Adventurer who says the right things the wrong way.

Written to the prompt by Making Up Adventurers — Adventurer who says the right things the wrong way.

This is the first part of Some Guy Party! I fell so in love with some guy and their adventuring crew that I quickly wrote a second, then third and fourth, and there’s more on the way.

On top of being a fun flash fiction series about an adventuring crew, Some Guy Party is a venture in autistically playing with the English language.

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 16th, 2024.

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Mostly carved from rock, more than any other underground settlement they had explored these particular caves had little in manmade structure. The party—few in number, not well acquainted, professional—had passed over the first two timber bridges across bottomless divides after much inspection. Here, at the third, a so-far taciturn member held out an arm to stop their procession.

“Tha’s fucked.”

Who was definitely not some kind of wizard pretending to be a simple sword-carrying adventurer, frowned at the arm barring their chest, then the person staring at them for an acknowledgement. “What?”

The rest of the party peered on as, after a snort and eyeroll, the equally ‘I guess you’re some guy with a sword’ pointed their arm away from restraining the party and to a support of the bridge. “Tha’,” they waved their finger at splintering timber, “fucked.”

After some peering at the bridge, they continued on one-by-one with safety lines.

~~~

The objective of the excursion—conditions for the party’s pay—was a complete map of the underground settlement, long abandoned and therein prone to dangers. One such danger was a rockslide that two of their party had lost footing on and, with more rope, had taken some good time to retrieve them. Resting for the evening in what had surely been a sort of communal area for meals and conversation, the definitely not a wizard pretending to be a simple sword-carrying adventurer was met again with some guy with a sword.

“Fucked m’ankle. Can ya unfuck it?”

Looking up from the last of their meal—a little smaller than originally rationed, as they had underestimated the size of the settlement—they found the same staring hold for acknowledgement. “What?”

With the rest of the party done eating now pouring over their developing map or napping, there was no audience to peer as some guy who had found themself at the the bottom of a rockslide earlier pointed at their foot. “Ankle. Fucked. Unfuck.”

Definitely not a wizard frowned at the boot they had been directed to. “I don’t imagine how you think I can go about that.”

With a laugh, some guy dropped themself to the ground next to definitely not a wizard and started to shuck off their boot. “Sure bud.”

The point of pretending to be a simple sword-carrying adventurer was to have no one else know they were definitely not a wizard. In the very least, it was polite to pretend along.

“Look, y’know I’ll make slow for us if y’don’t unfuck me.”

Definitely not a wizard, having checked the rest of the party was still mapping or napping and not at all peering, sighs shakily. “Can you not phrase it so?” they complain, setting aside their meal and avoiding the smirk on some guy’s face.

~~~

The party winds up mapping two more entrances than originally outlined and so spends much of the way back to the county governing body discussing how they will negotiate for higher pay. When someone voices the concern that negotiating for higher pay may not even be possible, some guy speaks up for the first time since leaving the caves.

“Fuck’em if they don’t.”

It takes a minute of the rest of the party peering at definitely not a wizard for definitely not a wizard to grumble, “I think they mean to indicate we can take our pay by force if need be.” They avoid the smirk on some guy’s face.

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This adventurer has an old country remedy for just about everything.

Written to the prompt by Making Up Adventurers — This adventurer has an old country remedy for just about everything.

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 16th, 2024.

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After successful negotiations—and successful “negotiations”—the cave exploring party partly-mostly retained membership onto the next job. The next job was helping clear a collapsed farm site. Stone walls and fences to pull apart and rebuild, sorting through rock. When someone drops a particularly sizeable stone on his foot, some guy says,

“Spit on it.”

All eyes on definitely not a wizard get shooed away with a furious, “You can’t possibly expect me to interpret this,” so someone else finally asks, “What?”

“Th’rock.”

From where he lays on the ground with his smarting foot tending to by way of numbing salve, the sizeable stone dropper asks, “Might like for vengeance?”

Some guy makes an appraising face, as though the sizeable stone dropper wasn’t necessarily wrong in his interpretation, before turning back to sorting rocks. Most everyone’s turned back to sorting rocks when the sizeable stone dropper returns to their feet and audibly spits.

~~~

Rebuilding the fallen section of fence done, done for the day the party sits around a fire. Their talk of meal and meal itself past, their planning tomorrow’s work as well, the chatter dies down with the died down flames. The sizeable stone dropper keeps his leg outstretched, where a sudden spit of ember catches light to a pant leg. It’s a momentary and insignificant distraction until some guy says,

“Throw it some lint.”

All eyes on some guy wait for an explanation that is behind a long steady pull from a waterskin. And then wait as some guy continues to watch the fire, until someone else finally asks, “What?”

“Th’fire.”

After sharing questioning looks with everyone else in the party, the sizeable stone dropper plucks at raw edges of his shirt and scoots over to the flames. “Would some sort of offering?” He adds the fibres to the fire’s fuel after watching some guy bounce their head with the same sort of appraising expression.

~~~

Owing much to the expertise of two of their party and to some locals that came to help with the more expert requiring walls, the party again make their way back to the county governing body for their pay. They wonder aloud if they’ll see past party members, if there’s another job that will interest enough of them for keep as a party. They talk of what jobs they would and definitely would not accept. When the sizeable stone dropper claims that he refuses to stand watch for bears again, some guy says,

“Can a’nails.”

All eyes again turn to some guy, who pulls out a container and gives it a pointed, illustrative single shake. The apparent nails inside shak shak at a volume that might indeed ward off bears. They hide it away again as everyone more or less takes yet another unexpected interjection in stride but for someone else, who lets out a bewildered, “What?”

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