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

by John P. Logsdon

  “I’m a fashion model,” Yultza said.

  “Oh?” Muppy said, scooting to the edge of her chair. “What fashions?”

  “Skin,” Yultza replied.

  Treneth slammed the papers on the desk. “Then why are they here?”

  “Moral support, mostly,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “And character testimony,” Winchester added.

  Treneth laughed at this answer. He walked to the bench and went to place his hands on the rail, but withdrew them carefully. The council members seemed relieved.

  “We’re going to take the word of an orc and a...dragon on the wholesomeness of Whizzfiddle’s character?”

  Yultza stepped forward, but Zel pulled her back.

  “Pardon me, sir” Zel said. Everyone eyed him dubiously. “I have served alongside this dragon in battle and have seen him overcome being the most dangerous beast in the realm to being one of the smallest. Yet he still survives. Sully his name or reputation before me again and I, Sir Zelbedain Riddenhaur of Her Majesty’s Guard will be forced to challenge you to a duel.”

  Treneth was suddenly very pale.

  “As you can see,” Whizzfiddle spoke out of the side of his mouth, adding a wink, “the knight is back to his old self.”

  “As am I,” Orophin moved to stand next to Zel.

  “Aye,” Bekner said. “Me too, and it’s thanks to this wizard.”

  Treneth seemed defeated as he went back to his chair. He pulled out the papers again and studied them. Whizzfiddle waited, holding his breath.

  “Well, well, well,” Treneth said, the gleam coming back into his eye. “I see a knight, an elf, and a dwarf.” He looked up over them all. “I see no giant.”

  “I are here,” Gungren said.

  Everyone looked down.

  “I am here,” Whizzfiddle corrected.

  “I know you am. I can see you.” He turned to Orophin. “I think him getting too old.”

  Treneth marched back up to the council bench and slammed his hands on the rail. They all reared back in horror. Treneth laughed maniacally.

  “He did not succeed!”

  “No,” Whizzfiddle said. “Technically, I did not.”

  Gungren tugged his sleeve and pointed at the copy of the contract. Whizzfiddle handed his copy of the contract to Gungren wondering what his latest apprentice had in mind.

  “Thank you,” Treneth said to Whizzfiddle. “The law is the law, madam.”

  “My master done what the contract say to do,” said Gungren.

  Treneth scoffed. “We don’t need to listen to this. Surely the council knows the proper steps to take from here...wait, did you just call him master?”

  “I’ll allow it,” Muppy said.

  “Madam, you can’t seriously—”

  Muppy stood up, gavel in hand. “I said that I will allow it.”

  “Fine,” Treneth nearly spat. Then he turned back toward Gungren. “How is it, my three-foot friend, that our esteemed colleague has completed this quest to the letter of the contract?”

  “Four,” Gungren said.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Four feet, not three like you said. He done it because when you messed up first contract I fixed second one to say specially what it does.” Gungren grinned. “See, you not as good with details as you think.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You want me read it?”

  Treneth threw his arms in a wide circle. “By all means!”

  “Okay,” Gungren said and then cleared his throat. “It say, ‘Whizzfiddle will, one: help Orophin Telemnar transform back into an elf; two: help Zelbadain Riddenhaur transform back into a knight; three: help Bekner Axehammer transform back into a dwarf; and four: help Gungren transform back into a giant.’”

  “I’m now Bekner Diamondcrusher, by the way,” the dwarf was highly pleased with his new name.

  Treneth clapped his hands in mock applause. He then turned to the council.

  “I admit that I find it interesting that a giant...I mean former giant can read, but that does not mean the contract is fulfilled.”

  “It was fulfilled when we got to Kek, dumb man,” Gungren said.

  “Huh?” everyone replied. Okay, everyone but the Croomplatt twins who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of “huh” just yet, but they were close.

  “The contract don’t say Master Whizzfiddle will get us back to what we was. It say that he will help get us back to what we was.”

  Whizzfiddle got it. His new apprentice was cunning indeed! He patted Gungren on the back heartily. This one would be a pleasure to teach, he thought…and learn from, he added to his thought.

  The others gathered around Gungren as well.

  “That’s trivial,” Treneth shrieked. “You can’t possibly allow that to be admissible, madam.”

  “In your own words, Treneth,” Muppy said. “He must finish it to the letter of the contract. And, it appears, to the letter...he has.” She slammed her gavel on the podium. “I hereby move that this trial be marked as over and that Whizzfiddle be cleared of all charges. What say you, council?”

  “Agreed,” Ibork shouted.

  “Whatever,” Zotrinder said, picking at his cuticles.

  “Ha!”

  “No!” Treneth said and pulled his gloves off. “I cannot allow this!”

  Muppy jumped the rail as if she were in her early twenties. She had her gavel in hand, but Treneth was the quicker. He said a quick incantation and Muppy sank to the ground, looking dazed. Rimpertuz yelled and charged, but he too was no match for Treneth and he hit the ground also. Before the Croomplatts, Ibork, or Zotrinder could get their sources in place, Treneth cast a spell of binding on them.

  Whizzfiddle reached into his robe.

  “No, no, no,” Treneth said, turning on him. “Get your hand out of the robe, old man. You have ruined the better part of my adult life, Master Whizzfiddle.”

  “We’ve been through this before, Treneth—”

  “Silence!”

  Whizzfiddle complied. His former apprentice did look a bit crazed and he probably had a full stuffing of ostrich remnants under his nails.

  “I will have my satisfaction one way or the other,” Treneth said. “I will also finally learn what lies under that damnable hat of yours.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Of course not, you old goat. It’s about vengeance, but not knowing what the big secret is about what’s under your hat has been driving me crazy for years.”

  “Looks like you’ve finally arrived then.”

  “Silence, I said!”

  “Sir,” Zel spoke with the voice of authority, “I command that you cease this venture at once.”

  “Or what?”

  Zel withdrew his sword. “Or you will have to contend with my blade.”

  “And my bow,” Orophin added, stringing an arrow.

  “And my axe,” Bekner said.

  “Why does this sound so familiar?” Whizzfiddle whispered.

  Treneth merely waved his hand and all three weapons disappeared. It was to be expected. You just couldn’t defeat magic with threats. You had to do, not talk about doing.

  “Amp phmy pmagiph,” something said behind Whizzfiddle.

  They all looked back questioningly.

  “I phaid,” Gungren’s mouth was full of the floor’s dirt. “Amp phmy pmagiph.”

  “I believe he said his mapsquid,” Zotrinder mumbled as loudly as he could.

  “No,” Ibork mumbled back. “It sounded like fly sadkid.”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “Oh, but mapsquid does, yes?”

  “Ha,” the Croomplatt’s mumbled.

  Gungren looked at Whizzfiddle and winked. The wizard knew what he was up to and so he turned back to Treneth and shrugged, moving enough to block his apprentice from direct view. He slowly lifted his hat.

  “That’s it?” Treneth said. “Mood hair?”

  “It may not be a big deal to
you, Treneth. But to someone of my stature, it’s a big deal indeed.”

  “Unbelievable,” Treneth said. “I can’t believe I let that…you know, what? Never mind. Let you and your mood hair be damned. I’m done with you, old man. It’s time we finish this.”

  “I do agree, my dear Treneth,” Whizzfiddle said as the breeze of a small boulder passed overhead.

  Everyone that wasn’t frozen ducked. Everyone else’s eyes followed the trajectory of the zooming rock. Treneth threw up his hands in an attempt to ward off the impending doom.

  Thump.

  Whizzfiddle felt a mixture of elation and sorrow as Treneth hit the floor. Former apprentice or not, Whizzfiddle had never wished the man ill will. Not serious ill will anyway. A boulder launched from the likes of Gungren was ill indeed.

  Whizzfiddle resolved to drink an ale in the man’s honor.

  “I guess that ends that,” Muppy said as Treneth’s magic lifted from her.

  “Is he dead?” Ibork asked.

  “Him not dead,” Gungren answered. “Him just got knocked out.”

  Treneth groaned.

  “Oh,” Whizzfiddle said with relief.

  He then resolved to drink an ale in Gungren’s honor instead. One way or the other, he was determined to drink some ale.

  THE CELEBRATION

  After the trial had ended and Treneth had been taken away, everyone decided to head off to Whizzfiddle’s favorite tavern. This was an unprecedented event as the wizards generally avoided Gilly’s like the plague.

  Whizzfiddle had to admit that he was impressed with how Gungren had dropped a mostly hollowed out boulder on Treneth’s head. The rock had been just solid enough to knock him out so the council could magically bind him until authorities arrived.

  “He’ll be in prison for a good while,” Muppy said. “We’ll make sure there are no ostriches within eyesight of that pesky weasel, too.”

  “What about his nails?” Whizzfiddle asked. “He used to be able to pack enough dung under them to last a week.”

  “Already taken care of,” Muppy said, “Zotrinder cast a spell that blasted water and soap all over Treneth’s hands until they were clean enough to eat off. Not that I’d recommend it.”

  “May The Twelve forbid it,” Whizzfiddle agreed.

  “Zotrinder then went about giving him a nice, tight manicure.”

  “Impressive,” Whizzfiddle said with a nod toward Zotrinder.

  “I wore gloves, just in case.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes,” Muppy said as Rimpertuz handed her a fresh mug of ale. “It turns out that Treneth had been quite busy over the last few months. After he regained consciousness, he admitted to all sorts of wrongdoings, including his involvement with the pea pod shipment that went to Kek, and also to the fact that he’d used an elixir on me the night that we had dinner together.”

  “You had dinner with him?” said Whizzfiddle in shock.

  “It’s complicated,” she replied. “However, it did lead me to a newfound relationship with my dear Rimpertuz.”

  “Well, that’s nice, at least.”

  “Anyway,” she said after taking a sip of the ale, “now our dear Treneth is sharing a cell with that thief Jetherby.”

  “Curlang Jetherby?”

  “Yes, that’s right, and I have to say that Jetherby seemed quite pleased to have a new cellmate.”

  Whizzfiddle searched his memory. If he recalled correctly, Jetherby was once the king of thieves in the Underworld. Well, “queen” of thieves was more apropos. It was rather strange that he was doing business up in Rangmoon. To be fair, though, it was rather strange that Whizzfiddle had just come back from doing business in the Afterlife. Regardless, Treneth was probably going to learn a thing or two about himself during his prison stay.

  Whizzfiddle shrugged and walked over to Orophin, Zel, Bekner, and Winchester.

  “My good elf,” Whizzfiddle said, “I believe you have a mystery to clear up for us, now that this questing business is all done.”

  “Do I?”

  “Aye, lady...er, laddie,” Bekner said. “Who is it?”

  “I don’t think I want to know,” Zel said.

  “Me neither,” Gungren agreed.

  “Gungren, you must always embrace an air of curiosity—”

  “I like lady giants.”

  “No, not your curiosity about…” Whizzfiddle started. “Look, I meant you need to be curious about mysteries!”

  “Oh, that okay, then.”

  “I, for one, have my money on it being Zel,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “I told you before that it wasn’t the knight,” Orophin said and then turned to Zel. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Zel said, looking relieved.

  “Well then?”

  “It was Winchester,” Orophin declared.

  “Interesting.”

  “I knew it all along,” the lizard said with a smile. “Face it, people, I’m irresistible. Sadly, I’m also a lady’s lizard. Sorry, Orophin.”

  “It’s okay,” the elf replied. “Like I said, it was you. I think now I will seek out one of my own kind.”

  “Gay?” Bekner said.

  “Of course someone gay, Bekner. What I meant, though, was that I would search for another elf.”

  “Should be easy to find a gay elf,” said Bekner.

  “I would imagine a real challenge would be to find a straight one,” Zel replied.

  “It’s probably a wise move,” Winchester piped up before Orophin could start his arguments. “Obviously humans and dwarfs are too insensitive to consider as viable partners.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Orophin responded.

  “If you’re willing, I could use your help for my next publication.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it will be a fellow-to-fellow magazine. I’m planning to call it PlayElf.”

  The partying went on until the wee hours, but eventually all good things must end. Everyone had to get back to their lives, their people, and in the case of Winchester and Yultza, PlayDragon.

  By the time Whizzfiddle and Gungren had arrived at the house, it was nearly morning.

  The elderly wizard couldn’t believe his eyes. The grounds on his property looked immaculate. The siding of his fine abode shined like it hadn’t in years.

  Sander was out giving orders to a group that appeared barely awake.

  “Sander,” Whizzfiddle said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Praise The Twelve that you’re back, sir!”

  “The place looks amazing. I’m almost sad to have returned.”

  Sander called out to everyone. One by one the group of beggars stumbled out of the shed. Each of them appeared haggard and exhausted.

  “We’re glad you’ve returned home,” Sander said. “We all talked about it a week ago. It was nice to have the baths and the food, but this daily toil is dreadful.”

  Whizzfiddle understood that.

  “You’re back,” Sander continued, “and we’re done. Let’s go boys!”

  “And girls,” a few of the lasses said without much fuss.

  THE DELIVERY

  Two months went by and things were ticking again at the slow pace afforded to a wizard’s life.

  Gungren was making nice progress on his magic and was not above doing cooking and cleaning when it was warranted. Mostly, though, Whizzfiddle was teaching the tiny giant how to relax, play cards, and throw a few back. Of all the apprentices Whizzfiddle had carried over his years, the little giant was shaping up to be the best.

  “Master,” Gungren said as he walked into the living room where Whizzfiddle had his feet up, “you got a delivered thing.”

  “Delivery,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Yep, that the one.”

  Whizzfiddle took the package and carefully opened it. Then he slowly whistled. He was holding issue #1 of PlayDragon, which contained Yultza on the cover in a scantily-clad outfit, and she looked rather enticing.


  “She look good,” Gungren said, “even for an orc.”

  “One moment,” Whizzfiddle said, holding up a finger.

  “Wrong one again,” Gungren said as he adjusted Whizzfiddle’s hand slightly.

  “Thank you.”

  “Yep. I say that Yultza look good in magerthing.”

  “Magazine.”

  “That what I said.”

  Whizzfiddle went to open the magazine when a fold out picture dropped loose. His eyes widened substantially as his mood hair took on a greenish hue. It was a picture of Yultza in the nude.

  Gungren tried to whistle this time. Mostly, he just spit.

  “I do agree, Gungren.” Whizzfiddle took a sip from his flask as his hair turned a dark shade of green. “I rather do agree.”

  A LETTER FROM

  PEAPOD PECKLESWORTHY

  Dear Reader,

  It has been a number of years since I lost my mind in the quaint town of Kek. If it weren’t for my lovely wife, Glinayeth Noosebaum-Pecklesworthy, whom I married after my mind returned, I would probably be fumbling about in a field somewhere.

  But there is one who is owed a greater deal of gratitude than even my wife. She is one who lives outside of our wonderful land of Ononokin.

  I have been given only wisps of the full tale, but from what I’ve been told she fought against the world’s creators for my right to live. Had she not stood her ground, I would have been shot by the guards in the city of Kek.

  I have been told her name is Lorelei.

  While I have since lobbied that she be allowed to join the ranks of The Twelve, thus making it The Thirteen, the creators have denied my request stating that there is no race of editors available for her to rule over. I have no knowledge if, by editors, they mean those who look over texts, complain a lot, and send constant notes with corrections as they roll their eyes in that holier-than-thou way. If that’s what my savior is, then I suppose I must do what I can to treat their lot better.

  With no recourse in my stead, I hope that they at least see fit to allow her to ascend.

  If nothing else, she should note that if Glinayeth and I have a child (unlikely since we are both rather old), she will carry Lorelei’s name…assuming it’s a girl. If it’s a boy, we plan to call him Herman.