Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin)

by John P. Logsdon

  “I don’t see no problem,” replied Eyepatch.

  “No? I shall help you spot it then. It’s basic mathematics, really. An issue of numbers. You see, there are only four of you while there are five of us. On top of that, one of mine is capable of throwing you fully across the room, which makes him a multiplier of sorts.”

  “Look at me shaking, wizard,” Eyepatch said with a sneer.

  Bekner cleared his throat.

  Each of the villains looked back and then up, and then up a little more. Seeing the full size of Bekner would be convincing to most anyone to be on his best behavior.

  “Now,” Whizzfiddle said, plucking his flask back from Eyepatch, “we were muscled out of Aopow Station because we weren’t prepared.” He took a deep pull and felt the power fill his veins. He thought that it may be a good idea to have the power flowing for the rest of this little adventure, just in case. “But,” he continued, “now we’re tired and hungry and a little fed up with the run of bad luck we’ve been having. I’d have to say that a little knocking of heads might be exactly the thing we need to bring us back to life. What do you think, Zel?”

  Zel was trembling and there seemed to be the beginnings of a damp area at the base of his trousers, but he stood tall.

  “I fe...feel very unhappy right n...now,” Zel answered.

  “Well, look at that,” Whizzfiddle rested his hand on Eyepatch’s shoulder. “I believe you’ve got our knight so angry that he can barely talk.”

  “Not worried about the knight,” Eyepatch said.

  Orophin moved over to Zel and stood a bit in front of him. “I’ll keep him at bay,” he said. “I wouldn’t want the knight to do anything rash before I have my fun with you boys.”

  Bekner, Zel, Gungren, and Whizzfiddle raised their eyebrows.

  “Not worried about the elf either,” Eyepatch said. Then he seemed to think better of it. “Okay, I’m a little worried about what his idea of fun is.”

  Whizzfiddle noted that all of the assailants had eyes firmly set on Bekner. Understandable since the largest of the four barely crested the dwarf’s chest. Plus, everyone knew the heart of a dwarf.

  “I see you’re worried about the wrong one,” Whizzfiddle said jovially. “He can’t throw you across the room. Well, maybe he could, but I would be more concerned over my smaller comrade, if I were you.”

  Just then, Gungren grabbed one of the men by his jacket and lifted him cleanly off the floor. The man grunted a curse. Gungren threw him over a few tables and then sunk an elbow into the next thug’s stomach, doubling him over and bringing him face to face with the dinky giant.

  “Hello,” Gungren said and then head-butted him.

  Eyepatch tried to squirm away, but Bekner snaked out a hand and grabbed him by the noggin, lifted him up, and punched him squarely in the nose. More accurately, the punch was aimed at Eyepatch’s nose but encompassed his entire face.

  The last roughneck took a swing at Orophin. The elf ducked and the punch caught the comatose Zel, knocking him from his feet. Orophin snapped a perfectly timed fist to the attacker’s groin area, causing the man to shriek and double over.

  Whizzfiddle shouted a spell.

  Time seemed to stand still as blue light shot from the tip of his wand, engulfing all of the bad guys, even pulling the one Gungren had thrown back. They writhed and groaned as the magic twisted them in a tornado-like fury. After he felt that they had had enough, he released them and they crashed to the floor, unconscious.

  “We should be going,” Whizzfiddle said, after a few moments. “Station watch will be here any minute.”

  “Already here,” a man in a bright red uniform said. “You do know that destructive magic is not allowed in Wimat Station?”

  “I know that it is allowable as a means of defense, sir. And if you’d be so kind as to look around you, you’ll see that I was in need of defense.”

  The officer looked about, taking in the five bodies on the ground. He motioned his men to action and then each grabbed a man and started cuffing them.

  “No, wait,” Orophin said, taking Zel away from one of the officers. “He’s with us. They, uh, caught him by surprise.”

  “Take ‘em away, boys,” the officer said. “I’ll catch up to you in a minute.” He turned his attention to Whizzfiddle. “Listen, wizard, from the looks of your own goons I don’t think you needed to use that magic. I have a mind to haul you down to the station for re-education.” Bekner turned and gazed down at the man. “However,” the officer squeaked, clearly remembering that he’d just told his men to leave the scene, “seeing as that it was in self-defense and all, I’ll let it slide this time.”

  “Very kind of you, sir,” Whizzfiddle said. “Once we finish our meals we’ll be on our way and out of your jurisdiction.”

  “Yes,” the officer said, backing away. “Yes, you do that.”

  A MAGAZINE AT WORK

  Filming crawled on as Winchester did all he could to work Tazdoreena into a sensual rage.

  The camera just didn’t love her.

  They’d tried multiple outfits, fans, lighting effects, and Blerg even stood in a few of the pictures. He was fully clothed and trying to look like a bouncer at a club. It was to give that dancer being protected visage. It failed, mostly, but with his budget and time-to-market requirement, Winchester forced himself to be satisfied.

  Three hours of snapping was all he could do before calling a halt to the shoot.

  “That’s a wrap,” Winchester said. “We should have enough to go on. With luck we can pull some decent shots for the spread. Oknot, take these rolls to development and put a rush on it. Thank you, Tazdoreena,” he added and then slunk off to his office.

  It would be a couple more hours before he got a peek at the photos so he gave another look at the layout.

  The page was not as clean and crisp as his miniaturized dragon-brain wanted. He was a visionary, not a designer. Maybe after the first issue was put out, he would be able to hire someone with a better eye for design.

  He leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. What he needed was a little time with one of his own. Not a lizard, but a dragon. A large female beast that he could ravish with his critical eye. Preferably mature so that she would be properly experienced.

  “Mister Hargrath?”

  Winchester opened his eyes and saw Qayla standing at his door. He thought certain she had used his name, and did she really say “mister?”

  “Yes, Qayla?”

  She looked at her feet. “I want maybe you photo me for book.”

  Oh boy.

  “Oh?”

  “Heard about famous thing.”

  Winchester sat dumbfounded. She was a sweet woman, for an ogre. But, alas, she was an ogre.

  He would have to turn on that dragon charm and dissuade her somehow.

  “Come take a look at the layout, Qayla,” he said, motioning her in. “What do you think?”

  “Cemetery off.”

  “What? Oh! Symmetry.” He smiled and then looked back at the page. “Is it?”

  “Yep,” she said and then grabbed at his markers and started drawing on the page. “Put line here and color thing here.”

  Winchester gasped as the page came to life. With just the couple of tweaks Qayla had done, she had already improved the layout ten fold.

  “Qayla,” he said, staring at the page, “I can’t believe it. You’ve an eye for design!”

  “I do?”

  “Oh yes,” Winchester affirmed, staring at the page. “I’ve got a better job for you than modeling.”

  “You do?”

  “I do, my dear,” he said, “I do indeed!”

  He was rubbing his hands together as Blerg walked in.

  “One moment, Blerg,” Winchester said. “Qayla, pull up a chair and go through this entire layout. Make any adjustments you think will fit best and we’ll have a magazine that will shine.”

  “So, you need me to make it look good?”

  “Yes, yes. O
h, yes.”

  “I be model in book?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, that,” he cleared his throat. “It’s just that, you see, well, there is a—”

  She gently placed the marker back on the table. “If I no model, I no do design.”

  “But Qayla, you’d be listed as the designer of the publication.” Hers was a visage of confusion. “I mean book,” Winchester corrected. “You’ll be listed as the designer of the book.”

  She nodded.

  “Your name will be shown in the credits and everything. There will be magazine offers for your design skills. You’ll have money and fame.”

  She seemed thoughtful. It was hard to tell with an ogre, though. It could have been gas.

  After a few moments, her eyes uncrossed.

  “No,” she said softly. “Both or none.”

  The layout of the magazine was centered around the photos of one lady. It would take a lot of work to redo the pages to support more than one model. Worse yet, where Tazdoreena was barely passable, Qayla was not passable at all.

  Still, he had to think of the success of the magazine over all else, even if that meant sacrificing design.

  “My equal that pays me,” Blerg said, “we talk now.”

  “Sure, Blerg, sure,” Winchester said, waving. “In a few minutes.”

  “No,” he said, “now. Qayla, out a minute.” Blerg didn’t wait for a response. He shuffled Qayla out of the room and then turned the lock on the door.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Blerg?”

  “You vision need bigger.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You think orc all sexy and none else,” Blerg said.

  “Dragons, too, of course.”

  “What?”

  “I think orcs and dragons are sexy,” Winchester said. “Not just orcs.”

  “Yeah, well, ogre and troll sexy to some and there more ogre and troll than orc and dragon. Even vampire and werewolf sexy to some…can’t say why though.”

  “I don’t follow you, Blerg.”

  “Market bigger than orc and dragon. You need think bigger.”

  How could bringing non-orcs and non-dragons in make for better marketing?

  He opened his mouth to retort and then stopped.

  Of course!

  Why hadn’t he seen this before? Because he was a dragon, that’s why.

  Dragons all thought that orcs and dragons were attractive, but the other races, particularly humans, were an abomination to the visual plain. For the sake of PlayDragon, Winchester had no choice but to accept that a larger demographic meant higher returns.

  Between Qayla and Blerg, Winchester had just found a new respect for ogres.

  “Blerg,” Winchester said, astonished, “you’re a genius.”

  Blerg appeared aware of this fact. He unlatched the door and called Qayla back in.

  “Qayla,” Winchester said, “it’ll take a number of hours and a lot of hard work, but I need you to redo the entire layout of PlayDragon. We’re going to have multiple models, including you!”

  “We is?”

  “You can thank our good friend, Blerg.”

  Qayla edged up next to Blerg. “I not know what you say, but I like that you say it.”

  “What go on in here?” Patty said as she burst into the room, looking intently at Qayla and Blerg. “I tell you Qayla before about funny stuff and having self-steamer!”

  “Patty,” Winchester said, “it’s all fine. Qayla is going to work on the layout of PlayDragon. She has quite an eye for arrangement.”

  “And?” Qayla and Blerg said together.

  “Oh, right, and she’s also going to be one of the models in the publication. Erm, I mean book.”

  Patty looked flabbergasted. “You is?”

  Qayla nodded.

  “But what about self-steamer?”

  “Patty,” Winchester said, “Qayla has self-stea...self-esteem. She is proud of her body. She has confidence.”

  “That right,” Qayla said, drawing herself up.

  “But men look at pictures with no good thought.”

  “Some will admire the artistic beauty of the nude female,” Winchester attempted.

  Patty smirked and waggled a finger at Winchester. “More like horny man look at naughty nudey.”

  “Well—”

  “She right,” Qayla said, stopping Winchester. “But I okay with it. I like idea of man being stupid and me have power on him.”

  “Power?” they all replied.

  “Man think he have power, yeah? But when woman sexy on him his brain not work same.” She ran a hand across Blerg’s face. He turned a nice shade of green, which was the color ogres subscribed to for blushing. The poor oaf took on an expression of a dullard. “See?”

  Winchester did. He had seen the effect a number of times on friends and contacts. While he loved the ladies, likely more than any healthy male should, he was never affected in this way by them. In fact, it was the fairer sex that tended to melt in his presence.

  Oknot passed the door and looked inside.

  “There you is,” he said as he walked up to Patty. “I look every place. You not clean up set like you say you was gonna. This place got to be clean, yeah? How that happen if you not do your work?”

  Patty reached up and touched Oknot’s face. His coloring changed and his eyes went glassy.

  “You clean set for me while I talk here?”

  After a few blinks, Oknot nodded dumbly and walked back out.

  “See what I say?” Qayla said, smiling.

  Everyone stood silently for a few moments.

  Qayla had just put the company’s mission statement together, even if she didn’t know it.

  PlayDragon, where women use their sexy to take the man’s brain away.

  “I model, too,” Patty said suddenly.

  “No, no, no,” Winchester replied. “We barely have time to get things going with two models.”

  Patty took two steps and put her hand on Winchester’s face. He rolled his eyes at her. She looked confused.

  “It’s not magic, Patty,” he said. “Not every male you touch is going to fall into some mental stupor.”

  Patty looked down at him and furrowed her brow menacingly. She slammed her hands onto Winchester’s desk and brought her face within inches of his, her eyes threatening to set him aflame.

  “I model, too,” she growled.

  “As you wish,” he replied, feeling his brain switch off.

  STANDING UP, FALLING DOWN

  Rimpertuz strolled in a few minutes late. Treneth lifted an eyebrow, but his apprentice withheld his apology.

  “You realize you’re late?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Treneth’s other eyebrow joined the first. “Have you nothing to say?”

  “Nothing that I can think of,” Rimpertuz replied, and then added, “sir.”

  “Must we go through yet another round—”

  “Sir,” Rimpertuz interrupted, “I don’t mind that I am treated somewhat poorly at times. I am an apprentice. But what we did against the council chair was wrong in my estimation.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, well, Rimpertuz,” Treneth said, leaning back in his chair, “I do believe you are smitten with our dear Muppy.”

  Rimpertuz turned a shade of red and his eyes creased. “My dear Muppy.”

  It was the first time Treneth had ever seen Rimpertuz’s temper rise, and he did not find it appealing in the least.

  “Remember your place, my apprentice,” he said icily. “I could have you removed from the apprenticeship program and placed onto the next transport back to Kespers with a snap of my fingers.”

  “Do it, then,” Rimpertuz said.

  Treneth hesitated.

  “That’s what I thought,” Rimpertuz strolled over and sat down, stepping firmly on the creaky floorboard. “The bottom line is that I know what you did and therefore I can clear Muppy’s name and ha
ve you charged with conspiracy.”

  Treneth nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure whether to feel pride or pity for his apprentice. On the one hand, the man was showing some resolve and creativity; on the other hand, he was stepping into a form of independence that would make for an unpleasant master-student relationship.

  “I applaud you, Rimpertuz,” Treneth said after some time. “You are showing the shrewdness that I have tried to feed you over these years.”

  Rimpertuz sat up a little taller, and Treneth leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk.

  “Alas, you have still had relations with the council chair. So while you could bring evidence against me for having arranged the initial meeting, you would also be inditing yourself and your dear Muppy.”

  Rimpertuz slouched again.

  After a few moments, Rimpertuz stood up and pushed the chair back to its original position. He walked back to the door, avoiding the creaky floorboard, placed his hands behind his back, and took on his normal demeanor.

  “I apologize for being late, sir.”

  Treneth grinned.

  “Think nothing of it.”

  THE HOTEL

  Dakmenhem hadn’t changed much since the last time Whizzfiddle had been there.

  It was a city that sat near the coast and was quite near sea level. The cobblestone streets were filthy and the air was heavy with a dank and fishy odor. It flooded often during the rainy seasons. The city engineers had built dams and drainage systems that helped contain the worst of it, but there was only so much that could be pumped out when the waves came in.

  “What are those buildings?” Bekner asked.

  “They’re hotels,” Whizzfiddle answered. “Same as in the Upperworld, just a lot taller.”

  “What about those posts with the ropes connecting them?”

  “Those are TalkyThingy lines. People here are able to have conversations with each other without being in the same room.”

  “We do that in Restain,” Gungren said. “It called yelling.”

  That was an understatement. The last time Whizzfiddle had been in Restain he had nearly gone deaf. He had sworn never again to enter the land of the giants without a pair of earmuffs.