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

by John P. Logsdon

  “I’m so happy for you, lad,” Whizzfiddle said as they moved off to meet with Tunere.

  Whizzfiddle explained what had happened with Zel and Bekner, which seemed to greatly please Orophin. It was clear that the troop had grown close through their shared ordeal. They were irrevocably connected now. Trials had a way of sewing binds, even amongst those who would otherwise loathe each other’s company.

  The three shared a small meal and Orophin told Whizzfiddle how he had gotten his illustrious self back.

  “His problem,” Tunere said, “was that he had forgotten what it meant to be an elf.”

  “Arrogance?”

  “The love of nature and natural things,” Orophin replied.

  “But—”

  “So,” Tunere interrupted before Whizzfiddle could finish his comment, “I set in place a situation where one of my does was in need of aid.”

  Whizzfiddle was surprised. “You purposefully injured a deer?”

  “Of course not,” Tunere responded heatedly. “What kind of elf would I be had I done that?”

  “My apologies.”

  “I simply allowed nature to take its course.”

  Whizzfiddle raised an eyebrow.

  Tunere sighed. “I threw a stick and the deer chased it, tripped over a stack of logs and cut its leg.”

  “They chase sticks?”

  “Ours do,” Tunere said. “Anyway, the poor thing had a gashing wound.”

  “When I saw the fallen doe,” Orophin jumped in, “I felt my blood flow. Its eyes were in a state of terror.”

  The elf paused and took a deep breath.

  “That little deer brought me back to who I was. She saved me.”

  The elf pointed toward the field where a deer was hopping and playing amongst the lilies.

  “It wasn’t until I had her wound cleaned and patched that I noticed that I had returned to my former self.”

  They finished their meal and Whizzfiddle said his goodbyes, reminding Orophin of the timetable.

  PLAYING WITH ROCKS

  The place that Pugz called home was exactly where you would expect a giant to live. It was sparse, unappealing, and covered with boulders. The only redeeming quality that Whizzfiddle could make out was a lone tree that sat in the middle of the field. No doubt this served as Pugz’s lavatory.

  “You throw rock now,” Pugz hollered as Whizzfiddle rounded the corner of the giant’s den.

  Gungren was too short to peer over the “rock” that Pugz was pointing at, much less lift it. Instead, Gungren was sitting and reading one of his books.

  “How are things moving along?” Whizzfiddle said.

  Gungren scrambled to his feet, stuffing the book into his pack and adjusting his hat. Then he picked up his staff and headed toward Whizzfiddle and Pugz.

  “He no throw rock,” said Pugz.

  “We go now?” Gungren said.

  Whizzfiddle frowned.

  “Gungren, you are not keeping up your end of the bargain.”

  “I in Afterlife,” Gungren said. “I not say I do more than that.”

  Whizzfiddle thought back. Damn. Gungren was going to make a good wizard someday.

  “Well,” Whizzfiddle said. “I’m amending the deal then.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I just did, little man. Either you accept the training as given or you’ll not be my apprentice.”

  “That not fair.”

  “Many things in life aren’t fair, Gungren.”

  Gungren threw down his bag and approached the boulder. It wouldn’t even budge. He grunted and pushed until his feet slid out from under him, making tracks in the dirt.

  “Maybe a smaller one to start, eh Pugz?”

  “Yeah, that good plan.” Pugz pointed to another. “You throw that one.”

  Gungren pulled himself up and brushed off his robe. He strode over to the next rock and was able to launch it a good three feet. Then he dropped into the dirt, looking exhausted.

  “That it?” Pugz said. “You no giant! You an embr...embared—”

  “Embarrassment,” Whizzfiddle aided.

  “That the one,” Pugz said pointing at Whizzfiddle.

  The fact was that a giant only did giant-like things when it was angry. Just having him pick up a rock and throw it wouldn’t do much. Gungren had to get truly angry.

  “I guess that’s that then,” Whizzfiddle said. “You tried, Gungren. Sort of.”

  “Good,” Gungren said. “We go now?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Whizzfiddle said. “I can’t take on an apprentice with such a low work ethic.”

  “You lazy,” Gungren said in shock. “You say all wizards is lazy!”

  “True, true,” Whizzfiddle replied, “but I had to earn my right to be lazy. There was a time when I had to,” he shuddered, “work very hard. I toiled for my master as he taught me the wizard’s way, and many apprentices toil incessantly in search of their power source. I was one of the lucky ones, yes, but you may not be.”

  “What you mean?”

  “You don’t know your essence yet, Gungren. It could take you a hundred years to find out where you get your power. You may even die before you ever learn what it is.” He squatted down and placed a hand on the little giant’s shoulder. “That means you will be my apprentice until the day you die, if you don’t find your source, and that means you’ll never once, in all that time, cast a single spell.”

  “I could find it sooner,” Gungren said sternly. “I work hard to find.”

  Whizzfiddle laughed and rose back up.

  “Hard to believe that you’ll work hard when you give up in the face of opposition right here, my dinky buddy.” He turned to Pugz. “Sorry, Pugz, I had great hopes for this one.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “No? Well, you tried your best.”

  “Not really.”

  “Hmmm,” Whizzfiddle scratched his beard and then shrugged. “Oh well. Good luck to you, Gungren. I’m sure someone will send you back to town at some point, seeing that you do have potential.”

  “What? You gonna leave me here?”

  “He say you stay,” Pugz said, knocking Gungren on his butt. “Then you stay.”

  Gungren got up and charged at the giant, hitting him hard in the shin. To Whizzfiddle’s surprise, Pugz howled in agony. It seemed that giants knew where the soft spots were on other giants. This didn’t go over very well with Pugz, though. The real giant picked up the tiny one and launched him like he would a small rock.

  Whizzfiddle cringed as he watched Gungren zoom through the air in a very high arc.

  After what seemed an eternity, the tiny giant landed with a poof on a huge mound of soft dirt. Everything went quiet, aside from Pugz rubbing his shin and whimpering. Then a figure stirred in the dust.

  Gungren was alive, in an Afterlife-manner-of-speaking.

  As the dust cleared, Whizzfiddle noted that Gungren had a mouthful of dirt and a boulder easily twice his size resting neatly over his head. This was odd since there were no boulders over where the dunes were. With a grunt the rock flew from Gungren’s hands, a bit of light trailing in its wake, and it was heading directly toward Pugz.

  Thump, the rock seemed to say as it met Pugz’s massive noggin.

  Pugz groaned and then fell over. It didn’t knock him out, per se, but he looked a bit dazed. Whizzfiddle made a mental note that a head shot to a giant was not as effective as a nice rap to the shin.

  A blink later, Gungren was standing right next to him, looking angry.

  “How did you...” Whizzfiddle started and then stopped. “The dirt.”

  “Whuh?” Gungren said, spitting.

  “It’s the dirt, Gungren. You’ve found your essence already!”

  “I dithd,” Gungren mumbled as he drooled dirt.

  “Ha!” Whizzfiddle answered in Croomplattian fashion. “I fear that there is more to you than is clear yet, but I also fear that you’re not going to be turning back into a proper giant anytime soon.”


  Pugz raised his head. He looked at Gungren and smiled.

  “You pass,” he said and then the lights went out.

  “Now we go?”

  Whizzfiddle shrugged.

  “I suppose we’ve no other option, my young...apprentice.” Gungren’s grin was as big as Pugz’s had been. “We have a timetable to keep.”

  “What about him?” Gungren said.

  “He’ll be fine,” Whizzfiddle said. “You of all people should know what a giant’s head can withstand. And we’re in the Afterlife so it’s not like he could die any further than he already has. Besides,” he glanced at the cracked rock, “it looks like the boulder took the dragon’s share of the damage.”

  TAMING OF A DRAGON

  Yultza was standing at the dragon’s pass when Whizzfiddle and Gungren arrived. She stepped in the way of the gate as they approached.

  Whizzfiddle looked over the castle and its grounds. It was enormous. No, enormous was too small a word to describe the place. Even a gorgan would feel dwarfed here. The top of the castle’s snow-tipped points disappeared into the clouds. Only in the Afterlife could such a structure even exist.

  Dragons, he thought with a shake of his head.

  “Good afternoon, Yultza,” Whizzfiddle said. “We are here to see Winchester.”

  “He is busy at this time,” she replied firmly.

  “That’s all and well, but we have a time—”

  “You will need to wait,” Yultza said, crossing her arms.

  Gungren walked up to her and lifted her off the ground and moved her into the grass. She slammed fist after fist at the back of his head, but only accomplished bruising her hands. He might come in handy after all, thought Whizzfiddle.

  “Don’t worry,” Whizzfiddle said to her. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Dragons were known for their massive jewel and gold filled caves. Many slept on their hoard for years, luxuriating in the gleam of treasures that they could never actually spend, even if they had the gumption. But there were no jewels as far as Whizzfiddle could see. He assumed they were hidden in some underground labyrinth.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  There was no response. He tried again a few times, raising his voice magically with each attempt.

  “Whizzfiddle?” Winchester said, peeking out from a room at the top of the stairs.

  “Unless you know of some other elderly wizard…” He stopped and remembered that the Afterlife was full of geriatric sorcerers. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Time to go already then?” Winchester said.

  “Just about. You know how time moves more quickly in the real world.”

  “Valid,” Winchester said.

  “Come back, lover,” a booming voice said from behind Winchester.

  Try as he might, Whizzfiddle could not see into the room and he wasn’t about to climb all those stairs.

  “I’ll be back shortly, my dear,” Winchester called over his shoulder. “You just rest up until I return, yes?”

  Winchester adjusted his little red velvet robe and pulled out a pipe. He patted his jacket for a match and shrugged, slipping the pipe back in place.

  “I do apologize for the interruption,” Whizzfiddle said. “I had not expected you two would be, well, compatible.”

  Winchester laughed and leaned on one of the banister rails.

  “I have my ways of pleasing the ladies,” he said.

  Whizzfiddle had little choice other than to be impressed. How a lizard could tame a full-sized dragon was baffling. Whizzfiddle tipped his proverbial hat to the small creature.

  Small creature?

  “Wait,” Whizzfiddle said. “You didn’t change back?”

  “Obviously,” Winchester replied. “I did so try, but my mind wouldn’t budge.”

  With both Winchester and Gungren not being returned to their normal stature, Whizzfiddle’s chances at winning this case was nil.

  “I see,” Whizzfiddle said finally. “I would have assumed that your, um, equipment would have come up, well…short, and that would have made you want to return to your dragon status.”

  “You humans are so entrapped by size-envy. After a thousand years of life yourself, even you should know that size doesn’t matter.”

  “Not as much as being perpetually in my six-hundreds does, true.”

  “There you go,” Winchester said smugly.

  “Bring back the camera, lover,” came the dragon’s voice again. “I haven’t felt this sexy in a long time!”

  “Ah hah!” Whizzfiddle laughed. “You’re merely taking pictures of her.”

  Winchester slumped and began tapping the rail.

  “I would imagine she’s, what,” Whizzfiddle said, “one hundred feet long, or more? And with you not even a foot long it’s not difficult to do the math. I mean it’s not like you vibrate or anything. Or do you?”

  Winchester just crossed his arms.

  “It’s all making sense now,” Whizzfiddle said while leaning on his walking staff.

  “What’s making sense?”

  “Why you came along with us. You didn’t care about the rest of the troop. You just needed pictures of a dragon for your silly magazine.”

  “That’s not true. I have grown rather fond of a few of them and so I genuinely wanted to help. And why does everyone keep calling it a silly magazine? It’s not silly. Dirty, sure. Silly? Never. Well, maybe if I put a jokes section in or something.” The lizard paused. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

  “What would you have done had we not come to the Afterlife? It’s not like there are dragons all over the place…” Whizzfiddle stopped and looked up at Winchester. “Oh no, you wouldn’t have!”

  Winchester shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Yeah, but Isis? Even you can’t think she’s attractive.”

  “I needed a dragon. It’s a stretch, sure, but she’s close enough.”

  Whizzfiddle had only seen Isis once. Her full name was Isickly Kandoop and she lived in a cave deep in the woods of Kek. The poor thing was the meekest dragon he had ever met. She had one eye; a missing front leg; a full row of non-pointy teeth, which made her a herbivore; a set of wings so small that she was incapable of flying; and she couldn’t breathe fire. Actually, her breath was rather minty. On top of all this, she was so sweet that not a single knight ever raised a sword against her when sent to do so.

  “Now,” Winchester said, “if you’ll leave me alone with my dear Zudania for say another hour or so, I’ll keep my word to you and will meet you at the gate. I do have a magazine to publish, you know?”

  Whizzfiddle looked up in shock. Zudania?

  Zudania Pontzontonia was the longest living dragon in the known histories of Ononokin. She had defeated scores of knights and soldiers of fortune. It was only after her ten-thousandth year that she accepted a slot in the Afterlife. It was said that she was secure in that no other dragon would break her survival record any time soon.

  Having her picture in PlayDragon would sell thousands of copies on legend alone.

  “We leave tonight, Winchester.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  THE HOMECOMING

  The days were running together for Treneth.

  All his plans were falling apart, the guild seemed stronger because of him, but more in an in-spite of him sort of way. His ruse had done little more than strengthen their binds against him. They had even accepted Ibork back into their fold.

  Worse, Treneth had taken a sudden liking for wine. After a long day’s toil in the ostrich field, Treneth had found he needed some way to relax. It turned out that wine was good for that.

  It was in his DNA. His father was quite renowned for his drinking prowess.

  He was on his fifth glass when someone knocked at his door.

  “Rimpertuz?” He said as his former apprentice stood before him. “You’ve come back?”

  “Mistress Muppy sent me to fetch you, sir,” he said. “Master Whizzfiddle and his questi
ng crew has returned and they are about to hold session.”

  Treneth instantly sobered as his glass dropped to the floor.

  A CASE PRESENTED

  Whizzfiddle was finishing up his telling of the wonders he had seen in the Afterlife when Treneth burst through the door shouting that he had arrived. Whizzfiddle raised an eyebrow at how disheveled Treneth looked.

  “Why was I not told we were having a council meeting?” Treneth demanded.

  “I believe you were summoned,” Muppy said, patting the chair next to her where Rimpertuz sat. “Were you not?”

  “Well, yes,” Treneth replied. “I, uh—”

  “Please move to the prosecutor’s chair, Treneth,” Muppy said. “We would like to get on with this…” she shook her head, “…trial.”

  Whizzfiddle found the scene somewhat bittersweet. He had learned of Treneth’s attempt at a power play with the council and could now see what it had done to the man. Inside he wanted to feel happy that Treneth was getting his just reward, but he just couldn’t do it. Deserved or not, Treneth was still his former apprentice.

  “What’s with the orc and the lizard?” Treneth asked.

  “As to that,” Whizzfiddle replied, “the lizard is a former dragon who was changed along with the rest of the group.”

  “Ah,” Treneth replied. “He seems to still be a lizard to me, unless dragons now offer a smaller variety. This case appears closed.”

  “Sorry, Treneth,” Whizzfiddle answered, scratching his beard, “the fact is that he was not one of the signers of the document.”

  Treneth fumbled through the papers. “He is?”

  “I am Winchester Hargrath Junior the third.”

  “The third?” Zotrinder said.

  “I believe he said he was junior the third,” Ibork corrected.

  Winchester stood a little taller, possibly a quarter of an inch. His name clearly preceded him. After what Whizzfiddle witnessed with Zudania, his own respect for the lizard had doubled.

  “And the orc?” Treneth said.

  “Also irrelevant,” Whizzfiddle said. “No offense, dear,” he added quickly. “Her name is Yultza and she is a, um, well—”