“If you ain’t supposed to be in the limelight,” said Choogah, “then why are you doing this at all?”
“Yes, well, that’s an excellent question too. We, the Fates, need you to know that we exist, but we don’t want you to praise us, if that makes sense?”
“Nope.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t at that.”
He sped up his thoughts again, built a solid response, and returned to normal. This was actually turning out to be a wonderful idea on West’s part.
“Well,” he spoke fluidly, “imagine you developed a computing device. Folks took this device and created tons of wonderful applications for it. Those people get a lot of glory for their creations, but you, the one who created the device that made those creations possible, are barely ever mentioned. Would that not bother you?”
“Do I get paid for the computer?”
“I would imagine so, yes.”
“Then what do I care?” Choogah said with a shrug. “Money’s rolling in. I got a nice place to live, a butler, and all the food I want. The money is praise enough for me.”
“Exactly,” agreed Teef.
“Okay,” Heliok said, pursing his lips. “Imagine you don’t get paid, nor do you get any recognition. What would you say to that?”
“I’d say that my business manager is gonna be fired,” answered Choogah with a serious look, “and quick.”
Teef nodded. “Punched in the head, too.”
“Yeah, that.”
“Obviously this was a bad example…” began Heliok.
“That may be, Mr. Heliok,” West interrupted, “but did you notice that once you employed your ability to think speedily, you no longer suffered through your words? In fact, I would imagine that the Breadmasters would even agree that you spoke quite majestically.”
“We would?” said Teef.
Choogah appeared uncertain. “I dunno about that.”
West pointed at the bag of diamonds that Heliok had provided for the event.
Choogah and Teef glanced at each other with wide eyes.
“I mean, top-notch speaking there,” announced Choogah. “Best I’ve heard in some time.”
Teef was quick to agree. “A regular wordsmith, that one.”
Heliok felt somewhat deflated, but he had to admit that the general principle was sound. He would just need to practice some more and not simply go with the first thing that came to mind. Speedy or not, his responses needed to be solid.
Still, in the grand scheme of things, this new method was promising, especially the bit about removing his heart and stomach. Just in case, he removed his bladder as well.
“I think I’m good now,” he announced. “Let’s go, West.”
Outfitting Gungren
Orophin and Eloquen completed Gungren’s new outfit. It was made of a stretchy material that seemed to be riding up some on the little giant.
“Could you at least make it a color other than pink?” asked Whizzfiddle.
Orophin put his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong with pink?”
“Look at him,” said Whizzfiddle with a grand gesture.
“I think he looks adorable,” Orophin stated, “in a snubbed-nosed-dog kind of way.”
“Etchings of frills to float upon the crest of bouncing would ever increase the reflective lights abounding.”
“True,” Orophin agreed while giving Gungren another look.
At some point Whizzfiddle would have to learn the ins and outs of Eloquen’s flowery language. Either that or he could just stop bothering to understand it. Considering the study it would take, he opted to just keep things as they were, relegating himself to continually ask for translations.
“What did he say?”
“Him thinks there should be more stuff hanging from the suit,” Gungren replied while pulling the material out of his rear end.
“This isn’t the ballet, gentlemen,” Whizzfiddle shrieked. “He’s going to be out in the middle of the ring fighting for his life!”
“Hmmm.” Orophin had turned to holding his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a good point. So you think putting in taffeta would be too much?”
“Of course I do.” Whizzfiddle just stared at the elf as if he were bonkers. “By The Twelve, man, I think the pink is too much.” A thought struck that would solidify his position on the matter. “You’re still planning to wear the robe and hat, yes, Gungren?”
“Yep.”
“Put them on, please.”
The little giant walked over to the table, pulling the stretchy material down multiple times. He then put on the robe and hat and spun around.
“Well, that’s just dreadful,” Orophin stated in a monotone voice. “He looks like a pimp.”
“Daggers of variant hues stab the visual plane in a cacophony of anguished designs,” agreed Eloquen, cringing.
“Him say…”
Whizzfiddle nodded at the little giant. “Yes, yes, I got that one.” He glanced at Orophin. “Well, then, unless you plan on redesigning his robe and hat, I’m guessing you’ll be going with something other than pink.”
“Begrudgingly, yes.”
Feeling his Oats
The entirety of the situation just felt wrong to Stillwell. He wasn’t the type of person to sit in this chair. It was the chair of a mob boss, for goodness sakes.
But Teggins had given him this task, and failing Teggins was more terrifying than sitting in the man’s chair.
A knock came at the door and an orc walked in, not bothering to wait for a signal to do so.
Stillwell knew the orc as “Bank,” which may or may not have been his real name. He was one of the many goons that frequented Teggins’s office. While Stillwell was considered Teggins’ right-hand-man, he was still new to the position and therefore hadn’t fully caught up on whatever everyone’s job was. Slowly, though, he’d get there.
“Yes, Mr. Bank?” he said, trying to look the part.
“Name’s just Bank.”
“Okay,” Stillwell replied. “What can I do for you, Bank?”
“Teggins said you was in charge while he’s out, right?”
“Yes.”
“Seems dumb to me, but I ain’t the boss.”
Bank paused and studied Stillwell. Was he checking for a response that may have showed weakness? If so, he was going to be disappointed. At least for now.
“Anyway,” Bank said, dropping the study, “we got a guy who wants to borrow some coin for betting on the upcoming match. Says the dragon’s gonna win again.”
“So what’s the trouble?”
“Ain’t no trouble that I know of. We just ain’t allowed to approve guys borrowing money unless the boss says it’s okay.”
“Really?” Stillwell said with a laugh. “That sounds like a slow process.”
“I been sayin’ that for years,” Bank agreed.
There had to have been a reason that Teggins didn’t just up and approve people for these loans. The first thought was that maybe the crime boss wanted to verify that a person had the ability to pay things back, but Stillwell doubted that. Teggins was known for wanting people under his thumb, so collateral didn’t seem to matter much.
“Is there some specific reason that Mr. Teggins made this requirement?”
“Other than him bein’ a control freak, ya mean?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“We had a guy way back in the day that didn’t do any background checks on people wantin’ money. Ended up costin’ the boss ten gold ‘cause the guy ran away and we couldn’t find him. Since then, he stopped allowin’ us to approve loans without him.”
Ah, so it wasn’t whether or not they had the wherewithal to pay back the debt, it was to do with their ability to get away untraced.
But ten gold seemed like a small sum to a fellow like Teggins.
“Ten gold?” Stillwell said in disbelief. “That’s all?”
“You obviously ain’t gotten to know Teggins very well,” chuckled Bank in a not-so-pleasant
way. “He’d sell his own ma for ten gold.”
Stillwell crossed his arms. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Ask her. You can find her working in the laundry room at Hotel Gakoonk.”
“See? She’s employed there, so—”
“Ain’t no employment about it,” interrupted Bank with a slow shake of his head. “Ten gold. It’s how Teggins got into the business in the first place.”
“You’re kidding,” replied Stillwell, feeling shocked that Teggins would stoop so low.
“Nope.”
Every day it seemed information came out that degraded Teggins’ ethics even further. At this point, Stillwell was starting to wonder if the crime boss was even able to spell the word “ethics.” It was obvious that he certainly didn’t know—or didn’t care—what the word meant.
“So, you gonna approve this guy or what?”
“I…uh…”
Stillwell wasn’t sure what to do here. Teggins had left him in charge, but he’d also told him to just act in accordance to whatever he thought Teggins would do. But Stillwell was too new to all of this. A guy like Bank understood the situation far better.
“I’m going to let you make that call, Bank,” Stillwell stated.
Bank stood up straight at that. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“All right, but it’s your neck, not mine,” Bank pointed out. “He left you in charge, remember?”
“Then I shall have to hope that you’ll be thorough.”
Updating the Boss
Misty had to return to her office in the Underworld to have her weekly meeting with Knuds Grutch, her boss. He was an orc who had a traditional mohawk, a war tattoo that covered most of the right side of his face, and very thick tusks that stuck up from his lower jaw.
He was not what you would call a pleasant person, either. Then again, seeing that he was a business orc, that was to be expected.
This all came from the fact that orcs used to be ruthless killers, back before Ononokin society threatened genocide. Being rather intelligent, the orcs accepted a treaty that forbade them from attacking with weapons ever again and, as a race, they did. There were small factions now and then that rose up, but that was true of most any race. Since that treaty, orcs had moved from fighting on the battlefield to fighting in the conference room. In other words, they took their warring ways into the world of business. And they were very successful at it.
“It’s been a few months since you’ve started this Unreal Makeover project, Ms. Trealo,” Mr. Grutch said in his gruff voice, “yet I have not seen it airing.”
“That’s because it needs to go out with a bang, Mr. Grutch,” she replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“You’re going to go out with a bang if it doesn’t air soon, Ms. Trealo.”
The orc often used threats to make his position known. This was another trick of the trade for orcs in business. Their threats were ironclad, too. An orc worked tirelessly to ensure that all angles were covered before they took steps to squash someone under foot.
But Misty was a dark elf, and that meant she was equally as cunning. Where most races would not see the angles that orcs nearly always left open as they closed their grip on a person, Misty saw quite a few.
So she played her return volley.
“I don’t take kindly to threats.”
“And I don’t make them lightly.” Mr. Grutch interwove his fingers as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “We’ve already discussed our positions and how your position is one that can make no demands of my position. Now, when is this show airing?”
She sighed, continuing her part in this act.
“We had to wait for the final leg of the Fate Quest. Now that Gungren is heading off to the UDFC event, we have an end date. This means that commercials are in the process of being built and everything.”
“When, Ms. Trealo?” he asked again. “When is the first episode airing?”
“There will be a lot—”
“When?” Mr. Grutch said directly.
Misty wanted to retaliate. She wanted to throw zinger after zinger at the orc. She wanted to pull forth a blade and stick it right in his neck.
But where would that get her?
Jail, likely.
“Two weeks,” she answered without inflection.
“Coinciding with the new seasons of countless dramas and comedies on television?” the orc said in a raised tone. “Are you mad?”
“With what we have, sir,” she answered, “nobody else will stand a chance.”
He stared into her eyes as if surveying her level of honesty.
She didn’t waver.
“You’d better hope so, Ms. Trealo,” he said finally. “You’d genuinely better hope so.”
Farewell, My Friends
It was time for Whizzfiddle, Gungren, and Eloquen to get on the road. The event was right around the corner and they had to get all checked in and ready. Gungren would at least need one good night’s sleep before taking the field.
“Do you think he’s ready?” Whizzfiddle whispered to Bekner and Zel as Gungren was over speaking with Orophin.
“Who?” said Bekner.
“He’s talking about Gungren,” Zel answered before Whizzfiddle could.
Bekner scratched his head and then winced. It was obviously still hurting him.
“What about Gungren?”
“That punch really did a number on him, didn’t it?” Whizzfiddle asked Zel.
“What punch?” said Bekner.
“Clearly,” Zel replied. “Anyway, I would argue that Gungren is as ready as he’s going to be with only a couple days of training.”
Whizzfiddle took a deep breath and sighed. How could Heliok and his band of Fate idiots think this was a good idea? They had to know Gungren didn’t have a chance in the upcoming bout.
But what did they care? Obviously they just wanted to watch some Ononokinite suffer through things. That was abundantly clear by the fact that they were having people film the entire event. It was the primary reason that Eloquen was with them, after all. Not that he was filming or anything, but rather that he….
Whizzfiddle paused his thoughts and looked over at the flowery elf, wondering exactly why he was with them. He knew Corg Sawsblade, the dwarf in charge of video and production, wasn’t all that fond of the elf, but why not just send him back to the Underworld? It wasn’t as though the elf had brought much to the table during all of these quests, except for a funny language that Whizzfiddle could barely understand. Gungren seemed to enjoy the elf’s company, and Eloquen had stuck by Gungren’s side during the entire Major Wiggles incident. Maybe the elf didn’t know what to do and so he was just tagging along as a friend? It was the only thing that made any sense.
“I can say that he took very well to grappling,” Zel said, bringing Whizzfiddle’s thoughts back to the topic of fighting. “I’ve never seen anyone learn so quickly. He’s exceedingly strong. But there is much to learn, so I focused on three moves that should help him.” The knight then called out to the little giant, “Gungren, do you remember the three things I taught you?”
Gungren nodded as he walked over. “Arm bar, square choke, and rear-nudie choke.”
“Arm bar, triangle choke, and rear-naked choke,” Zel corrected him. He then looked at Whizzfiddle and added, “The names aren’t important anyway. He just needs to know how to perform them.”
Whizzfiddle shrugged. “I just want him to survive.”
“I want that too,” Gungren agreed.
Zel patted the little giant on his shoulder. “And as far as you know, Gungren, you will.”
“And even if he doesn’t, he’ll look super,” Orophin declared.
Whizzfiddle nodded appraisingly. “I have to admit that the simple black robe you designed is far more appealing against the backdrop of the purple robe and hat.”
“He still looks like a pimp,” admitted the elf, “but with that robe there’s not much of a way around it
.” Orophin seemed cheery about his work. “I also loosened the lower half some so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it riding up on him as much.”
Gungren did seem more comfortable than he had in the pink ensemble. At least he wasn’t tugging at the fabric anymore.
“Right.” Whizzfiddle held out his hands. “I greatly appreciate all of you coming to aid our Gungren in his time of need.”
“We are forever bound in honor and friendship,” said Zel in his knightly way.
“Aye, that we are,” agreed Bekner. He suddenly looked up. “Does anyone else hear bells ringing?”
Zel glanced at him. “Again, it’s your head injury, Bekner.”
“I’ve got a head injury?”
“It was delightful seeing you all again,” said Orophin. Then he gave a naughty grin to Eloquen. “It was also lovely meeting a new friend.”
“The heart soars along the breeze of a cloudless night as precious gems illuminate in the glow of the moon,” replied Eloquen with a wink.
Gungren whispered. “That were just lovey talk.”
“Right.” Whizzfiddle cleared his throat. “Are you all heading back home?”
“Actually,” answered Zel, “we are planning to stay here so that we can watch the match together.” He pointed to the stairs that led to the basement. “There is a screen of magic down there that the innkeeper said we could use.”
“It’s called a television.”
“Hmmm?”
“The screen of magic,” explained Whizzfiddle. “It’s called a television.”
“Ah. I never know the magical names for things.”
“It’s not a—” Whizzfiddle stopped.
The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship Page 10