The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

“He’ll definitely be turnin’ into a right crispy critter,” stated Corg.

  “And he gets burned to a crisp,” she continued, clearly ignoring Corg’s interruption, “cut in half, stabbed, or worse.”

  Corg frowned. “There’s worse?”

  “You, Heliok,”—Misty pointed at him—“could intervene and save him from his wounds, and give him his reward.”

  Heliok looked taken aback. “But you know I can’t do that.”

  “You can if you change the quest parameters ever so slightly.”

  She looked downright devious now. Heliok simultaneously worried about this and found it exhilarating. If there was a way around this mess while still getting the little giant involved, that would be a win for everyone.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You don’t require him to win the event,” she said, speaking quickly. “You merely require that he participate in it fully. He can’t quit and he must do his best to win. But he’s not required to win.”

  “Hmmm.”

  It was a solid angle, and there was nothing in the Fate Quest rules that would go against such a tactic. Frankly, if Heliok wanted to, he could simply say that Gungren had to attend the event and that would be solid enough. But he knew the little giant would never go for that. He’d say that it wasn’t reasonably challenging to warrant it being a third quest, and he’d be right. Even the Fate council would balk at that level of simplicity, if this quest came up in an audit. A shudder ran through Heliok’s body as he remembered his last audited Fate Quest. The questions, finger-pointing and accusations would have been enough to give an Ononokinite ulcers. “How did the wizard end up with the life-extending potion?” they asked. “How did the terminally ill knight end up living to a ripe old age?” It had been dreadful. Heliok thought for sure he was going to end up doing time in a Fate prison.

  “Bah,” said Corg, breaking the silence. “I hate to admit it, but the lass is right.”

  “Seriously?” said Heliok.

  “If’n ye don’t make him have to win the whole shebang, yeah.” He then pointed at Heliok. “And assuming you’ll also heal him up nice. It’d make for great drama and the like. With any luck the lad won’t even be facin’ a dragon at all. He’ll get knocked on his keister in the first battle.”

  “That is interesting.”

  This could be one of those cases of having your cake and eating it too. Heliok was never quite sure what this sentiment meant because he didn’t much care for cake. Pie, certainly. But cake? No.

  “Uh, sir?” said Mooli, raising her hand.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a bit of a problem I see here.” She was pointing at her data pad. “All the slots are taken already. There is no room for Gungren to join the competition.”

  “Honestly…” Heliok said it with a sigh. He then shook his head and glared at her. “What are we, Mooli?”

  “We’re in your office discussing the—”

  “Not where are we, Mooli. I asked what are we?”

  “Fates, sir.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “That we’re stronger, better, smarter, and so on than everyone else…” She looked up at him questioningly. “Right?”

  “Not all of us, it seems,” he answered sourly. “The point, Mooli, is that I will make sure Gungren has a position in the upcoming battle because I will use my power as a Fate to make it happen.”

  He let that sink in with his underling. How were they even allowed to remain as Fates? Not that they could be kicked out or anything. Once a Fate, always a Fate, as the saying went. But there should have at least been some type of placement exam requirement so that the lesser-minded of their bunch couldn’t make it into jobs as important as this.

  “Wait,” Misty said with hope in her eyes. “Are you saying we’re a go?”

  Heliok grinned back at her. “Most definitely.”

  Convincing Whizzfiddle

  Whizzfiddle and Gungren were seated at the kitchen table discussing things. Whizzfiddle knew for certain that Heliok was going to run with the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship idea. And why wouldn’t he? He had no concern for Gungren or his wellbeing. He only had an interest in doing what was best for him and the blasted Fates.

  Just as Whizzfiddle was about to have another sip of his tea, Heliok popped into existence.

  Eloquen the elf was with him. Where Heliok could essentially look like whatever he wanted, Eloquen could not. He was a tall, thin elf, with white hair and a perfect complexion.

  “We’ve been talking it over, Heliok,” Whizzfiddle said before any pleasantries could be exchanged, “and the Diamond of Jaloof quest sounds fine.”

  Heliok waved at him dismissively. “That’s so yesterday.”

  “You just told us about it this morning.”

  “Did I?” Heliok pursed his lips and then shrugged. “Well, no matter. We’ve decided to go with the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship. It is the one hundreth one, you know?”

  “Hi, Eloquen,” said Gungren, being as he was more polite than Whizzfiddle. At least when Whizzfiddle was in a foul mood.

  “Hi.”

  Whizzfiddle sighed. “Hello, Eloquen.”

  “’Sup?”

  “’Sup?” That was odd. Typically Eloquen’s dialect was rather flowery. “Did you just say, ’Sup?’”

  “Yep.”

  Whizzfiddle gave Heliok a sharp look. “What have you done to him?”

  “I’ve done nothing to him, thank you very much. He started speaking like that just recently.”

  Gungren pulled out a chair and motioned for Eloquen to have a seat. Heliok took this to mean that he could sit down as well, and so he did. This was wholly unnecessary since Fates didn’t need to take breaks. Plus, he would not have been seated anyway. He’d just float slightly above the chair.

  “You okay, Eloquen?” Gungren asked.

  “Sure.”

  “You not talking right.”

  Eloquen traced the lines of the woodgrain on the table. “Not feeling like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Only when an elf in my community feels happy, or at least excited, are they able to speak in our native tongue.”

  “Which is just like ours but with more floweriness to it,” said Whizzfiddle, though he was stating the obvious.

  “Correct.”

  “Why you am not happy?”

  “Because it’s lonely being without those in my community. My family, friends, lov—” He glanced up at Gungren and coughed. “Erm, I mean acquaintances.”

  “We am your friends,” said Gungren gently.

  “That’s true. I guess it’s mostly family and, well, other things.”

  Whizzfiddle didn’t want to think about what Eloquen meant by “other things.” He knew what the elf meant, he just didn’t want to think about it.

  “So, go home,” Gungren said, leaning in. “We can do this quest on our own.”

  “No, no. I signed up for this and I’m going to see it through.”

  And with that, Heliok slapped the table. Actually, he smacked at the table. His hand went slightly through it. But a sound reverberated throughout the kitchen anyway.

  “Right,” said the Fate. “Now that we have Eloquen’s issue all settled, let’s get down to business.”

  “He is not fighting in the UDFC, Heliok.”

  “Of course he’s not,” Heliok replied with a scoff. “He wouldn’t last thirty seconds in there, especially if he starts speaking flowery again.”

  “I’m not talking about Eloquen. I’m talking about Gungren.”

  “Ah, right.” Heliok nodded and smiled. “Yes, he is.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Then he won’t succeed in completing all three quests and he won’t get his head fixed.” Heliok crossed his arms. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “He doesn’t care about his head getting fixed.”

  Gungren frowned. “What wrong with my head?”

  “We haven�
�t the time to describe all the particulars, I’m afraid,” replied Heliok.

  “Anyway,” Gungren said after rolling his eyes, “I just care about being a full wizard.” He turned to face Whizzfiddle. “I gotta do this quest, Master.”

  “But, Gungren…”

  “You know we am gonna do it, Master, so why you am fighting about it?”

  “We are gonna do it, Gungren. We arrrrrre gonna do it!”

  “That great, Master,” Gungren said with a huge smile. “Okay, Heliok, we am gonna do it.”

  “No, I…” Whizzfiddle’s head dropped slightly. “Never mind.” Without lifting his head, Whizzfiddle said, “You know he can’t win, Heliok. You’re leading this boy to his grave.”

  “On the contrary, I have altered the rules a fair bit.”

  That got Whizzfiddle’s attention. “Oh?”

  Heliok tapped on the table and pointed at the little giant.

  “Gungren, you do not have to win the tournament. You merely have to participate.” He looked back over at Whizzfiddle for a moment. “Full participation. You can’t quit, Gungren, and you have to do your absolute best to try and win.”

  “I always does my best.”

  “Perfect, then.”

  So he didn’t have to win. What difference did that make? The very fact that he was going to be put on a field of battle against a group of trained killers was enough to end the poor lad.

  “They’ll kill him, Heliok.”

  “It’s a risk, certainly.”

  Whizzfiddle sighed. “You know I can’t allow that.”

  “I don’t believe it’s your choice to make, Whizzfiddle.”

  That much was true anyway. He had learned over his time with Gungren that when the little giant put his mind to something, that was that. Besides, this was the home stretch for Gungren. If he didn’t get his full wizardship, everything he had worked for would be undone.

  “I’ll say it again, Gungren. You could be killed.”

  “Better than turning back to a giant.”

  “Is it?”

  “Master, pretend you am a great wizard—”

  Whizzfiddle bridled at that. “Pretend?”

  “…and then suddenly you am a big dumb giant,” Gungren continued. “You think you be happy with that?”

  “No,” Whizzfiddle answered him after a few moments of reflection, “I suppose not.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “You’re certain, then?”

  “I has to do it, Master.”

  “Fine, but we’ll need to get you at least some training so you have a chance.” Whizzfiddle grimaced at the Fate. “Unless this is against your rules, Heliok?”

  “Not at all. But you only have until this Saturday to get him to the event. I’ve already got his position secured.”

  “Well, that’s something anyway.”

  Gungren seemed to be very happy with the turn of events. Only he could look in the face of fighting a bunch of warriors and find a silver lining in there somewhere.

  “Who am gonna train me, Master?” Gungren asked. “Can’t be you. You don’t have no fighting skills.”

  “There are three people I have in mind for the job,” he replied. “I just have to get in touch with them somehow.”

  Highlights, Part 1

  Payne Sawsblade was in charge of bringing to life the behind-the-scenes elements of the Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship. Her budget was tight, but all she needed was her personality, one mute cameraperson, and some choice selections for filming.

  The home of UDFC 100 was Sed’s Point, which was the land of the dragons on the eastern coast of the Upperworld.

  It was a beautiful expanse of flat lands, mountain ranges, large trees, the ocean, and the massive UDFC arena. If ever there was a place worthy to be called breathtakingly beautiful, it was Sed’s Point.

  After her cameraperson grabbed some B-roll for the final production, Payne walked into Hotel Winged Bastion. It was one of the fancier hotels in the land. Not the most fancy, but rather the fanciest one that would allow her to film.

  Since the UDFC event only happened once every ten years, and since dragons weren’t exactly known for their hospitality, trolls were brought up to help train the dragons. There were to be no killings or any other shenanigans by the dragons, after all. At least not outside of the ring. Technically, nobody was supposed to be killing anybody outside of the ring as a simple matter of course, but dragons were the most likely to engage in such activities.

  Payne stood in front of the reception area where a smallish dragon was being taught how to engage in customer service.

  “This dragon is being taught how to handle a customer who is a pain in the rump,” said Payne to the camera. “Let’s watch.”

  “Snap, snap,” said the troll who was in charge of training. He was pointing to a surly-looking orc. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

  The orc adjusted his jacket and strolled up to the counter. He dropped his hotel key in front of the dragon.

  “What’s this for?” said the dragon.

  “That’s his room key,” the troll explained. “You just take it and pull up his bill.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said the dragon. Then he reached out and stuck a talon on the orc’s chest. “Stay there.”

  “No, no, no,” the troll said, slapping the dragon’s claw down. “You don’t stab at a customer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t.” The troll cleared his throat and regained his composure. “You must say, ‘Thank you, sir. Did you enjoy your stay?’”

  The dragon’s face contorted. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh.” To his credit, he did not fight any further, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice when he said, “Thank you, sir. Did you enjoy your stay?”

  “It was fine, I guess,” replied the orc. He then held up his watch and tapped on it impatiently. “I’m in a hurry here. Can you get a move on?”

  The dragon’s eyes turned crimson-red and began to glow. It didn’t take much to irk a dragon. The sound of a bubbling mass of ignitable liquid could be heard rolling around in its belly as smoke began pouring from its nose.

  Clearly the troll recognized the impending doom as well, since he jumped forward and placed himself precariously between the orc and the dragon.

  “Now, now,” he said, wagging his finger. “Calm yourself. Remember that this orc is our friend. He is simply playing the role of difficult customer so that you can practice your control.”

  The dragon’s eyes dimmed slowly, and the rumbling sound diminished.

  “Right.” It took a few seconds for the scaly beast to fully regain his composure. “Sorry, pal,” he said to the orc, “but this is tough.”

  The orc nodded and the troll smiled in a way that only trolls could. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than their scowls. Mostly.

  “You’re doing splendidly.”

  “You really think so?” the dragon asked the troll.

  “I do.” He stepped back. “Now, you tell him the amount he owes and he’ll hand you a credit card.”

  “Okay,” said the dragon. “You owe us, uh...one hundred gold.”

  “For this dump?” bellowed the orc.

  The dragon began to twitch at the outburst.

  “Remember that he’s just acting,” yelled the troll, obviously expecting this turn of events. “You’re doing fine. You’re doing just fine. Keep your cool...literally. This is the worst of it. If you can get past this, you’ll be home free.”

  “But I wanna kill him,” growled the dragon in response.

  The troll stepped up again. “And what will happen if you do?”

  “Uh, he’ll be dead?”

  “No, I mean if you destroy an actual guest when they are in the hotel, will that increase the stores of jewels you and the other dragons have, or will it deplete them?”

  It was difficult for a dragon to remain rational when threatened or irritated, but logic ruled the day whenever the concept
of jewels came into the picture.

  “Fine. May I have your credit card, sir?” The troll cleared his throat, so the dragon added, “Pleeeeaaasssseeee?” in a very sarcastic voice.

  Fortunately, the orc handed over his card without a word.

  “Thank you,” said the dragon.

  The troll clapped his hands genuinely. “That was excellent. Now, you swipe the card.”

  “But he’s watching me.”

  “I don’t mean that you swipe the card as in steal it,” said the troll while eyeing the dragon, “I mean that you run it through the machine.”

  “Oh, right. How do I do that?”

  “Right there.” The troll pointed to a smallish square on the counter. “You see that slot? You just slide it through there.”

  The dragon did so.

  “And then I type in the amount, right?”

  “Precisely. Well done.”

  “This isn’t so bad.” The box made a couple of noises, the last of which sounded like a buzzer going off. “What’s ‘declined’ mean?”

  “It means that his credit card didn’t work,” explained the troll.

  “And?”

  “It means that he can’t afford to pay his bill.”

  In a flash, the dragon reached out and grabbed the orc with his talons. He then launched the poor actor across the room, slamming him against the far wall with a horrific thud. The orc slid to the ground, looking rather unwell.

  “Oh, whoops,” said the dragon with a look of horror. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just a natural reaction to someone not paying me.”

  “This is one instance in which we are in agreement,” noted the troll. “However, we will need to determine a more suitable means of handling it should the actual issue arise.”

  The camera swung back to Payne. Her eyes were wide as she finished the report.

  “And that will tell you that you’d better pay your bills in Sed’s Point, assuming you want to live.”

  Bowing Out

  Stillwell wasn’t exactly a man who was cut out for this sort of job. He was thin, pale, shaky, disliked confrontation, and had ulcers. He’d only taken the job of being the right-hand man to Teggins because he’d had no choice. This was because Stillwell was also a compulsive gambler, and not a very good one. He owed a sizable sum of cash to Teggins, so it was either this or he’d be "Swimmin’ with the fishes.” It should also be noted that Stillwell wasn’t much of a swimmer.