“A Battle of Wits”

On the search for the kidnapped maiden, Celest, Good vs. Medieval wandered blindly through the midnight woods, guided only by occasional spurts of campfire chatter and suspicious laughter generated from an unknown source. The voices were harsh and droning like those of lost souls. It made the men question their destination.

"Obviously we're not alone here, men," Keno whispered to his followers. "Whaddaya think we're in for?"

"Nothing special," answered Gregor in a confident tone. "This is simply your average haunted forest on an ancient burial ground, man. It's just ghosts livin' it up."

Keeb contributed, "Well, I'll go out on a limb and say it's a bunch of teenagers getting drunk and making out. The seclusion of this spot makes for great whoopee, I betcha!"

Keno then turned to the dwarf. "What do you think, Stumpy?"

Stumpy, finger crammed up his nose, removed it with a hollow bottle sound, and replied, "Uhh, I think we stepped through a trans-literary warp gate, and now we're in a Stephen King novel."

"Okay, then," Keno summarized. "We got votes for ghosts, horny teens, and plagiarism. But if you ask me, I'd say we're definitely on the trail of Skullduggery. It's an uncanny feeling I have. You know that little voice inside you— the same one that tells you something's wrong when your riding mate disappears from your side and you feel a big bump underneath the coach? Well that little voice inside me keeps saying, 'Skullduggery!' It would be in true fashion for those skull-headed screwballs to hide in such a dreary place and plan their next attempt to sprinkle the baby powder of badness over the bubble bath of mankind. You watch!"

"We'll see," Gregor replied, unconvinced.

The men pressed through the thickets of the dismal setting. Indeed, anything could have been lurking around the corner given the fact that they were trespassing in an eerie forest on the grounds of a cemetery at the dead of night. Little did they know the morbid secrets these woods held.

Down another stretch of wooded path the men traversed. Less trodden than the others, hanging limbs and thorny undergrowth slowed their progress. A patch of burdocks latched onto Gregor's robe, which he could not stand for, and all exploration procedures stalled until he picked them off. Keno stood impatient beside his partner, arms crossed and foot tapping. This would never happen if Gregor wore armor, he thought.

Suddenly a deep, sputtering howl like that of a pained ogre echoed over the treetops with anguish and force. Owls fluttered to the sky, raccoons ducked their heads inside tree trunk hollows, and a gopher eating fermented berries fell onto its back, it was so chilling!

Instinctively Keno reached for his sword but relaxed his grip. "So, men. Any guesses as to what that was?"

"Sounded like a man with a dagger in his gut," Gregor replied. "Possibly between the liver and stomach."

"Was it Celest screaming?" Stumpy took a stab in the dark.

"Not unless she was downing Pixy Sticks filled with sink cleanser," Keeb replied.

"Eh, it's probably nothing," Keno optimistically concluded. "Probably someone else doing a simultaneous quest in this particular venue. I mean, it ain't like our stories are the only ones ever told! It's probably those meddling kids and their dog who live down the street from us. Let's not worry about it."

Unwavering in their goal, the heroes moved on. Sounds of assorted voices speaking jumbled details grew definite, and the illumination of a campfire lie just beyond a final barrier of trees.

Cautiously the men crept forward and peeked their heads around moss-covered bunkers, glancing into the secluded grove. What they saw was an army of Skullduggery demon knights and orcs, the primary lackeys of Lord Critikul himself, gathered in a gruesome assembly. The orcs, savage and doglike, sat on logs around a huge bonfire. As they gnashed on various parts of some slaughtered beast, they communicated in harsh, trivial tongues. Their counterparts, the steel skeleton-bone-clad knights, were mostly guarding the grounds, though some took refuge inside camping tents, trading with others emerging from them.

Keno elbowed Gregor and gloated in whisper, "Ha! What'd I tell ya? I knew it was Skullduggery."

"I guess you were right," the wizard confessed.

The barbarian followed with a proud, double bicep flex.

"Okay. You don't have to rub it in."

"They must be holding Celest in one of those tents," Keeb stated.

Keno scratched his temple briefly. "Then I suggest we clobber 'em all, rescue the girl, and be done with it. It's just a skin-and-bones brigade out there— a hundred of 'em at the most. I don't see any trouble in wiping 'em out."

"Good enough," Gregor said. "I learned a new spell called 'Disperse.' One blast and, poof, every molecule in those creeps' bodies take separate vacations. They'll be whipped in seconds."

"Oh, c'mon, Gregor," whined Keno. "That's too easy. Make it fun for the rest of us, too!"

"Oh, fine," pouted the wizard. "Whatever!"

"All right!" Keno said with satisfaction. "Let's do this Good vs. Medieval style! On the count of three, we leap through the bushes and storm their outing. Ready? One— two— THREE!"

The headstrong warriors jumped into the open, and dozens of skull helmets swung to the sight of heroes in no-nonsense battle stances.

Sword aimed straight up, Keno stood tall, mighty, and bulging with power. He trumpeted his famous Good vs. Medieval battle cry: "YO HOOOOOO!"— capped off with the untimely snapping of his blade from its hilt, and the piece of metal clanging to the ground by his feet. Keno's eyes veered downward, and an embarrassed smile crept upon his face. "Heh. Excuse me for one second." The hapless barbarian picked up the blade and dove back into the bushes as everyone else maintained frozen standoffish expressions. For a brief moment, the woods offered sounds of metallic hammering and peeling of duct tape until Keno sprung back into the open with sword repaired. "YO HOOOOOO!" he repeated.

All of a sudden, the scene became a fighting free-for-all as scoundrels fueled with hostility clashed with the ambitious warriors. Each hero, brimming with valor and finesse, took on batches of axe-wielding demon knights and hordes of pesky orcs armed with daggers and cleavers. Clangs, smashes, pows, splats, and various other onomatopoeias cluttered the night air.

Keno found himself caught between two hefty skeleton knights, dodging the rhythmic exchange of each battle axe with skillful swashbuckling. He ducked toward the foe on his left and, with a stalwart swing, lashed out a bloody slit in the soft section of its waist. The knight stumbled backward in pain, and Keno topped off the move with an excerpt from his corny one-liner collection. "Congratulations! You just made the cut!"

In a secluded corner of the arena, Keeb, the marksman, remained planted as he fired a rapid arsenal of arrows from his crossbow. A bunch of orcs fell casualty to his onslaught, hitting the ground with rows of quills lodged in their green flesh. The elf joked, "Get the point?"

Then there was Gregor, the accomplished wizard. With spell after destructive spell spurting from his staff, no one could touch him. In fact, the demon knights were downright reluctant to face him as four of them timidly sidestepped around his impenetrable defenses. The wizard slyly remarked, "Getting cold feet?" before blasting them all with a wave of ice from his cannon-powered staff.

Still indulged in his barbaric ballet was Keno as he struck, twirled, and lunged at the enemy. With a fierce thrust, he sank his blade deep into the eye socket of his next prey, and oily, black goo gushed untamed. Over the tormented squeal of his vanquished foe, Keno's hearty words, "Keep a sharp eye out for me!" rang out.

Another armored thug sneaked up behind Gregor with its massive axe drawn. The wizard swung around quickly and responded with a sudden blast of gale force wind from his staff, sending the fiend spiraling through the air in a magical cyclone. "Looks like you blew that attack!" he called with a smile.

One by one, orcish pawns fell to the ground and stumbled into the roaring bonfire where they were burned to crisps. All were done in by Keeb's uncontested rain of arrows drilling into their bodies. The sharpshooter chortled, "Heh! Just pokin' some fun at ya!"

Keno, meanwhile, was confronted by a demon knight on one side, and a swine-like orc commander on the other. "Hmm, this is a split decision," he uttered before rushing the poorly clad orc and delivering a guillotine blow to its head. As if carving through ham, the swordsman's superior blade sliced down the middle of the creature from skull to crotch.

One demon knight tried to sneak up on Gregor from behind. Suspicious, the wizard looked over his shoulder and wryly asked, "Water you doing?" before swinging into position and belting the foe with a tidal wave blast from his staff.

"Here's a riddle for ya!" Keeb proclaimed as he fired a deadly barrage of darts into countless orc bodies.

Gregor set his glare on his next victim. "Looks like the forecast calls for widely-scattered villain!" he cleverly announced before firing his staff at the doomed knight. A glowing red ray of light projected on its chest, swelling its body like a balloon, fatter and fatter until it exploded in a burst of gore.

Of course, Stumpy, too, racked up his share in the death toll. With a battle axe that matched those of his opponents, he was able to strike a dishonest blow to an unwitting knight, lopping off its leg clean at the knee. "Uhh, you can take that doughnut and finish it up the creek," he commented, trying to match his teammates' one-liners and failing miserably. After snatching an unfinished barbecued wyvern thigh left at the campfire, he turned to the next adversary and fought while nibbling.

Shortly thereafter, the bustling of Skullduggery fighters became a litter of junked corpses scattered throughout the grove. The only remaining action was in the big bonfire, rippling and crackling like a memorial shrine.

The heroic foursome converged and shared in multiple high-fives, celebrating a job well done, but suddenly the earth began to quake in a steady rhythm of ruptures, bringing the men's revelry to a quick halt. What was it, the men wondered. An earthquake? The rise of the dead?

Then Keno saw it. Positioned in ferns on the shadowy sideline was the master of evil, the seven-foot gargoyle-demon, Lord Critikul, jumping up and down in frustration like a deprived brat; his stone feet pounding the ground was causing the tremors.

The barbarian squeezed the handle of his broadsword. "Lord Critikul," he hailed with authority. "How surprising it is to see you away from the security blanket of your fortress. Where is Celest?"

"Oh, don't worry about her," Critikul replied with a sinister rub of his hands. "I'll take good care of her as long as she takes good care of me. You see, in exchange for her knowledge, I'll let her continue to enjoy life's little pleasures— like breathing."

"Huh! You're just a damn snapper," provoked Gregor. "And might I add you make a terrible Skullduggery archfiend— although the rubbing of the hands was a nice touch!"

The demon's stone fist rattled angrily, and he retaliated with a growl. "You think I am to be taken lightly? Your confidence bores me, so therefore you will be done away with promptly, right here, right now!"

"Oh yeah?" Gregor taunted. "You and what army? We just slaughtered all your troops."

"Oh contraire, insignificant illusionist boy. That was just your warm-up. I saved the best for last!"

"Really?" Keno scoffed, "Who did you dig up for this exercise? Sir Witherbone, ruler of the undead?"

"Oh no," Critikul shrewdly replied. "I found someone much more capable of dispatching you quickly and effortlessly, yet with a generous amount of pain." Then, like a game show host, he extended his hand to the darkness of the woods and announced, "Please welcome your executioner: that mad gorilla from the Samsonite Luggage commercials!"

"Ha!" Keno laughed, anticipating the ape's arrival. "No suitcase-twirling monkey is gonna stand in my way!"

Enter the suitcase-twirling monkey. From out of the bushes it came, snorting, growling and galloping on its wrists straight for Keno.

The two engaged, sizing each other up like wrestlers before their first grapple. With his blade held in a strategic striking position, Keno could have delivered a straightforward blow at any time, but he stalled for a moment and started to babble, "Uhh— victory is— uhh—"

WHAM!

Without mercy, the ballistic gorilla tackled him to the ground, stomped on his carcass, and tossed him around like a shoddy travel bag. The relentless hooting and grunting of the beast suggested that Critikul must have rattled its cage in preparation for this showdown. A few airplane spins followed, culminating in a mighty hammer throw that sent the barbarian flying through the air and crashing into a muddy ditch.

Keno lay on his stomach with a sore body and a disposition to match. Aggravated and humbled, he planted his chin in one hand while the other drummed its fingers on the dirt.

Gregor approached the wild ape next and aimed his staff straight at it. With such an arsenal of powerful spells to choose from, one blast was all he needed. However, Gregor just stood there, uttering, "This will feel like—" But the words quit on him, and he, too, suffered the consequences.

A frenzied blur of hair and arms jumped all over the wizard, performing a series of speedbag punches on him. Cloth from the wizard's robe tore apart and flew everywhere like tissue. Then, with one final hurl, the gorilla dispatched Gregor into the same ditch as Keno.

It was tragic! The valiant fighters had run out of witty, heroic catch phrases and thus could not follow through with lethal maneuvers! They were helpless and doomed as the battle took a sudden, less-desirable turn. Lacking handles or not, the men's bodies were twirled in the air and tossed around the battlefield at the mercy of their brutal opponent. Desperate calls of "time out!" and "uncle!" cried from the fray on the behalf of the good guys, but they were ignored.

Keeb's limbs were stretched like taffy, fashioned into a pretzel shape, and discarded on the ground. Lying like a freak contortionist, he looked at his predicament and had to wisecrack: "Heh! So this is what it feels like to hug your own butt!"

"IIIIEEEEEE!" Stumpy screamed as the massive gorilla sat on top of him, twisting his foot in continuous revolutions. Flat on his belly, the dwarf bit down on his knuckle and pounded the dirt in submission. His short, stubby arms reached around for some kind of equalizer, but large rocks, discarded orc cleavers, and his own wayward battle axe were not satisfying enough. Finally his hand scouted the most precious prize: his half-eaten wyvern thigh, which he never got to finish. In the sheer torment of his ankle bones popping, he took a bite and savored its flavor. Something to drink would have been nice too, but he roughed it.

The gorilla began to smell the barbecued aroma of Stumpy's snack and released the hold on the dwarf's crumpled leg. It swung around to snatch the juicy, charred meat for a nibble, but this did not please Stumpy in the least.

Eyes glaring and back arching like a cat's, the deprived dwarf let out a growl that curled the gorilla's hair. He sprung for the attack, clobbering the beast with an iron-plated head ram and following it up by bouncing its hairy carcass all over the campsite. The gorilla, sad to say, stood no chance against the vengeful dwarf as it tried to crawl away sorry but was dragged by the foot back into battle.

As a finishing maneuver, Stumpy delivered a powerful kick to the ape's bare rump, sending it rocketing to the stars. A mournful silhouette of the ape's cartwheeling frame against the luminous moon was the last anyone saw of it.

The dwarf smiled. "Heh, he's gone on a flight but didn't get to pack his suitcase!"

"NOOO!" Critikul cowered, covering his ears. "The punch lines! Too corny!"

Recuperated, Keno approached the overlord calmly as if he had an ultimate weapon in his hand. Rather, he crossed his arms and scoffed, "Hmf! Everyone's a Critikul."

"Silence! All of you! I can't take it anymore!" His nerves at an end, he snapped his arms down, fluttered his wings, and took to the sky. "You won this time, heroes, but mark my words. The next time we meet, I'm going to play you a little melody with a four-to-the-floor beat! HAHAHAHAHA!" And with that, his smoky-colored hide blended with the midnight sky.

The barbarian aimed his fist in Crikul's direction and gave it a shake. "Damn you, taking advantage of our quadrilateral roster! DAMN YOUUUUUU!"

A little congratulatory session ensued as Gregor and Keeb, having brushed the dust off their worn bodies, converged to praise their dwarfish mate. Stumpy's conquering of the primate was grand, yes, but even better was the snappy response uncommon of the simpleton.

"Way ta go, Stella!" Gregor proudly gushed with a pat to his comrade's back. "Looks like you helped get our groove back!"

Regardless, Stumpy felt as though he had to explain his joke. "He didn't get to pack his suitcase— because he destroyed it! Get it?"

Crashing from his high, Gregor replied, "Yeah. We do."

"Because the suitcase stole his barbecue!"

"Shut up."