“The Demihumans Three Meet Their Match,” by Christopher Jacobsmeyer

Aug 20th, 2009 | By | Category: Prose

The trio of adventurers walked down the woodland path, still an hour away from their scheduled stop at The Screaming Wench. They were looking forward to tankards of Nexik’s best.

They called themselves the Demihumans Three: Wild Weasel (halfling thief), Agnon (dwarven cleric), and Yerond (elven fighter). They were in a good mood, having just successfully dealt with the latest string of smugglings.

“Me stomach’s growlin’, and me feet are sore,” complained Agnon.

“Quit yer bellyachin’, McBelcher. We’ll be there soon enough,” Wild spouted.

Yerond cracked a smile. The antics of his two companions never ceased to entertain him.

Suddenly, a portal materialized in front of them. An oddly dressed man stumbled through, wearing a black suit of some kind. He looked strange in the fact that he had big ears, and he sported a stupid grin. “A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls.”

“Huh?” Wild gaped at the oddity before him.

“Stay on guard, my friends,” Yerond warned. “He’s not to my liking.”

“I was raised in the West. The west of Texas. It’s pretty close to California. In more ways than Washington, D.C., is close to California,” the stranger replied.

“And ye say that I drink too much. Someone’s cast a spell of insanity on this feller,” Agnon guessed.

“That god of yours – Pelorwhatshisname – works in mysterious ways,” Wild remarked sarcastically.

The stranger continued his ramblings. “Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?”

Yerond stared quizzically at him. “Do you have any other words of wisdom to impart, old one?”

The man eagerly replied, “What I am against is quotas. I am against hard quotas, quotas they basically delineate based upon whatever. However they delineate, quotas, I think, vulcanize society. So I don’t know how that fits into what everybody else is saying, their relative positions, but that’s my position.”

“Oh, ye just had to go and get him started again, didn’t ye?” Wild retorted angrily.

“Let him speak!” Agnon insisted. “Only Pelor knows what might be gleaned from listening to this gentleman.”

The smile on the stranger grew bigger, if that was even possible. “It’s clearly a budget. It’s got a lot of numbers in it.”

“Gentleman?” Wild cocked an eye at Agnon. “More like a ravin’ loony.”

The man approached Wild, arms flailing in eagerness. “One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Governor, and that one word is ‘to be prepared’.”

“Don’t ye be gettin’ started on me, you suited freak!” Wild pushed the stranger away from him and into the path of Yerond.

“Just because I’m the one wielding dual blades doesn’t mean that I have to be the designated speaker,” Yerond politely reminded the halfling.

“Bugger it. Deal with him anyway.”

Before they knew it, the man started running circles around them, spewing lines such as “If you’re sick and tired of the politics of cynicism and polls and principles, come and join this campaign”, “We must all hear the universal call to like your neighbor like you like to be liked yourself”, and “The most important job is not to be Governor, or First Lady in my case.”

Finally, the dwarf had enough. He reached out and grabbed the stranger and lifted him up with both arms. Before anyone could protest, Agnon heaved him back into the portal from whence he came. As he disappeared, the trio heard one last thing from him: “If people can judge me on the company I keep, they would judge me with keeping really good company with Laura.”

Wild smirked. “Looks like ye scared him off with yer stink, McBelcher!”

“Why you..!” Agnon cursed, and started pursuing the wily halfling down the path.

Toward the Wench. Yerond smiled. It was good to be returning home.


Introverted family man with an appreciation of giant space hamsters and a lack of respect for all other four-legged mammals.   ‘Tis no wonder that he wakes up every morning with coughed up furballs on his feet.   Wife often wonders how he became a family man in the first place.   Giant space hamsters wonder how he became introverted.

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