Fenrir Cerebellion

reasons for coughing blood at 4am

[okaywolf]

~ Fiction Index ~

Hi, I'm Fenrir Cerebellion, a queer author with a ton of short and long fiction you can read online for free, most of which here on tumblr.

The following is a selection of recommendations as well as a link to the full index.

Full Fiction Index Here

~ Recommendations ~

Novella Series

Sometimes The Mountain Buries You You just want a quiet small town life but you are your monster boyfriend's veterinarian — 19k words, complete, 2024 [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

Prompt Fiction Series

~ Wizards ~

Birch and Dave 1. wizard whose familiar is just a regular guy, “Hey now, both the steward and the secretary said he could sit in.” — ~660 words, 24.04.29 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

2. wizard who takes care of another wizard’s familiar while they’re on vacation, Dave is an adult human man... — ~680 words, 24.07.09 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Villains ~

Villain who can’t remember why they started this. 1. Villain who can’t remember why they started this., Not because the reason isn’t important. — ~270 words, 24.05.23 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost (pt 1 - 2)]

2. Villain who can’t remember why they started this., He wasn’t entirely wrong... — ~940 words, 24.05.24 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth]

3. wizard who can hardly even remember how the world ended anymore, Not because the end of the world wasn’t important. — ~400 words, 24.06.17 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Monsters ~

'babe' the forty metre long centipede and their girlfriend 1. Monster who got lost in their own maze, The chittering of the forty metre long glossy dark centipede... — ~400 words, 24.10.07 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth]

2. Monster who's offended you think them a coldblooded killer. Do they look like a reptile to you?, Initially, the misguided reeve was unsettled... — ~350 words, 25.01.04 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth]

~ Adventurers ~

Some Guy Party 1. Adventurer who says the right things the wrong way., Mostly carved from rock... — ~570 words, 24.08.16 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

2. This adventurer has an old country remedy for just about everything., After successful negotiations... — ~470 words, 24.08.16 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

3. Adventurer who knows that the best lie is built around a grain of truth., Having broadly agreed no caravan guarding jobs... — ~1080 words, 24.08.23 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

4. This adventurer is only lucky when it counts., Not far from the county governing body... — ~420 words, 24.09.02 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

5. wizard who is also better at swordfighting than you'll ever be, It is not often that combat is expected on any given job... — 405 words, 25.06.17 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth]

~ Criminals ~

Terrible Toxic Crime Boyfriends 1. Mob boss who promises to throw you in deep enough next time., Neph coughed up the last of the S’iyaq river in the shower... — ~900 words, 24.11.21 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [ao3]

2. Thief who has been swapping things around., Gauss stumbles out of his boots... — ~600 words, 24.11.24 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [ao3]

Prompt Fiction Oneshots

~ Wizards ~

wizard whose observatory is not sufficient: they actually need to go to space, "The planet is in the way." — ~70 words, 24.04.20 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Villains ~

Villain who wants to replace their voice box., They had already ripped it out on impulse. — ~220 words, 24.08.06 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

Villain who bit off all their nails., They said they would, if it came to it. — 99 words, 24.05.05 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Monsters ~

Monster who's sorry for biting off your head, Ears back and head down, the creature with too many teeth... — 260 words, 24.04.18 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Criminals ~

Bounty Hunter who has a big iron on their ship, It’s not so much that the ship was kind of a gun... — 60 words, 24.04.23 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

~ Adventurers ~

Adventurer who has been clashing with the Dark Lord for so long that they know his minions by their first names. “And you just let her waltz in here!?” — ~400 words, 24.12.11 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [ao3]

~ Magicals ~

Magical Boy Who Has Some Worrisome Tattoos, They're not so worrisome at first... — ~700 words, 24.06.08 [ tumblr] [patreon] [dreamwidth] [cohost]

[okaywolf]

New update is out! This week I finally wrote the final chapter of Take Root, catch a snippet of it in the update post~

How goes #1.09 | Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf

Get more from Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf on Patreon

[okaywolf]

Another update, finished the blocks! ...except for recarves. Check out the sweet spread of all forty tho

How goes #1.07 | Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf

Get more from Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf on Patreon

[writing-prompt-s]

You are the supervillain of a small city. Things are never serious. Your ploys are harmless and you have a playful relationship with the heroes. Things change when a truly sadistic villain encroaches on your turf and murders a hero. No one has seen the true extent of your powers until now.

[relia-robot-writes]

"How?"

I turn. Smash Cut's found me - well, I'm not hard to find. Particularly for her. Not now.

"How'd you do it? We have him in custody now. He couldn't touch me." She floats to the ground, her cape fluttering in the moonlight. "The others, he disabled just like before. But not me." She stares at her gloved hand, then returns her gaze to me. "What did you do to me?"

I smile. It's a small, sad thing. "I cursed you." A sigh escapes my mouth, and I realize I'm trembling. "I'm sorry."

"I was dead."

"You are dead."

"What?"

I tip my top hat, pulling out a deck of cards. I riffle them dramatically between my hands - old habit. "Pick a card."

Frowning, she takes one, then flips it to show it to me. The Devil. "I've trapped you," I say, taking the card from her. It glints in the moonlight, my own face staring up at me from the card. "As a memory."

"What are you talking about?"

"My powers - I go to a lot of trouble to keep them secret. Sleight of hand, flash powder, a magical artifact here or there. But my real power is remembering things." I focus, and for a moment, the building I keep as my lair transforms. No longer a bombed-out ruin that nobody bothers to tear down, but a grand theatre. Gold trim, velvet seats, stage lights shining on me as the stage rises to separate the two of us.

Smash Cut passes her gloved hands over the smooth wood, stares down into the orchestra pit. "We know you can do illusions..."

"Does this feel like an illusion to you?" I close my eyes, squeeze them shut, remind myself of broken beams and moonlight. When I open them, we're once again standing in shadows. "It's... hard, for me to forget things. It's so much easier to fall into memory than accept the world as it is. Why do you think I spend most of my time with supers? You're resilient, you're strong, you're... invincible. Death... doesn't happen to people like you." I can't bear to look her in the eyes. I turn to face what was once a grand backstage, curtains rotted away.

"What are you saying?" She moves up beside me, pulling me gently around by my shoulder. When I look up at her, a tear drops from my cheek. Her eyes are amber-brown, warm and accepting. Just like...

"What's your name. Your real name."

She tilts her head. "I can't tell you that, you know that. League rules."

"Indulge me. Just your first name. First initial, even."

She frowns, then blinks in confusion. Fear begins to dawn in her eyes. "I- I can't-"

"You never told me. I don't know what it was." I take her hand from my shoulder and squeeze it. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself. When you-" I breathe, unsteadily. "When it happened, I just thought- it couldn't have. Not to her. She's strong and brave and true, nothing could stop her. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself. I... I remembered you. Smash Cut, the... she's... people were right, to mourn her." I sniff, tears now streaming down my face. She presses her hand to my cheek, and I nuzzle into it, sobbing. "I- I was never much good at moving on," I choke out, half smiling.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here now. I'm back! You brought me back, and... yes, that is a lot to take in, but I'm here. We're here, together." She presses me into a hug as strong as my bones can take, with the carefulness of long practice.

I almost allow myself to simply dissolve into it, melt into her arms like I always wanted to, but I push back, and she lets me free. "You-" I sniffle, trying to get myself under control. "You don't understand, so I'll explain it. You aren't Smash Cut. You aren't even really a person. You- you're only how I remembered you. How I remembered you, and no one else. How you feel about me right now, your forgiveness, even why you found me here, it's all because that's how I thought you worked. How you felt. You said he couldn't touch you? That's because when I remember her, she was invincible. Nothing could ever harm her. She was kind and curious and wonderful and- and-" I shudder, taking a step away. "And I have no idea how true any of that is. How she really felt about me." I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, turn to face her. "And you don't either. I've cursed you, with the burden of being something you're not." She reaches for me, but I step back, out of her reach. "I'm sorry," I say. "But for both of us, I think it's best if I leave." My hand finds a more modern rope amidst the decay, attached to my last contingency plan, one I never told anyone about. "Goodbye, Smash Cut," I say, as the floor drops out from under me and the rest of the stage begins to collapse.

"I'll never forget you."

[writing-prompt-s]

"You fools, my sword is forged from hate! None of you soft weaklings could wield it, there is no hate in your-" The villain and heroes could only gawp as the quietest and kindest of the hero's party stepped up, grabbed the sword, and the blade suddenly expanded to five times the old size.

[relia-robot-writes]

The quietest, kindest party member, the healer, the one who never did violence and couldn't hurt a fly, took slow, shuddering breaths. Blood dripped from the blade and her face, stained her clothes, stuck to her plain, brown hair. Her fingers barely held onto the hilt, and she offered no resistance when the party's warrior quietly took it from her hands. Immediately, it shrank to something more like a dagger, or perhaps a dinner knife.

"Vale...?" said the taller woman. "Are you... okay?"

The party's mage bent down to examine the splattered corpse of the villain. "You certainly had cause to hate him, perhaps more so than most, but I have to admit I wouldn't have expected quite so much," they picked a magical amulet out of some viscera, "enthusiasm, from you."

Vale stood still, unmoving, as the warrior began to dig through her pack for a clean cloth. "I..." she began. Paused. "Even after everything he'd done, all the people he hurt... I didn't hate him. I pitied him, maybe. I wanted to stop him. But not hate."

"But, the sword- hm. If you had an issue with our behavior, then I'm sorry that we could not make space for you to air your grievances." The mage folded their arms, seemingly unmoved by emotion, as always.

"No! No, that's not - I don't hate you! You're my friends! You've done so much for me, I- I could never repay-"

"Hold still," said the warrior, trying to dab at Vale's face to get the worst of the blood off. She frowned. "But," she took a moment to gently scrub Vale's cheek, "if it wasn't him, and it wasn't us, then who...?"

The water and blood glistened on Vale's cheek. With a shaky smile, she said, "he never said it had to be someone else you hate."

[okaywolf]

Next update is up on Patreon! Mostly just chipping away at illustrations for Sometimes the Mountain Buries You and its sequel.

How goes #1.05 | Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf

Get more from Fenrir Cerebellion | okaywolf on Patreon

[eternal-sapphtember]

Girls who are aching

[okaywolf]

Olivia groans to turn over. Lowers in tone to arc, extend limb, curl then stretch finger and toe. Peaks as though a question to final slump sink into warm bedding.

Bedwarmers are Manuel and Josh, Jordanne and Jordan and Sparrow, Shoe and Shuu and Rosina and Ritsuya and some recent acquaintance by name of Anxiety Max. As much warm bed as bedwarmer. Bodies fit together in full relax of slumber.

Olivia worked rows yesterday weeding. Shovel and spading fork and bruised feet from kicking tool sink into clay-packed earth and glove to pull taproot flora at base of woody stalk. She’d stretch again but more conscious now she’s conscious of an ill-aimed shove or prod by happenstance of her straining limbs.

Anxiety Max’s decidedly New Brunswick francophone accent answers Olivia’s unintended question.

“No,” Olivia groans. “We’ve fuck all today until after noon.”

She figures Max is Maxine but can’t figure how to ask without being rude, could have been Maxine, Maxime, Max-suffix-therein. Could be but for ease of anglophone spaces and brevity of her appearance, brevity Max.

She has no clue what to figure Anxiety.

Anxiety Max, unminded to unknown ponderings, gets up to boil water. Recent additions were always bright-eyed and proactive and yet to adjust to the established mood of luxuriating languid every availed moment, but Anxiety Max boils water and sorts a pot for coffee and another for tea with a calm ease. Anxiety Max does everything with a calm ease. She approaches and tasks and even every laugh with a calm ease.

Wary at first, Olivia has started to find this enchanting. She watches from the assortment of bodies in rhythm and movement only breath deep and slow as Anxiety Max checks mugs for dregs and dried pools, collects not enough clean ones for the bodies present, washes enough and then all the rest.

Olivia gets up to dry them. The cloths here are old flour sack cotton, machine-hems where frayed hand-stitched by hands that now stir.

Coffee and tea fill the space to rouse the bedwarmers. They wake to each their own unique twist of labour-spent muscle overnight rested.

It’s impressive, nice even, to start a mostly rest day earlier than they would have. Olivia appreciates the extra time to linger languid over the mug warming her hands before the sun takes a turn.

In the fields, they’ll work any stiffness out of muscle not addressed by waking flexes and shuffling rise to personal task before after noon work. Seated on clay-packed earth between what in small its part is their meals as well, they’ll break bread and words and liquids sweet and intoxicating. With no light to work by, they’ll into pair and trio and quartet, leaving Olivia to offer a morning-cleaned mug to Anxiety Max. Accepting offers invitation for Olivia to sit alongside her.

From the embankment bearing the seacans made their home, the rows of growth reach until distant perimeter clear, exact, perpendicular. Olivia exhales exhaustion of the day’s work, finds in the fledgling camaraderie refuge in Anxiety Max’s calm ease.

They watch bats hunt in meager moon-sliver light.

They kiss as though they could kiss each other forever. As though they have always been. As though they always would. As though they ache to. As though they won’t, far too soon, never cross paths again. As though they won’t ache all the rest of their lives for this kiss.

[okaywolf]

This flash fiction is now available as a diy print-and-fold zine, download free on itch!

[okaywolf]

started t'post weekly updates on patreon like how I put Strange Homes novella chapters out weekly t'try to keep myself on track with the editing and production tasks that get less externalization

How goes #1.01 <https://www.patreon.com/posts/140802246>

[muzzlesbian]

your living weapon just gave me bedroom eyes

[muzzlesbian]

[eternal-sapphtember]

Girls who are aching

[okaywolf]

Olivia groans to turn over. Lowers in tone to arc, extend limb, curl then stretch finger and toe. Peaks as though a question to final slump sink into warm bedding.

Bedwarmers are Manuel and Josh, Jordanne and Jordan and Sparrow, Shoe and Shuu and Rosina and Ritsuya and some recent acquaintance by name of Anxiety Max. As much warm bed as bedwarmer. Bodies fit together in full relax of slumber.

Olivia worked rows yesterday weeding. Shovel and spading fork and bruised feet from kicking tool sink into clay-packed earth and glove to pull taproot flora at base of woody stalk. She’d stretch again but more conscious now she’s conscious of an ill-aimed shove or prod by happenstance of her straining limbs.

Anxiety Max’s decidedly New Brunswick francophone accent answers Olivia’s unintended question.

“No,” Olivia groans. “We’ve fuck all today until after noon.”

She figures Max is Maxine but can’t figure how to ask without being rude, could have been Maxine, Maxime, Max-suffix-therein. Could be but for ease of anglophone spaces and brevity of her appearance, brevity Max.

She has no clue what to figure Anxiety.

Anxiety Max, unminded to unknown ponderings, gets up to boil water. Recent additions were always bright-eyed and proactive and yet to adjust to the established mood of luxuriating languid every availed moment, but Anxiety Max boils water and sorts a pot for coffee and another for tea with a calm ease. Anxiety Max does everything with a calm ease. She approaches and tasks and even every laugh with a calm ease.

Wary at first, Olivia has started to find this enchanting. She watches from the assortment of bodies in rhythm and movement only breath deep and slow as Anxiety Max checks mugs for dregs and dried pools, collects not enough clean ones for the bodies present, washes enough and then all the rest.

Olivia gets up to dry them. The cloths here are old flour sack cotton, machine-hems where frayed hand-stitched by hands that now stir.

Coffee and tea fill the space to rouse the bedwarmers. They wake to each their own unique twist of labour-spent muscle overnight rested.

It’s impressive, nice even, to start a mostly rest day earlier than they would have. Olivia appreciates the extra time to linger languid over the mug warming her hands before the sun takes a turn.

In the fields, they’ll work any stiffness out of muscle not addressed by waking flexes and shuffling rise to personal task before after noon work. Seated on clay-packed earth between what in small its part is their meals as well, they’ll break bread and words and liquids sweet and intoxicating. With no light to work by, they’ll into pair and trio and quartet, leaving Olivia to offer a morning-cleaned mug to Anxiety Max. Accepting offers invitation for Olivia to sit alongside her.

From the embankment bearing the seacans made their home, the rows of growth reach until distant perimeter clear, exact, perpendicular. Olivia exhales exhaustion of the day’s work, finds in the fledgling camaraderie refuge in Anxiety Max’s calm ease.

They watch bats hunt in meager moon-sliver light.

They kiss as though they could kiss each other forever. As though they have always been. As though they always would. As though they ache to. As though they won’t, far too soon, never cross paths again. As though they won’t ache all the rest of their lives for this kiss.

[absentwriterdoll]

Praise

A doll that praises its witch.

That he's doing good.

Even if he's hurting.

Even if he's struggling.

It's proud of him.

It's so, so proud of him.

...

A witch that wakes up.

Clutches at his chest.

Sits up in bed.

Buries his face in his arms.

And sobs.

...

His doll is still proud of him.

He's certain it would be proud.

Of course it would be proud.

...

Even if he hasn't moved on yet...

Even if he might not ever move on...

He's still doing his best in his own little way.

...

"Thank you, my doll."

=====

Inspired by Io!

[okaywolf]

wizard who is also better at swordfighting than you'll ever be

Written to the prompt by make-up-a-wizard — wizard who is also better at swordfighting than you'll ever be

You can download the first four instalments of Some Guy Party as 8-page printable zines on my itch.

[First] [Previous] ~ 5 ~ [Next] [Last]

It is not often that combat is expected on any given job—it is not often there is combat on any given job—enough that there being combat expected on this job to rid a lost citadel of untoward occupation made pause the commissioner. The particularly tight corridor definitely not a wizard and some guy found themselves fighting off particularly adept combatants in made pause not some guy when somewhere else someone else called for assistance.

Arriving with a kick to the back of one combatant’s knee, some guy handily handled someone else’s outnumbering issue.

Handily hog-tying those that were capable of picking up arms again, someone else asks, “From where were you?”

Some guy gestured up to the open columned arches of the tight corridor where definitely not a wizard free of adversary made way to regroup with them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Since the lost citadel was considerable—all lost citadels were considerable—the party had split up to tackle the split of the occupying untowards, sweeping across the citadel from one side rather than risk ambush by attacking one by one the many strategically situated posts. The sizeable chamber definitely not a wizard and some guy held safe the entryway for while the rest of the party secured favourable ground made pause not some guy when they spotted a sizeable untoward post circling around to flank the party.

Vaulting over and between low walkway walls, some guy swiftly severed the party’s circling issue.

Swiftly sighting and reinforcing some guy’s efforts, someone else asks, “From how were you?”

Some guy gestured across the many stone and timber walkways that not many would consider traversing such, past such definitely not a wizard free of adversary awaited further approaches to the entryway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Being a nearby lost citadel to the governing body—being the nearest by lost citadel to the governing body—every surface had been well-chiselled, planed, polished smooth to remove every trace of sigils. The spread of the untowards in search of sigil remnants made for a tedious process of well-surveying the lost citadel for untoward remnants. Several such untowards lying in wait made pause not definitely not a wizard.

Rushing the untowards away from the party caught unaware, definitely not a wizard needed not the aid of some guy nor anyone else despite outnumbering and circling.

Reeling as they recover the rest of the party with some guy’s support, someone else asks, “From when was this?”

Some guy smirks. “Th’fuck’s better than me.”

[First] [Previous] ~ 5 ~ [Next] [Last]

[anniesated]

Hii, YOU should read my book! It's all about trans witches, magical hrt, & the means of transition as an axis of control for those in power!

It's angsty, political, & filled with girls who WILL (i prommy) kiss other girls.

There's already 20K words available for Free on scribblehub, & AO3!

Wiccette

Kate transitioned with the help of a Goddess, one who let her grow and change in the peace of her magically protected grove. There was just

[writing-prompt-s]

When you die and appear before a goddess, you think she'll ask you to be a summoned hero (which you dread). Instead, she asks you to become a dark lord and build an evil empire.

[relia-robot-writes]

"...pardon?"

"Yeah, I really need the works on this one. Spiky black armor, volcano lair, orcs and goblins, the whole shebang."

You float in stunned silence. The goddess before you is enormous, taking up an infinite amount of space in this strange void. Her face is featureless, her wings and body glowing with divine light, but you got the impression that if she could light a cigarette, she would.

"Look, kid-"

"I'm forty-seven-"

She stops you with a look, which you wouldn't have thought would be possible without eyes, but it's surprisingly easy when her face is several stories tall. "Kid," she says, "the fact is, my world is in a pretty stagnant position. We're lousy with destined heroes, but they don't have anything to do, so they end up bullying dragons and trying to bother the Dark Gods, which it turns out are also me. It's tremendously distracting when one adventurer is trying to kill you while his girlfriend is begging for your divine protection. Frankly, I need a break."

"You want me to build up an evil empire because you're overworked?"

She curls one mighty finger and claps you on the back. "Now you've got it! I'll make sure you've got some local help, but really I just need you to get the forces of darkness organized down there. Its a mess, I tell ya, they need some real evil leadership."

"...how evil are we talking, here?"

"Eh," she waggles her enormous hand in front of you, "you know. Enough to be scary, not enough to cause the forces of light to make me come in and smite you. Do something flashy, sack a town here and there, maybe cook up a dark ritual or something a hero can stop without actually killing you. I don't care if you're a soft touch, but you keep that on the down-low, yeah? I want these adventurers scared enough of you that they maybe do some actual sidequesting first."

You spend a moment in thought. "Does it have to be spiky armor?"

"Well, I just assumed... listen, you want the high heels and latex look, it's all yours. You do you."

"Sold!"

[okaywolf]

working on the fiction index, come hang

twitch.tv/okay_wolf

[okaywolf]

This adventurer is only lucky when it counts.

Written to the prompt by @makingupadventurers — This adventurer is only lucky when it counts.

You can download the first four instalments of Some Guy Party as 8-page printable zines on my itch.

Originally posted on cohost on September 2nd, 2024.

[First] [Previous] ~ 4 ~ [Next] [Last]

Not far from the county governing body, a former wetland now wetland once more swamps the former county governing body. With no other jobs of particular interest to take up, the party concedes to participating in the years-going effort to retrieve materials from the flooded body. They’re afforded a wide boat that rides high on the water and skims over shallows. While shifting the boat’s load, the sizeable stone dropper manages to dip one side low enough to take on water.

At camp—a proper long-term set up, complete with cook house—one tells the sizeable stone dropper not to beat himself up too much about it. “At least you didn’t sink the thing.”

“Might not I tomorrow?” he bellyached into the belly-satisfying meal provided by the effort’s cook.

One pats the sizeable stone dropper’s shoulder. “Tomorrow might not you in the boat?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For the floors above water, with a building emptied of its contents and accoutrement, plaster was to be knocked out to pull timbers. The sizeable stone dropper drops the cloth protecting his face from plaster dust to drink water, the resulting coughing fit has him tumble between wall-less timbers into the swamp.

At camp—a proper long-term set up, complete with firepit burning day and night—one stamps out embers that burst from damp wood and land too near the former damp sizeable stone dropper sitting too near the fire. “Could have been worse.”

“Could have?” his tremulous of cold voice turns credulous of ‘this is better, you mean that?’.

One puts an arm across the sizeable stone dropper’s shoulders. “Could have been shallows.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The distance from above water to boat was aided by a pulley system. A heavy timber would be securely affixed and slowly lowered. Having near sunk the boat and having struggled with plaster dust, the sizeable stone dropper is on pulley duty when the affixed timber tumbles prematurely. His borrowed leather gloves oversized catch in the pulleys before his hands can, halting the timber’s fall onto one on the boat below.

At camp—a proper long-term set up, complete with curative tent—one studies the remarkable lack of injury to the sizeable stone dropper’s hands and applies salve regardless. “Foolish of you.”

“Would been worse of you if I’d not,” he countered, once again recounting which of the two had been in peril.

“I am of mind.” One’s voice, for all its surety, is a little thin from said peril’s scare.

“If you’re of mind, then take care of oneself.”

One laughs. “Of mind of yourself.”

[First] [Previous] ~ 4 ~ [Next] [Last]

[okaywolf]

Adventurer who knows that the best lie is built around a grain of truth.

Written to the prompt by @makingupadventurers — 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.

[First] [Previous] ~ 3 ~ [Next] [Last]

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…”

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