“That place am pretty,” said Gungren.
“That it is,” Whizzfiddle agreed.
He looked over at Eloquen, almost hopeful that the elf would lay out a lengthy description in his flowery way. If any place deserved that kind of flourish, it was Kesper’s.
Nothing.
Whizzfiddle shrugged and started heading off to the Inn of Sargan. The place sat on the left edge of town, which meant the troop had to walk past the bakery, the chocolatier, and the cheese shop. The smells pouring out of each were wondrous, until the cheese shop anyway.
“Now, I expect you to be respectful to these trainers, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle said as they approached the inn doors. “They are very good friends of mine.”
“I are always respectful,” Gungren replied as though his feelings were hurt.
“Yes, I suppose you are.” He nodded. “My apologies.”
Whizzfiddle pulled open the door and let Gungren and Eloquen go in first.
The place was well lit compared to the likes of Gilly’s Pub. There were many tables and a bar that could easily seat thirty thirsty souls. Reds and browns made up the majority of the decor, which was fitting for the area. The innkeeper looked the part perfectly as well, especially with his handlebar mustache, bright eyes, and properly parted grey hair.
Across the room sat three people that Whizzfiddle had not seen in quite some time. They all looked different than the first time he’d seen them, certainly, for now they were normal. Well, at least as normal as they could manage.
“Master,” Gungren said excitedly, “it’s Zel, Bekner, and Orphan!”
“It’s Orophin,” complained the elf. “O-R-O-P…” He stopped and sighed. “Oh, never mind.”
The troop all hugged and shook hands. Laughs were shared as Whizzfiddle called for a round of the finest available spirits.
“I not know this is who you was gonna have train me,” said Gungren.
“I know, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle replied with a giggle. “I know.”
Gungren hadn’t looked this cheerful in a long time. He nearly always had a nice disposition, but over the last few months his buoyancy had waned. “How you guys been?”
“Still actin’ kingly and such, myself,” answered Bekner with a touch of pride.
Zel bowed his head slightly. “The Queen’s Guard remains my home.”
“I’m a hairstylist,” said Orophin.
“Really?” said Zel.
“No kidding?” Bekner asked.
“Makes sense to me,” Whizzfiddle noted. Then he rubbed his scraggly beard and said, “I don’t suppose you could maybe do a little trim-up on my beard and hair, if you get some time?”
Bekner pointed at his own mane. “Aye, mine too. Well, not me beard, of course, but me eyebrows could use a bit of a snip.”
“Sure,” Orophin said. “Happy to do it. Zel?”
“Thank you, no. We have a barber at the castle who leans towards jealousy when we seek out other grooming options.”
“I get it.”
Orophin seemed to be enjoying the world. In fact, they all did. This was quite the change from when Whizzfiddle had first met them all. That was a dark time in their lives. It made the elderly wizard feel good to know that he had been able to help them return to their solid foundations, and even improve their positions along the way.
“Gungren,” Orophin said, “I’m already planning on doing your hair, and also a uniform design for your upcoming match.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t just show up wearing a robe and a pointy hat.” Orophin wasn’t bound to let this go. Style was his thing, after all. “This is not a magical event. Well, seeing all of those musclebound fellows in tights is pretty magical, but I mean actual magic here.”
Eloquen had been tasked with getting their rooms for the night while the others caught up, so he had yet to be properly introduced. When he had joined them, he was standing behind Orophin.
Having clearly overheard the elf’s remark about musclebound fellows wearing tights, Eloquen said, “Fire tickles the soul at the vision of such delicacies.”
“Great, he’s talking like that again,” said Whizzfiddle into his mug.
Orophin spun around and blushed.
“Well, hello there. You are?”
“Eloquen DaNania.”
“You sure are a treat for sore eyes,” Orophin said. “I’m Orophin, by the way. And this is Zel and Bekner.”
The two men nodded uncomfortably at the new elf, who returned their salutation in kind.
He then took a seat and looked at Orophin with dreamy eyes.
“The alabaster pigmentation rests like tranquil waters under the light of the evening star.”
“Him say—” started Gungren.
“Oh, I know what he said, honey.”
“The rest of us don’t,” stated Whizzfiddle.
“Him say that he likes Orphan’s skin.”
Whizzfiddle nodded. “Not surprising.”
“Anyway,” Gungren said, obviously ignoring the fact that Orophin was currently in the middle of something, “I’m gonna wear my wizard hat, Orphan.”
“Again, Gungren, it’s not a magical event.”
“I not care about that. My hat and robe is who I am.”
Obviously Orophin knew Gungren well enough to understand the little giant wasn’t going to change his mind. Unless there was a solid reason that made perfect logical sense to Gungren, he would hold his resolve.
“We’ll work around it,” Orophin said finally.
Whizzfiddle was certain that whatever Orophin made for Gungren would be too flashy. He noted correctly that the robe and pointy hat didn’t make much sense in the ring, but there was little doubt that whatever the elf developed wouldn’t be much better. If anything, it’d be worse. Whizzfiddle could only hope that Orophin remembered that Gungren wasn’t built like other people.
“What am you guys gonna teach me?” Gungren asked Zel and Bekner.
“I’m gonna be after teachin’ how to punch and kick,” answered Bekner.
“You?” Whizzfiddle said, nearly spitting his ale back into the mug. “But you can barely lift your feet off the ground.”
“Want to test me skills, wizard?” Bekner replied with a sneer.
He was an intimidating fellow. “No, I suppose not.”
“I shall teach you the skill of grappling,” said Zel, interrupting the uncomfortable moment. “Wrestling a man to the ground and pinning him so that he cannot move.”
“Visions of desire percolate like dancing bubbles of a refreshing fizzie,” Eloquen said in a singsong kind of way.
“You can say that again,” agreed Orophin, “but what’s a ‘fizzie’?”
“It’s a carbonated drink that you can get in the Underworld,” Whizzfiddle answered for Eloquen.
“Ah.”
Before things could loosen up further, the elderly wizard stood up and rapped his knuckles on the table.
“Now, everyone listen to me.” The people at the next table turned to him. “No, sorry, I just meant the people here. I’ll speak softer.” They turned back. Whizzfiddle cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Firstly, I appreciate that you have come here to help our Gungren prepare for this event. We have a very short time, though, so I ask that we please focus our efforts and build him up quickly.”
“Agreed,” affirmed Zel.
Bekner and Orophin nodded their agreement as well.
“I’m ready to start whenever you guys is,” Gungren stated.
“Good.” Whizzfiddle was still standing as he picked up his mug. “First, though, let’s make a toast to old friends!”
The rest of them called out, “hear, hear!” in unison.
“And now let’s drink another five or so of these.”
This time only Bekner called out, “hear, hear!”
Highlights, Part 3
Payne had been looking forward to this installment of her highlights segment for the Ultimate Dragon Figh
ting Championship.
Today she was interviewing the judges.
These were the people who would make rulings on any untoward activity during the fights. They also had the final say on who would win should the fight not be stopped before the final bell.
This year there were two wizards and one witch. While Payne came from the Underworld, she was given details on the differences between the two practices of magic.
Wizards were stereotypically flighty, lazy, and chilled. Each had to find their own power source in order to do magic. It wasn’t something that they could choose, though. The source was preset and they had to figure it out. Some learned their source by pure happenstance, such as the poor wizard apprentice who found her magical essence the day she’d eaten her first peanut. Sadly, she was allergic to peanuts.
Witches, on the other hand, didn’t require a power source to do their brand of magic. They had to put in many hours of study, build up concoctions and potions, and understand the various elements of the world. Plus, if they didn’t stay true to their practice, their memories regarding the practice would fade. In other words, they couldn’t be lazy. If they grew complacent, their witchiness would dissipate. Also, witches were nowhere near as powerful as wizards, but they tended to stick with areas of magic that wizards didn’t tend to bother with. Things such as love elixirs, healing arts, and the like. Some witches dabbled more heavily in the wizardish pursuits, but those were few and far between.
“I’m standing here today with the judges for the event,” Payne said as the three magic-doers stood behind her. “We have Witch Teresa, Master Wizard Stiermark Argentum, and Master Wizard Sephnedra.”
Teresa was originally from the Underworld. She was born to a human mother and a dwarf father. She looked mostly human, though, except for the fact that she had one leg that was sized to fit a dwarf. In order to compensate for this, Teresa had used a wooden prosthetic. This garnered her the nickname “Peg” when she was growing up. Teresa was not fond of this nickname. During her youth, she decided that living with the technology of the Underworld wasn’t for her. She wanted to pursue magic, but she had learned that her source was to run really fast, backwards. Seeing that her legs were of differing sizes, this was too challenging for her and so she decided on going after witchcraft instead. Once she’d graduated from school, she received approval to move to the Upperworld so that she could study the craft. Teresa did her best to hide her shorter leg, but she always felt that everyone still knew about it, and she was certain they made fun of it behind her back. She would often mishear words to this effect, as well.
Stiermark was a wizard who took being lazy seriously. He was the king of chill. Even the garden gnomes in the Underworld considered him too laid back. He’d been raised to be a blacksmith, but one day in his youth, everything changed. Stiermark had been invited to a big music festival in Ikas. It was called Ikastock, and it had a bunch of bands from all over. They were celebrating love and peace. While there, someone offered Stiermark some mushrooms. Seeing that he was hungry, he partook. But these weren’t normal mushrooms. They were the kind that caused all sorts of psychedelic visions. It turned out that they were more than that for Stiermark, though. His response to them was instant. He felt magic filling his veins. A few hours later he saw pink halflings dancing around naked while the trees sang and swayed in unison.
Sephnedra was different from most wizards. She still enjoyed leisurely pursuits, but her pastimes weren’t of the standard lay-around-and-do-nothing sort. Instead, she “relaxed” by talking about horses, hanging around horses, and riding horses. Anyone who didn’t know her would think that being around horses was her power source. It wasn’t. Her power came from dancing in ballet fashion, acting as though she were doing some form of figure-skating choreography. This often led to trouble for Sephnedra during quests since suddenly breaking out in dance had a tendency of drawing a lot of unwanted attention your way. Imagine a quest where stealth was a priority, and you can understand why Sephnedra was no longer requested for these sorts of quests.
“Let’s start with Witch Teresa,” said Payne as she stood by the middle-aged woman who had black hair and the prominent features of a human, though Payne did notice some dwarf-like elements, especially as it related to facial hair. “How long have you been a witch?”
“Going on forty years now,” she replied.
“Did you ever hope to be anything else?”
Teresa squinted at her. “Did you say ‘hop’ or ‘hope’ just then?”
“Uh…hope.”
“Ah, well, I always knew I wanted to work with magic. It was a calling for me.”
Payne nodded and looked at her biography again, seeing that she was born in the Underworld.
“It’s almost as though you’d gotten off on the wrong foot,” she noted.
Teresa’s face grew dark. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just meant having been born in the Underworld, which had to have been challenging seeing that society there doesn’t feel comfortable with magic.”
“Oh, right. Yes, it was definitely challenging.”
Payne smiled uncomfortably and moved over to Stiermark. He wore a grey cape with silver threading around the cuffs. Everything about his outfit was grey, in fact, including the round spectacles that sat over his powder-blue eyes.
“Mr. Argentum, what level of expertise do you feel you bring to this event?” He didn’t reply. “Mr. Argentum?” Nothing. Payne waved at him. “Mr. Argentum?”
“Oh, you’re talking to me?” he replied in a mellow voice.
“Yes.”
“Got it. Just call me Stiermark, yeah? That Mr. Argentum stuff wigs me out.”
“Okay, Stiermark,” Payne replied with a tight smile. “What do you bring to the event?”
“Mostly a bag of ‘shrooms, some snacks, and—”
“Sorry,” Payne interrupted. “I don’t mean what you actually brought to the event. I mean what kind of expertise do you have that makes you worthy of being a judge at the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship?”
“Right on,” Stiermark said and then looked away.
“Mr…erm, Stiermark?”
“Hmmm?”
Payne gave him a funny look. How this particular judge was selected, she couldn’t say, but there was no point dwelling on it. He’d gotten here somehow, so the powers-that-be clearly felt he could bring something to the table.
Looking him over again, she assumed that “something” had to do with bags of funny weed.
She stepped over to Sephnedra and let the camera soak in the tall woman’s long blond hair and pale complexion. This wizard looked…elegant. That seemed a bit out of place at an event like this, but it wasn’t Payne’s place to judge such things.
“Sephnedra,” Payne said after a moment, “can you let the audience know the reason you were selected to be a judge at this event?”
“Not a clue,” she replied.
This caught Payne by surprise.
“Oh…really?”
“Yep,” she said as her eyes focused in on the dwarf. Payne thought it interesting that one eye was brown and the other blue. “I was out riding my horse when my TalkyThingy went off. It was one of the people who run this event. Asked if I wanted to be a judge. Said I had to learn rules and such. I said I wasn’t interested, but he offered me another judging opportunity in an upcoming equestrian event if I would do this one.” She curtsied. “So here I am.”
“Did you read the manual?”
“Some of it.”
“And what will you do if a rule comes into play that you haven’t read about?” Payne asked, furrowing her brow.
“I’ll do what I always do,” Sephnedra replied. “I’ll wing it.”
Hotel Winged Bastion
Teggins walked into Hotel Winged Bastion with Lucille and Krag a few steps behind.
It wasn’t the classiest joint he’d ever seen, but it fit well with his tastes. In fact, he took a solid glance around so that he could
have some contractors who owed him money make some renovations on his place of business. He especially enjoyed the high ceilings.
He walked up to the front desk like he owned the place. If things went his way with this bet—which they would—he may just buy the hotel, so he may as well get the help used to his being in charge.
“Welcome to the Hotel Winged Bastion or whatever,” said a green dragon with a surly disposition. “What do you want?”
“Reservation for three, under ‘Teggins,’” the crime boss replied without a fuss, recognizing that dragons were known for being grumpy.
“Says here you got a suite for two nights, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s only got two rooms, ya know?” the dragon said, peering down at him.
“So?”
It looked past Teggins. “So you got three people.”
“So?” repeated Teggins.
“Where are you all gonna sleep?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Teggins said, thinking how this dragon was being a bit nosey.
“I’m sure you will,” the dragon said coldly, “but there are rules—”
“You want me to kill you, dragon?” Krag interrupted with a growl.
While Krag was due to fight a dragon in the final match at the UDFC, Teggins wanted to make sure his fighter arrived alive. Regardless of whether or not this dragon was currently acting in a customer service role, it wasn’t likely that would matter much if it was miffed.
“Excuse me?” the dragon said with a rumble that made Krag’s growl sound like a squeak.
“You’ll die fast,” said Krag, unfazed by the dragon’s glare. “Krag the Destroyer takes no prisoners.”
The dragon’s eyes thinned and Teggins could hear that trademarked sound of flames preparing to be unleashed.
He reached up and grabbed the dragon by the snout with one hand, closing the beast’s mouth and held it there. Then he pulled the snout to face him.
“You wasn’t about to flame my UDFC fighter, now was you?”
The dragon was clearly not used to this type of treatment because its eyes were very wide.
The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship Page 7