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

by John P. Logsdon

  “Excellent! That’s what I was going for.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see in a minute,” said Perkder as he finished putting gobs of makeup on Bob’s face. “Good enough. Let me get dressed and we’ll get out of here.”

  Perkder hopped off the chair he’d been standing on and scooted toward his wardrobe room. Bob had never seen so many outfits in one place. Everything from full animal costumes to things Bob didn’t even want to wonder about.

  “How are we going to get to this island, anyway?” he called out as best he could.

  “Going through Lesang,” Perkder replied, grunting.

  “But Civen Station doesn’t go there.”

  “Yergarn,” said Perkder. “Have to go through Yergarn.”

  “Ugh,” Bob said with a frown. “That means multiple stops.”

  “Not anymore,” Perkder said. “Dogda now has a direct route to Yergarn. Been there for about three months now.”

  Bob hadn’t known that, but Bob wasn’t one to do much traveling.

  “Oh, well, that’s good, at least.”

  “Yep.”

  “But aren’t there still issues with our kind getting into the Upperworld? It’s not like we have a passport or anything.”

  “We just have to pass as Human,” Perkder said, after which followed a crashing sound. “I’m okay. Just fell down trying to pull up these knickers.”

  “Good,” Bob said, though he hadn’t really been worried. Dwarfs, unlike Zombies—unless they were Zombie Dwarfs, obviously—were resilient folk. “So, I will barely pass as a Human, Perkder. One whiff of me and they’ll be suspicious. But what about you?”

  And that’s when Perkder walked out of the wardrobe room. He was wearing a little pink dress, white stockings, ruby red shoes, a white sweater, elbow-length pink gloves, a blond wig, and a smile.

  “Ta-da!”

  “Uh…” Bob said, not knowing what else to say. “Please tell me you’re not supposed to be my wife?”

  “What?” said Perkder, scrunching up his nose. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t marry a pimp!”

  Bob then looked over his own outfit again and groaned. “So you’re one of my… um… employees?”

  “No, I’m your daughter!”

  “Oh, right,” said Bob with a gentle nod. “That makes much more sense.”

  “I heard your sarcasm there, Bob. You really have to work on your happiness.”

  “I’ll do that. Listen, don’t you think we’re going to look kind of suspicious?”

  “Why? We’re just a father and his ten-year-old daughter heading up to Lesang to visit relatives.”

  “Or, more accurately, we’re a pimp and a young, um, girl.”

  “Fine, I’ll take off the chains around your neck so you look less like a pimp.”

  “I’m sure that minor change will help, yes,” Bob said with a cough. “But how, exactly, am I going to explain my daughter’s beard?”

  “Hmmm. Good point. I forget that Human females aren’t graced with facial hair.”

  “Some are,” noted Bob, “but I doubt that they consider it a blessing.”

  “You Humans are an odd folk.”

  Bob wasn’t about to argue that point. To be fair, though, he was currently looking at a stocky Dwarf with a neatly trimmed beard who was dressed up like a child’s doll.

  “Anyway,” said Perkder, “we’ll just tell them that I’ve forgotten to shave.”

  “Right,” said Bob, wondering how Perkder’s brain really worked. “I’m sure they’ll buy that, especially since they, too, know that Human females aren’t privy to all that facial hair.”

  “Exactly. Now, we should get going while it’s still the middle of the night. The station will be emptier and the night crews are generally less particular.”

  Bob doubted the logic of that statement. From his perspective, going to Yergarn when it was packed full gave them a chance to be pushed through the process without much fuss. If things were slow, then they’d have more time to be questioned.

  It’s not like it really mattered all that much, anyway. If they got through, great; if not, then Bob’s hand would either turn into a bottle of boner medication or the thieves would get the wrong type of lava and he’d die. Really die.

  He’d struggled back and forth on that latter point. On the one hand, he’d never had the guts to take his own life in any permanent kind of way. Dr. Mozatto had often pointed out that Bob was too chicken to be a serious suicide risk. On the other hand—which he noted he no longer had—if the thieves wound up ending his life, then the pain and suffering would cease. It wasn’t like he contributed anything to the world these days, anyway, unless you considered it contributive that his situation provided bullies with an easy target, or you took into account the current use of his body parts to manufacture medication, of course.

  “I see what you’re thinking, Bob,” said Perkder with a shake of his head. “If it’ll make you happy for me to shave, I’ll shave.”

  The Dwarf was about to risk his personal station and everything in order to help Bob get his hand back. Why would he do that? What was in it for him?

  “Why are you doing this, Perkder?”

  “Shaving? Well, I’d rather not, truth be told.”

  “No, helping me. Why are you helping me?”

  Perkder grimaced and quickly tilted his head. “That’s what friends do, Bob. Good times and bad times. I’ll be on your side forever more. That’s what friends are for…hmmm, reminds me of a song.”

  And that’s when Bob realized that there was at least one person in this Twelve-forsaken world that actually gave a damn about him. He had a friend in Perkder. A real friend. If nothing else, that proved that Bob had at least enough worth to try and save himself.

  “No,” he said finally, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, “don’t shave. If those guards give me any trouble about my…daughter’s facial hair issue, well, I’ll just have to give them a verbal lashing.”

  “There you go, Bob,” said Perkder with a wide grin, smacking Bob friendly-like on the back, causing the Zombie’s shoulder to crunch and pivot awkwardly. “Oh, sorry,” said Perkder as he pulled the shoulder back into place.

  * * *

  Residents of the Underworld were free to travel anywhere along the portal system as long as they stayed in the Underworld. There were exceptions to this rule, of course. Certain people, such as criminal, were banned from arriving at some destinations, and one could travel to the Upperworld if they were either granted rights via ambassadorship, special allowance like a travel VISA, or if they happened to actually live there.

  This meant that getting to Yergarn Station from Dogda’s base portal wasn’t a problem for Bob and Perkder, even if they did get a number of odd looks along the way. The problem was going to be getting through security and into Lesang.

  “Now what?” asked Bob as they stood before the security screening station to the portals that led to the Upperworld.

  “We walk up there confidently,” said Perkder, and then he paused. “Well, you walk up there confidently. I’m going to skip up there.”

  “Skip?”

  “Yeah, have to make it believable and all.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Then you just tell them that you’ve been down here visiting and you’re ready to return home to Lesang.”

  “And you think they’ll buy that?”

  Perkder shrugged. “If they don’t, we’ll figure something out.” He scratched his beard and squinted. “That guard looks really familiar.”

  “So?”

  “Just hate it when I can’t place someone,” said Perkder, grimacing.

  They started to move when Bob stopped the Dwarf. “Wait a second. Isn’t there another station we could go to that doesn’t have all this security? I thought Aopow Station was more relaxed, no?”

  “It is, but we’d still have to deal with officials on the other side.”

  “Ah,” said Bob, nodding. “Won�
�t we have to deal with them anyway?”

  “Yep,” said Perkder, and then he started skipping. “Let’s go.”

  Bob did his weak sigh and carefully walked up to the security guard.

  “Nice outfit,” said the guard, sounding genuine.

  “Oh, uh, thanks,” Bob replied.

  “Name?”

  “Bob.”

  “Just Bob?”

  “Bobinguck Mermenhermen.”

  “Seriously?” said the guard with his eyebrows raised.

  “Is that a problem?” answered Bob in his raspy voice.

  “Only in that I can’t spell it.”

  Bob spelled his name slowly for the guard as Perkder kept jumping around.

  “Right,” said the guard with a curt smile. “Now, where is it that you and the Dwarf are going?”

  “He’s not a Dwarf,” Bob said. “He’s my daughter.”

  “He’s your daughter?”

  “She,” Bob said, correcting himself. “She is my daughter.”

  “Uh-huh,” the guard said, glancing over at Perkder. “My apologies to the little…girl. So, where are you and your daughter headed this night?”

  “Back home to Lesang.”

  The guard looked up from the papers. “Lesang? That’s in the Upperworld.”

  Bob kept quiet.

  “Do you have permission to go to the Upperworld, Mr. Mermenhermen?”

  “I come from the Upperworld,” Bob replied tightly.

  “Oh, I see,” said the guard, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You’re from the Upperworld,” he added with a nod. “You and your daughter, there.”

  “Right.”

  “The one with the beard.”

  Bob leaned in and whispered, “She suffers from a case of Follicle Formation. It’s a rare and untreatable disease, except with razors and shaving cream, obviously. She’s very sensitive about it.”

  “I would imagine so,” said the guard, looking unconvinced. “Funny thing that I’ve never heard of Follicle Formation disease.”

  “It’s rare,” Bob stated.

  “Must be. You see I’m only doing the guard thing part-time while I’m in school for medicine, and we’ve just recently covered all of the various diseases. I got an A on the exam and everything. One hundred percent correct. We studied hundreds of diseases, some very obscure, including the famed Trollian Tonail Fungus, Orc Gastrointestinal Distress Syndrome, and even…” he paused for a moment, and then said, “Zombieism.”

  Bob fought to keep himself steady. Even Perkder had stopped acting like a 10-year-old girl.

  “That’s where I’ve seen you,” said Perkder, pointing at the man. “You were at the CosPlay Posse convention in Dakmenhem.” The guard uncrossed his arms and blanched. “Yeah,” said Perkder, nodding. “That’s right. You were dressed up as a nurse!”

  “Keep your voice down,” said the guard, glancing around the room. “Nobody knows about that.”

  “I do,” said Perkder with a smile. “I’m one of the founding members of the CosPlay Posse.”

  “Damn,” said the guard.

  “You know that we keep records on every person who comes to our conventions. They’re private and secure, of course.”

  “Good.”

  “I mean,” Perkder said, moving his ruby-red shoes this way and that, “you know how sometimes things just happen. You try to keep everything secret, but, somehow, someway, a certain file ends up getting transferred to the dean of a particularly pompous medical school and a poor young lad’s career goes up in smoke.”

  “You wouldn’t,” the guard said, looking like he was about to sweat.

  “Depends on you,” said Perkder with a flip of his hand. “You see, me and my daddy here just want to go back home to Lesang.”

  The guard’s face went sour. “Your daddy?”

  “Not that kind of daddy,” Bob pointed out quickly.

  “Oh, right.”

  A few seconds of silence demonstrated that the guard was weighing his options. It seemed pretty simple to Bob: risk losing his job as a night guard at Yergarn Station or risk losing his doctoral studentship at medical school because of Perkder’s threat to let everyone know that the man dressed up as a nurse during CosPlay Posse events.

  “And you won’t tell anybody about the nurse thing?”

  “Mister,” said Perkder, “not only will I not tell, I’ll also help you find a much more convincing nurse’s outfit for our next convention.”

  The guard pursed his lips. “Really?”

  “I saw a nice pink model just the other day.”

  He looked around again. “Did it have ruffles?”

  “Definitely had ruffles.”

  Bob wished he’d had proper eyelids so that he could have closed them. He’d also considered removing his ears, which was something he was capable of doing. Instead, he just stood there listening to Perkder and the guard as they went over the intricate details of playing dress-up.

  “Excuse me,” said another patron, an elderly woman who looked rather perturbed. “Would you mind getting on with it? I’m not getting any younger here, you know?”

  “Sorry,” said the guard quickly. Then he looked over the papers again, and said rather loudly, “Yes, yes, well, all looks in order here. If you’ll just step onto that platform, we’ll get you and your lovely daughter to Lesang in the blink of an eye.”

  “Daughter, my ass,” said the old woman. “Put some chains on that Zombie and he’ll look like a pimp, and that Dwarf looks like a damn idiot wearing that little girl’s outfit. In my day, you’d both be kicked in the shins for dressing so foolishly.”

  “Right,” said the guard before pressing the button to initiate the portal.

  PLACES TO GO

  Modacio was looking back and forth between the width of a particular set of bars on the jail cell and the width of a particular Dark Halfling.

  “Not gonna fit,” said Grubby tiredly.

  “You will if you take your clothes off.”

  “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” he said with a sniff.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Modacio replied with a laugh. “I’m sure there’s nothing on you that I haven’t seen on a baby.”

  “A baby elephant, maybe,” Grubby countered. “Anyway, clothes or not, I won’t fit through there.”

  Modacio did another check over the dimensions. It’d be a squeeze, sure, but he could get through with a little effort. Unfortunately, he had the look of someone who wasn’t even interested in trying.

  She’d have to try another tactic.

  “You’re probably right,” she said with a sigh, flopping down on the bench opposite of him. “I guess we’ll just wait here until they take us back to the portal station and ship us to our prison sentences.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m not going to fit.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, putting her hands up in surrender. “I’m no longer suggesting it. Fact is that we’re doomed.” She went silent and started drumming her fingers on the bench. “It’s a shame, too, seeing that the keys are right there.”

  “I won’t fit.”

  “Nope,” she said, twisting her mouth while nodding sadly. “Like I said, we’re doomed.”

  Grubby sighed. “I’m not a child, you know? I know what you’re trying to do. But, like it or not, I won’t fit.”

  “You could at least try,” she said in a huff.

  “You try first.”

  She smirked and leaned back against the wall. “Nice effort, little man.”

  “Hey,” Grubby shrugged, “I’m willing to try if you’re willing to try.”

  “You know damn well there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to fit through those bars.”

  “And I’ve told you the same about me, but you’re not listening so neither am I.”

  They stared at each other for a few moments before Modacio threw her hands up and said, “Fine, you want to see me naked? Is that it?”

  “Yep.”


  “Sure do,” said a man from another cell.

  “Me too,” said yet another.

  “Damn it,” came another voice from across the room, “those bastards took my glasses. I can’t see a thing. Somebody’s gonna have to describe it for me.”

  “That’s it,” said Modacio, sitting back down. “I’m not going to put on a full show for everyone.”

  “Fine with me,” Grubby said with a wry smile. “I guess that just means we’re doomed.”

  Modacio gave him a dirty look before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She knew the little creep could squeeze through the bars. He was merely doing this to get a rise out of her. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play it, she’d play along.

  “You win,” she said, standing up. “But we do this together. You take off yours at the same time I take off mine.”

  “Works for me,” said Grubby, standing up.

  “Awe, shucks,” said one the men in another cell, “I don’t want to see that.”

  “Me neither,” said the other.

  “Sure am glad those bastards took my glasses,” said the third guy.

  They began stripping at the same time. Modacio did her best to make it a non-seductive play. She was completely professional about it. Off came her boots, then her pants, then her shirt.

  Grubby followed along, article by article.

  “You still have on your underbritches,” she announced.

  “As do you,” he replied with a grin.

  “Fine.”

  Seconds later they were both nude and Modacio learned that Grubby the Dark Halfling had not been kidding about his baby elephant comparison. Worse, it was on the rise.

  “Holy heaving mugs of ale,” said one of the other prisoners. “Is that thing real? If it is, it’d explain why that midget looks a bit blue. All the damn oxygen must be in that thing of his.”

  The other prisoner leaned forward. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna look—goodness gracious, boy! Are you part horse or something?”

  “May The Twelve strike me down,” Modacio said with a gasp, blinking a few times and shaking her head. “You were right, Grubby. There’s no way you’re getting through those bars while carrying that thing.”