The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship

by John P. Logsdon

  “You’ve got to go through training and pass an exam,” answered the fellow.

  Whizzfiddle rubbed his beard.

  “How long does that take?”

  “About a year, if you work hard.”

  “We don’t have a year,” Whizzfiddle stated.

  “Then Gungren doesn’t have a corner.”

  “So he just has to go at it alone?”

  “That’s right,” the halfling answered. Then he tapped his pencil and looked up at Whizzfiddle. “Unless you want to hire a corner for him.”

  “Fine. How do I do that?”

  “Third window on the left,” the clerk replied, pointing. “Here’s your access card, Gungren. Good luck.”

  They walked to the third window on the left. Inside was a troll with a wide nose and sparkling eyes. He even wore a smile in standard troll fashion.

  “Hello, how may I help you?”

  “I need a corner thing,” Gungren answered.

  “I see. So you have nobody in your corner?”

  “Nope.”

  The troll pointed. “Who are these two?”

  “That my master and that my friend.”

  “Ah, right, I see no Corner Cards.” The troll nodded. “Well, all the corners were taken this morning except for one set. They come as a team.”

  The way the troll said it put Whizzfiddle on guard. First off, why would they be the only remaining ones left, and secondly, why did he specify that they were a team?

  “Are they any good?” Whizzfiddle asked.

  “They have their moments,” came the honest reply. “If nothing else, they know their way around the event, and that is definitely worthwhile.”

  “Fine. How much?”

  “One gold.”

  Whizzfiddle placed it on the table.

  “Muriel and Barrie,” the troll called to the back room, “you have a fighter!”

  They were an older human couple with white hair. He had a beard and mustache; she did not.

  “He’s too old and scrawny,” complained Barrie as he circled Whizzfiddle. “They’ll rip his limbs off.”

  “I believe this fellow is the fighter, Barrie,” Muriel said, pointing at Gungren.

  “Oh, right.” Barrie moved to circle Gungren instead. “He’s too small. They’ll rip his limbs off.”

  Whizzfiddle raised an eyebrow at Muriel.

  “Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “He does this to every fighter. It’s his way of getting them ready for action.”

  Barrie put his hands on his hips. “Well, it doesn’t work if you tell them that, now does it?”

  Whizzfiddle would be the first to admit that he was out of his comfort zone at this event, but these two weren’t exactly giving off a great first impression.

  “Are you sure you two know what you’re doing here?”

  “I’ve fought in three of these events, thank you very much.” Barrie had said it with much gumption. “I know quite well how the process works.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” Whizzfiddle replied, taking a step back. “Out of curiosity, how did you do?”

  “He lost in the first round each time,” Muriel replied before Barrie had the chance.

  “Could you please not tell everyone that whenever they ask?”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She smiled at Whizzfiddle. “He prefers to tell the story as though he nearly made it to the finals, but a twisted ankle forced him to bow out.”

  “That happened, though,” argued Barrie.

  “Technically, yes, it did,” said Muriel. “But, dear, you were knocked out of the first round that year, like always.” She turned again to Whizzfiddle. “He still wanted to watch the final fight, but when he was climbing the bleachers, his leg got caught and he twisted his ankle. The poor man ended up in the hospital, didn’t you, dear?”

  “I was there, woman,” Barrie said in disbelief. “But if you keep telling it like that, nobody’s ever going to hire us.”

  “We’re hired every time there’s a battle, big or small, dear.” Another glance at Whizzfiddle. “This is just the main event. There are many of these fights every year, and we’ve never gone without a paycheck.”

  “I’m assuming you’re always picked last, though?” Whizzfiddle asked, but suddenly felt bad about it.

  “Better last place than never to show up,” Muriel replied in a cheery voice. “That’s our company motto.”

  Barrie was shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

  “It okay, mister and missus,” Gungren piped up. “I know how to fight already, but I not know how to navergate stuff. That where I need help.”

  “I think you mean navigate,” corrected Whizzfiddle.

  “That the one.”

  Muriel patted Gungren on his head and gave him a warm smile.

  “Well, we can certainly help you there.”

  “And with getting your gloves on and…” Barrie’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, those are some big hands. We’re gonna need extra tape, Muriel.”

  She nodded. “And gloves made for an ogre, I’d say.”

  Interviewing the Crowd

  The arena was crowding in with spectators as Payne walked along with her cameraperson. Now that the event had started, she also had help from the control booth. They would point her in the right direction and provide names and information as needed.

  She was specifically looking for the notable-people section. The famous, infamous, and well-to-do paid enormous sums of money, or were invited as VIPs, to frequent this section. It was good for publicity.

  “The crowd is amassing for the tournament,” she said while the camera scanned the rows of seats. “Thousands will be in attendance today, but we’re going to focus in on those who have risen to the level of celebrity.”

  She shielded her eyes from the sun and pointed to the third row.

  “I spot Gappy Whirligig of the famous Gappy’s Gadgets, which everyone knows is a division of Contraptions, LLC.” Actually, Payne didn’t know that, but her control person fed the information and so she used it. “The parent company is owned by his wife, Tootz Gibdawdle-Whirligig, who is seated next to him. To her right is a rather attractive young man and there’s also a large orc.” She put her finger to her ear. “I’ve just received word that the young man is Merton Myron Wambles and the orc’s name is…” She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as though something wrong occurred in the booth, because an expletive had been used. “What happened?” she said and then lifted her head and looked at the orc again. “Oh, that’s his name? Huh.” Turning back to the camera, she said, “Okay, so the orc’s name is Sh…” She paused and covered her ear again. “Are you sure? Hmmm? Oh! Right.” She smiled. “His name is Shrit.”

  A flock of dragons flew overhead and everyone pulled out steel umbrellas. Considering what a mere bird could do to you as it flew over, Payne understood the need for the umbrellas to be made of a sturdy metal.

  “Over here we have the royal families of Henroot and Nubbins.” She was smiling at the camera. “The Henroot family owns a large soap empire in the Underworld, and all of their product comes by way of the Nubbins hemp farm.”

  There were many faces that she didn’t recognize, so she just kept moving until she was told to stop.

  “Ah,” she said, pointing to a middle-aged, baldish man who was sitting with a fellow who was broad-shouldered and had long, princely hair. “I see the vampire Paulie Vergen and Prince Hughbarian Tessan.” Information continued flowing in. “Rumor has it that the prince is a werewolf, but you’d never know it by looking at him. Also, insider information claims that Paulie Vergen has been in discussions about doing a travel series called Around Ononokin in 90 Days.” She winked at the camera. “We can only hope that pans out!”

  Just as she was about to continue her walking tour, a huge ogre stepped up to her. One look told her that he was the dumb type of ogre. Mean ones didn’t smile.

  “Excuse me, lady,” he said.

  “Yes?”r />
  “I are named Kone.” He patted his chest. “You seen my puppy?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”

  “Him not really a puppy no more, but we calls him that anyway.”

  “That’s nice,” said Payne in response.

  “Selly poopy,” a smaller man with a red beard said. He was clearly a wizard, if wearing a pointy hat was any indicator. “Gonin’ ghat lahzed agern.”

  “Sorry?” said Payne, not understanding the dialect.

  “That my friend, Redler,” explained Kone. “Him say that the puppy keep getting lost.”

  This wasn’t exactly the best time for an interruption, but she didn’t want to come across as harsh while on live television.

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” she said sweetly. “We’re unfortunately in the middle of filming something here, but if I spot him, I’ll let you know.”

  Redler squinted at the camera. “Foolmen?”

  “Hmmm?” said Payne.

  “Ye gorda cumrah der?” Redler went to tap at the lens, but the cameraperson pulled it away just in time.

  “I’m…” Payne looked up at Kone. “What’s he saying?”

  “He asking if you got a camera.”

  Payne pointed. “That’s a camera, yes.”

  “Or wee oonet?”

  “Are we on dat camera?” Kone translated.

  “Ah, right. Yes, we are.”

  Redler’s eyes opened wide. He smoothed the sleeves on his robe and ran his fingers through his beard.

  “Whooz my har look?”

  “Can’t see your hair, Redler,” Kone replied. “It under your hat.”

  “Oooh yah,” the odd little wizard said. “Whooz my haht look?”

  “Your hat looks fine,” Payne said, understanding the man for the first time that day.

  Just as she was about to ask them to kindly move along, a hot dog vendor approached. As if things couldn’t get much worse, now Payne and her cameraperson were going to be trapped between a nice ogre, a strange wizard, and a hot dog vendor.

  “Excuse me,” said the vendor, “but is this your dog?”

  “Yay! Puppy!”

  “Boob?” Redler said, rubbing his eyes and giving the vendor a second look. “Boob Emenemen?”

  “What?” the vendor replied and then rubbed his own eyes. “Wait...Redler? Kone?”

  “Yep,” said Kone with a huge smile.

  “Dat’s oos!”

  And that’s when it hit Payne what was going on. The control booth caught on, too. They were nearly yelling in her ear.

  “Hold on a second here,” Payne said, interrupting the little reunion. “Are you Bob Mermenhermen? Better known from your famous books on zombieism as ‘Bob the Zombie?’”

  Bob sighed. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Why are you selling hot dogs?”

  “Because the only way I was allowed to leave the Afterlife and watch the match was to work the event.” He shrugged. Then he looked around as if to see if he were being watched. “Speaking of which, do any of you want to buy one?”

  Kone ordered five of them. Three for him, one for the wizard, and one for his dog.

  “Well, this is unbelievable,” Payne said as her smile returned. “We’re seeing a lot of famous faces in the crowd today, folks. Dead and alive!” She shook her head at the camera. “It’s clear that people are doing whatever it takes to watch the one hundredth Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship!”

  The Locker Room

  Gungren walked into the locker room and looked around at his competition. There were fighters of all shapes and sizes. Some were sharpening their swords, others were donning their armor, but all of them were preparing for battle.

  “Hello,” Gungren said, causing all heads to turn to him. “I are Gungren. I are a fighter, too.”

  A mean-looking ogre grunted at him. “You’re a squished giant and I’m going to kill you in the ring.”

  “Okay,” Gungren said with a shrug as he found a seat.

  “Dinnae ye worry about him,” said a dwarf who was putting a finishing edge on his axe. “He’s just a grumbly type, that’s all. It’s in his blood.”

  “He’s a creep is what he is,” agreed a lithe elf who was looking down the edge of a long blade.

  “Dinnae start goin’ after agreein’ with me, ye blasted elf.”

  “Oh, shut up, you tiny twit.”

  “Tiny twit, am I?” the dwarf said, standing up to his full height, which wasn’t saying much.

  “I’m glad we agree,” the elf replied with a smirk.

  “What?” The dwarf looked confused. “I dinnae agree to nothin’. I’ll rip yer dainty arms from their sockets, I will!”

  “You can’t even reach my arms.”

  “Oh yeah, well—”

  “Hey,” said Gungren, causing the two men to stop their bickering, “how come you guys is so mad at each other?”

  “‘Cause Toross is after bein’ an elf.”

  “And Emrek is a dwarf.”

  “So?”

  “So that’s why we’re fightin’,” stated Emrek. “Are ye daft or somethin’?”

  “You am saying that you don’t like each other because you were born a dwarf and you were born an elf?”

  Emrek nudged Toross with an elbow. “This one’s quick on the uptake, eh?”

  “A real overachiever.”

  Gungren shook his head at both of them. “That dumb.”

  “What is?” asked Toross, lowering his weapon.

  “Fighting just ‘cause of where you am born.”

  “It’s not after bein’ dumb,” Emrek argued. “It’s tradition.”

  “It’s dumb.”

  “Yer sayin’ our cultures after bein’ dumb?”

  “Yeah,” Toross said, “who are you to say such a thing?”

  “I already told you that I are Gungren.”

  “Oh,” Emrek said, jumping onto one of the benches and waving his hands around in grandiose fashion, “well then go ahead and make fun of our cultures all ye want, then. Seein’ as you’re after bein’ Gungren and all.”

  Gungren knew that the dwarf was being flippant, but he didn’t mind. His mocking only proved that he felt unsure about what Gungren was saying.

  It bothered the little giant when people fought over silly reasons like this. He grew up a giant and it was drilled into him at a young age that dragons were bad and that humans were worse. To be fair, the dragons attacked their villages now and then, and the humans were also shooting little pointed sticks at the giants whenever they walked into the wrong spot of the woods.

  Now that his mind had been altered, he saw that people were just people regardless where they came from. Different ideas and cultural elements? Sure. But underneath all of that, they were generally the same.

  “What your favorite thing to do?” he asked the elf.

  “Me?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t know. Kick my feet up and have a couple of ales, I suppose.”

  “Seriously?” Emrek said with a surprised look. “That’s after bein’ me favorite thing, too.”

  “No point in being obstinate, Emrek.”

  “I’m not after bein’ abstinent, ye goofy elf,” Emrek countered. “I’ve got me a wife and everythin’.” Then he cleared his throat. “Now, it’s true that we’ve been married a long time, so I’m basically abstinent now, but that’s not after bein’ me choice.”

  “No, I…” Toross shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “So you both like kicking up them feet and drinking ale?” Gungren sought to clarify.

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose so.” Emrek shrugged. “What’s yer point?”

  “Do you like puppies?” he asked the dwarf.

  “Are ye kiddin’? I love ’em!”

  “Me...too.”

  Emrek nearly fell over. “Say it ain’t so, elf!”

  “I’m feeling very confused right now,” Toross said while frowning at Gungren.

  He
was hoping that his point was getting across, but he still had to put in one more piece of information to really drive things home.

  “Do you love your ma and pa?”

  “Of course I do,” answered Toross. “They’re wonderful people.”

  “Aye,” Emrek said next, his cheeks turning rosy, “me ma is the best breadmaker in the land, and me pa is a smithy with no equal.”

  And now Gungren had them both where he wanted them.

  “So you both love your ma and pa, you also think puppies am cute, and your favorite thing is to kick up them feet and drink ale, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “It sounds like it, yes.”

  Emrek looked up at the elf and began to nod. Toross was staring back down at him as well. They were clearly finding this quite difficult to process. All the years that they’d been fighting with each other merely because one was an elf and the other was a dwarf.

  “So why them not friends?” Gungren asked finally. “Sound like you both like the same stuff.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Aye, it does.” Emrek chewed his lip. “If’n ye was a dwarf, we’d prolly be the best of pals.”

  “Same if you were an elf.”

  “But why that matter?” Gungren declared. “You am an elf and him am a dwarf. So what? You both Ononokernites! That all that matters.”

  “I daresay he’s right,” Toross stated with some trepidation.

  Emrek’s jaw was slack. “I’m not after feelin’ comfy with it, but I got no choice but to agree.”

  And that’s when the clerk came in the room, cracked open his pad of paper and yelled, “Toross and Emrek, you’re the first two up. Get out on the field!”

  They began picking up their weaponry and they didn’t look all that happy about it. When Gungren had entered the room they were at each other’s throats, ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Now it seemed like they were loathing the proposition.

  “And now I gotta go out there and be after rippin’ yer limbs off?” said Emrek after hopping down from the bench.

  Toross nodded. “Business is business, I suppose. But whatever happens, assuming one or both of us doesn’t end up dead, maybe we could grab an ale sometime?”

  “Aye. Let’s do that.”