might they read?”
They point at a zig zag, then chips in the stone over a line. “Water’s bad. Expensive lodging.” There were more symbols but the sizeable stone dropper and one were already advocating for quick departure while some guy busied themself with the rut they’d been toeing in the road.
With a party consensus for a quick departure, with the caravan representative returned, with the party’s own representative sent to retrieve the paperwork, no lesser less a fan finds a space next to some guy against the stone wall. “Wherechance might you have learned that?” She taps the wall with a fist to make clear “that” what was on the wall.
“Wherechance I was not me what is now.”
No lesser less a fan watches some guy watch the field, then matches their gaze. Her initial flame of frustration at their obscure, evasive response abates as she considers some guy’s words at their own merit. “Wherechance I might relate to that.” At the edge of her vision, some guy nods.
Travelling without wagon, the party’s return trip is not bothered by fresh deadfall. They are instead bothered by an unseasonable chill breeze that cuts through their clothes and has them pulling apart packs for blankets to cloak themselves in. When comes their first evening camp, their fire is hard won and sputtering in the now relentless dry wind, the pot of water to warm them struggles to warm at itself.
Patience drawn thin, some guy stands from their crouch, breaking the huddle of the party shielding the sputtering flames. The party watches as some guy draws a circle in the ground with the toe of their boot and stamps three times in its centre.
One sputters aloud “oh oh oh” as the fire steadies and feeds unfettered on its fuel.
Some guy adjusts the pot of water to not be engulfed by flame before seating themself. Next to them, no lesser less a fan—having thought she’d grown accustomed by some guy’s eccentricities—finds herself wide-eyed, and asks, “Whereupon might you have learned that?”
“Wizard taught me,” some guy says simply, watching the pot of water for steam.
“Whereupon might a wizard teach you?”
Some guy smirks. “Whereupon might I know better than upset a wizard.”
No lesser less a fan barks a sharp laugh, the first any of the part has heard from her. “Might well.”
In the governing body where the party acquired work, definitely not a wizard and some guy meandered through narrow streets between wattle and daub buildings with shingle roofs. Some guy finished off a baked treat with a hum and a pull from their waterskin, stopping when definitely not a wizard paused at the apex of one of the many stone bridges across the canals that drew a net across the body.
“You do know they surmise you’re of a forgotten citadel?”
“Ha.” Some guy leans back against the bridge wall, watching the mix of body residents and visitors cross this and the next bridge along the canal before the canal curved out of sight behind wattle and daub buildings. They glance at definitely not a wizard peering down at the waters when definitely not a wizard posits, “You aren’t.” “Nah.”
“So?”
Some guy considers vague answers to the vague inquiry, but they’ve been enjoying the stroll. “Ah, well,” they elbow definitely not a wizard to direct their gaze to children running down the street, “when moved house, the new occupants tore down and rebuilt.”
Slowly, definitely not a wizard nods. “And?”
A smirk draws across some guy’s face. “Well, no doubt we’ve all been someone else before.”
The same smirk echoes across definitely not a wizard’s face. “And?”
“And what?” Some guy turns to definitely not the wizard who taught them the bolstering spell.
“For what must you persist so?”
Some guy grins. “Oh none, present beheld, make inquiry with any precision.”
It dawns on definitely not a wizard that some guy was, essentially, fucking with everyone—present beheld. Then it dawns on definitely not a wizard how much fun some guy must have, the many times it has happened. They school their own smile, refusing to admit aloud it is funny. “So, in what county was this house?”
“Ah.” Some guy tilts their grin to roof eaves and sky. “Don’t suppose you know...”
You can download the first four instalments of Some Guy Party as 8-page printable zines on my itch.
Originally posted on cohost on August 23rd, 2024.
Having broadly agreed no caravan guarding jobs since the return trip is rarely included, the party found themselves on a meandering road between governing bodies with paperwork to make the return trip. They mostly clear deadfall, spending no small portion of their time sawing rounds that they take turns chopping into firewood at evening camp. It’s the the third evening when some guy ties a rope with a forgiving tension knot and makes quick work of the round.
Newer to the party and no lesser less a fan of caravan guarding jobs watches with a ‘well, damn’ expression. She’s not the sole audience member, but when no one else speaks up she asks, “Where might have you learned that?”
Some guy pauses between ax swings, taking the opportunity to pull from their waterskin. “Where I was real lil.” They drop their waterskin against the rapidly grown stack of firewood and pick up the ax again.
“Where might that be?”
Hefting the ax into a familiar balance of weight, some guy simply says, “Where doesn’t exist anymore,” and returns to splitting wood.
No lesser less a fan frowns and looks about but neither of the other party members watching the display have an answer for her. One shrugs and indicates they ought to busy themselves lest someone else bother them for idling.
~~~
The caravan stops just outside of their destination, sending a representative ahead into the body to sort out the caravan’s arrival, stowage of wagons and other such logistics that had the party standing around kicking stones. It was early enough in the day that they could make good distance on the return trip if the caravan representative made quick and retrieving paperwork made quicker. Alternatively, they could spend the night and start out in the morning.
Some guy shakes their head with a wince. The party watches until they nod at markings on the top stone of where the body’s stone wall met gatehouse.
No lesser less a fan looks about but none of the other party members can interpret the chisel marks either. She levels some guy with a look unimpressed about their evident unforthcoming nature. “What might they read?”
They point at a zig zag, then chips in the stone over a line. “Water’s bad. Expensive lodging.” There were more symbols but the sizeable stone dropper and one were already advocating for quick departure while some guy busied themself with the rut they’d been toeing in the road.
With a party consensus for a quick departure, with the caravan representative returned, with the party’s own representative sent to retrieve the paperwork, no lesser less a fan finds a space next to some guy against the stone wall. “Wherechance might you have learned that?” She taps the wall with a fist to make clear “that” what was on the wall.
“Wherechance I was not me what is now.”
No lesser less a fan watches some guy watch the field, then matches their gaze. Her initial flame of frustration at their obscure, evasive response abates as she considers some guy’s words at their own merit. “Wherechance I might relate to that.” At the edge of her vision, some guy nods.
~~~
Travelling without wagon, the party’s return trip is not bothered by fresh deadfall. They are instead bothered by an unseasonable chill breeze that cuts through their clothes and has them pulling apart packs for blankets to cloak themselves in. When comes their first evening camp, their fire is hard won and sputtering in the now relentless dry wind, the pot of water to warm them struggles to warm at itself.
Patience drawn thin, some guy stands from their crouch, breaking the huddle of the party shielding the sputtering flames. The party watches as some guy draws a circle in the ground with the toe of their boot and stamps three times in its centre.
One sputters aloud “oh oh oh” as the fire steadies and feeds unfettered on its fuel.
Some guy adjusts the pot of water to not be engulfed by flame before seating themself. Next to them, no lesser less a fan—having thought she’d grown accustomed by some guy’s eccentricities—finds herself wide-eyed, and asks, “Whereupon might you have learned that?”
“Wizard taught me,” some guy says simply, watching the pot of water for steam.
“Whereupon might a wizard teach you?”
Some guy smirks. “Whereupon might I know better than upset a wizard.”
No lesser less a fan barks a sharp laugh, the first any of the part has heard from her. “Might well.”
★☆★☆★
In the governing body where the party acquired work, definitely not a wizard and some guy meandered through narrow streets between wattle and daub buildings with shingle roofs. Some guy finished off a baked treat with a hum and a pull from their waterskin, stopping when definitely not a wizard paused at the apex of one of the many stone bridges across the canals that drew a net across the body.
“You do know they surmise you’re of a forgotten citadel?”
“Ha.” Some guy leans back against the bridge wall, watching the mix of body residents and visitors cross this and the next bridge along the canal before the canal curved out of sight behind wattle and daub buildings. They glance at definitely not a wizard peering down at the waters when definitely not a wizard posits, “You aren’t.” “Nah.”
“So?”
Some guy considers vague answers to the vague inquiry, but they’ve been enjoying the stroll. “Ah, well,” they elbow definitely not a wizard to direct their gaze to children running down the street, “when moved house, the new occupants tore down and rebuilt.”
Slowly, definitely not a wizard nods. “And?”
A smirk draws across some guy’s face. “Well, no doubt we’ve all been someone else before.”
The same smirk echoes across definitely not a wizard’s face. “And?”
“And what?” Some guy turns to definitely not the wizard who taught them the bolstering spell.
“For what must you persist so?”
Some guy grins. “Oh none, present beheld, make inquiry with any precision.”
It dawns on definitely not a wizard that some guy was, essentially, fucking with everyone—present beheld. Then it dawns on definitely not a wizard how much fun some guy must have, the many times it has happened. They school their own smile, refusing to admit aloud it is funny. “So, in what county was this house?”
“Ah.” Some guy tilts their grin to roof eaves and sky. “Don’t suppose you know...”
