This match-up will last until March 17th at 12:00 A.M. E.S.T. Good luck!
This match-up will last until March 17th at 12:00 A.M. E.S.T. Good luck!
-The Althanas Chief Administrator and Editor
“I’m hungry,” the blue dragon complained for about the fifteenth time in the last hour. Atzar said nothing. It was his latest strategy to cope with Zirkan’s incessant chatter: silence. Unfortunately, it was proving to be an exercise in futility.
The mountains loomed large in front of him, the peaks stretching ever higher in an eternal attempt to reach the heavens. It was deep within these ice-encrusted crags that the mage’s home rested. The village was called Tel’Han, home to wizards and mages of all brands and specialties. Atzar had spent the vast majority of his life in the village. Recently, however, he had begun to take trips down into Radasanth. He had dabbled in the Citadel a time or two, but his real reason for the increasingly-frequent journies north was research. Tel’Han was an intelligent community as a whole, but there were more books in one of Radasanth’s libraries than there were in the entirety of his home village. Atzar, after learning this fact, immediately expanded his studies.
It was the return from one of these trips that found him in the foothills of the Comb Mountains at that very time. This journey was almost identical to any other: a three-day journey to Radasanth, a week-long meditation in various libraries, and a three-day return trip to Tel’Han. The only difference in this expedition and the last was the company of Zirkan, a decision he quickly came to regret. The dragon was friendly beneath his acidic demeanor, but the reality was that he just wasn’t cut out for study and research. He was energetic, noisy, and distracting in general. The mage found that he accomplished nearly nothing when he was forced to bring the dragon along with him.
The little blue creature, seeming to sense that the mage was thinking about him, tried his luck again. “I’m hungry,” he repeated, louder this time. Melodramatically-piteous eyes glanced up at Atzar, probing for a reaction.
He got one. “Why don’t you go find something to eat,” the mage rounded on him, eyes flashing as the last vestiges of patience fled his mind. “You’ve already eaten all of our food, you little beast. We still have at least a day and a half to Tel'Han, and we’ll have to do it with no food! Whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” Zirkan retorted shamelessly. “You should have brought more food! Honestly… you humans got the short end of the stick in terms of intelligence, eh?”
A seething, irritable hiss was all that the frustrated wizard gave for a reply. He turned and stalked away, giving up the argument.
”Little beast always gets the last word in,” he thought sourly.
Out of Character:
Good luck. I hope to have a fun battle with you.
Last edited by Atzar; 03-04-07 at 02:27 AM.
Noble Hares possess a remarkably sunny disposition. It is simply their nature to be optimistic, outgoing, looking on the bright side of life sort of personalities. Fedlund is no exception to this rule. This particular day, however, is very much an exception. The sun has not quite reached its apogee and the hare is already brooding, stalking bitterly along the road, reflecting on the miseries of the day.
Last night was so nice, not a cloud in the sky. No reasonable weather should ever turn so foul so quickly. It isn’t proper to fool a fellow like that, letting him fall asleep under a clear sky then soaking him to the bone before morning breaks. Bah! I’ll blame the weather, and rabbits, for all my problems today, for it surely started the whole mess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hares love their sleep and abhor being wet. The storm last night had offended both of these preferences, starting the morning poorly. It was probably early morning when events turned from cold and miserable to depressing and maddening, beginning with an encounter at the farmhouse.
The glow of a fire sprays light through the windows of the house, beckoning Fedlund to their shelter. A silhouette at one of the windows slides up the pane, leaning out under the eaves for a better look at the approaching figure. Fedlund raises his hand to wave and is about to call out to the occupant of the house when childish laughter breaks through the storm.
“Whooo hoo hoo hoo!! Look at that big rabbit. He is ALL WET!! What a sight! Hey Mogo, check out this rabbit!!”
Another child appears at the window, perhaps a younger brother based on the size of the two.
“Oh man…you ain’t kidding Gab. That is one big funny bunny.”
Rage wells up in Fedlund at the poor treatment. Rage at the boys, rage at their parents for the poor upbringing, rage at the general lack of propriety he has found in what is supposed to a civilized land, rage at the weather, but most of all, rage at rabbits. Of course, Noble Hares generally despise rabbits no matter what, so it doesn’t take much to direct their rage at their old nemeses.
The rain, however, douses Fedlund’s anger. The house may be the only warmth and shelter for miles and he knows better than to allow his pride to disrupt the possibility of a warm bowl of vegetable soup.
“Please young sirs, fetch the master of the house and ask if I might find some shelter from this most spiteful bit of weather in your home.”
More laughter as the smaller figure turns away, yelling into the house. A man, presumably the father, makes his appearance.
“What’s this I hear about some muddied up bunny rabbit looking for a place to sneak around in? No good vagrant, what does this look like? A charity house? Ye’ll survive a bit of water, not like it will make ya melt or nothing. Now SCAT!!”
Fedlund wants to spew back, defend his pride and inform the man of the error of his ways, but the utter despondency of the situation sucks the energy from the hare and he slumps away, ears and heart stinging as the trio of boorish males hurl insults at his receding form.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That is how the morning had started. It was just before noon before the rain stopped. One might think the sun breaking through the clouds would lift ones spirits, but this particular leg of the journey traveled near a swamp. As the rain stopped, the bugs came out. Mosquitoes, flies, and a nasty conglomeration of other insects descended on Fedlund’s sopping form, poking and prodding through his thick grey fur. He swung his still soaked floppy hat valiantly at anything that buzzed as he tries to make an escape, but the swarm keeps pace and the hat does little to deter them.
Eventually, after an unpleasant number of attacks had penetrated the skin of the hare, the insects relented their assault and swarmed back to their swamp.
Still Fedlund’s misery was not at an end, however. The weather turned quickly and the sun beat down mercilessly, steaming the hare inside his fur. A tree beside the road provided some shade and he stopped in his misery, hoping for reprieve. To pass some time, Fedlund retrieved Elencia, only to let fly a vile curse at his own forgetfulness. All eight of the horse-hair strings on Elencia had snapped, stretched beyond their limits by the rapidly fluctuating temperature. On top of that, Fedlund noticed a small crack forming in the soundboard, certainly another effect of the humidity. Frustrated, saddened, bitter and perturbed, Fedlund abandons the shade, bringing the story back to the present as he stalks along the road.
It is in this foul mood that Fedlund approaches a pair of travelers: a small blue dragon and a simply dressed traveler. A friendly greeting would be the appropriate course of action in a situation such as this, but Fedlund’s mood clouds his sense of propriety and he stalks past without a glance, muttering under his breath, cursing the weather, humans, bugs, and, or course, rabbits, who are certainly to blame for all his troubles.
The encounter could have ended that quickly, if not for the hunger of Zirkan. Spotting an kings sized meal waltzing by on the road, he feels compelled to comment to Atzar.
“Look, I found something to eat. An oversized bunny. Perfec…”
Before the dragon can finish his sentence, Fedlund has lashed out with a hind paw, a vicious kick aimed at the Zirkan’s jaw. The dragon reacts quickly, dodging behind Atzar, while Fedlund roars his displeasure.
“PUFF HEADED, SMOKE BRAINED OVER-SIZED GECKO!!! I am a Hare. A Noble Hare. NOT a fluff tailed, berry scarfing BUNNY! Sir, I most respectfully ask that you remove yourself from my path that I might teach this salamander a thing or two.”
The duo is at an impasse, Zirkan peering from behind Atzar and Fedlund itching for a shot at him, as they await Atzar’s reply.
Out of Character:
“Well, hare or not, you look pretty tasty, bunny,” Zirkan snapped from behind the mage’s leg. “Come on, Atzar, do as he asks! I can take this sad excuse for a rodent with my wings pinned to my back! Come on, bunny-boy…”
The insults flew like arrows from a bow. The situation had deteriorated so wildly, so quickly, that Atzar found himself struggling to keep up. He simply watched, dumbstruck, eyes flickering uncertainly from one creature to the next. A dead silence eventually fell over the trio as both belligerent beasts stared at the mage. He found himself giving the angry proposal serious thought. Zirkan had certainly been a handful as of late. Even though the thought made him feel a little guilty, Atzar couldn’t help but feel that a thrashing might check the dragon’s ever-growing attitude.
His conscience began to argue with itself. While it was true that a fight might restore some civility to Zirkan’s sharp tongue, the mage couldn’t help but worry about him. The dragon was tough. There was no denying that. But the “noble hare” was several times his size. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight.
“Hello?” the dragon’s high-pitched voice intruded on his thoughts. “Sometime today? You know, for someone who makes a hobby of research, your mind runs like molasses.”
Zirkan could take care of himself.
“Be my guest, sir Hare,” Atzar said with an exaggerated bow, stepping dramatically to one side. “I’d just appreciate it if you took care to avoid any… fatalities. Insulting and insufferable as he is, he’s still my friend.”
With a short glare at the mage, the dragon sprang immediately into action. Wings snapped out to their full length, and powerful strokes carried the beast effortlessly into the air. He began flying circles around the human and the hare, new insults rolling off of the acidic tongue as fast as his mind could think them up.
As Atzar struggles to grasp exactly what has transpired, Fedlund shares in his confusion at the situation, coming to grasps with his irrational outburst.
I suppose that I am entitled to a bit of impropriety on occasion, and this scale smear did insult me most gravely. But it isn’t truly his fault. If not for the misdeeds of long ago by those vile rabbits, his words would not wound my pride so deeply. Still, he DOES need to be taught a lesson, for my sake and seemingly for his friend’s as well.
Zirkan does little to help the situation with his repeated insults. Fedlund mutters to himself, clenching and unclinching his fists as they await Atzar.
"Blow nosed barbarian, he probably would feed on a Noble Hare as if I were any other chunk of bloody meat."
Despite his rage, Fedlund does not forget his propriety and decorum, returning a slight bow to acknowledge Atzar’s exit from the field of battle.
“My thanks to you for your understanding. I swear on my grand ears, your companion will not suffer too heavily for his transgressions of poor manners and ignorance.”
The genteel disposition dissolves very quickly into a furious glare directed at Zirkan.
As Atzar clears the path, Fedlund hurls himself through the air, trying to grapple with and overpower his much smaller opponent. An unceremonious face-plant into the steaming mud is the reward for his efforts as the dragon lifts into the air over his head. Already muddied from the nights activities, the addition of a new layer of grime is hardly a noticeable downgrade in appearance. All the attack accomplishes is to provide more fuel for the fiery tongue of Zirkan, whose insults pelt Fedlund like the rain.
Sliding into the shallow mud, Fedlund fills each paw with a healthy clump of the gritty paste. Rolling onto his back, he fires the globule at Zirkan’s winged form.
As one might expect from a hastily collected blob, the loosely formed projectiles break apart in flight, the brownish chunks speckling the blue sky before falling back to the earth. Despite its futility, mud-flinging proves to be a rather gratifying experience for the hare. Shifting to a kneeling position more favorable for hurling, he begins a sustained barrage of mud pies, mixing in some insults of his own.
“Tasty, you say? You want something to eat, little lizard? Here is a snack for your putrid tongue. This should be about the right texture for your weakly equipped mandibles. And look, another snack on its way. Perhaps if you will join me down here on the ground, we could share a spot of tea!”
Scraping through the mud, Fedlund’s paw settles on a more potent projectile. Coated in mud, the fist sized rock would be difficult to distinguish from the harmless mud spattering as it flies through the air at the mouth with wings.
Last edited by Sir Fedlund Overby; 03-10-07 at 12:03 AM.
“Come and get me, bun-”
SPLOCK!
A sizable ball of mud caught the cheeky dragon right in the face. Blinded, Zirkan cartwheeled through the air, wings beating in an attempt to keep himself airborne. Despite the valiant effort, he landed flat on his back with another muddy splack.
“Blech!” The blue creature spat a mouthful of muck out. Using his wings to push himself up, Zirkan only had time to cast one angry, offended glare at the giant hare before another projectile found its mark.
SPAT!
This ball had a much greater impact. There was a large stone embedded in the middle of it, and the force from the well-aimed shot sent the dragon tumbling backwards. Once again, the creature pushed himself up, glaring daggers at his adversary. The shower of earth and mud had subsided for the moment.
“You dirty, rotten, miserable excuse for a rabbit!” the dragon ranted irately. A snicker broke out from Atzar as the mage watched. That was it for Zirkan. Enraged and humiliated, a long string of curses erupted from his throat. With that, he pushed off of the ground once again, managing to get airborne despite the cumbersome mud that caked his wings. Closing in on the hare, toothy maw open, the dragon aimed to tear a sizable chunk of fur out of the chest of the beast.
Meanwhile, Atzar merely shaded his eyes from the bright sun and watched passively. A wide grin was pasted across his face. He couldn't help but laugh at their comical battle. The hare's projectiles were well-thrown, and Zirkan's furious reaction was only too predictable. Feeling that the humiliation would aid the dragon in the end, the wizard chose to do nothing. For his own part, the mage had decided that he would act as a supervisor. As long as shots weren't potentially lethal, he would leave the creatures to their fun. If Zirkan was in real danger, however... then, and only then, would Atzar enter the fray.
Last edited by Atzar; 03-13-07 at 08:10 PM.
The smugness on Fedlund’s face cannot be missed as Zirkan tumbles through the mud. Feeling he has clearly displayed his superiority to the dragon, Fedlund stands proudly once again. Of course, any true sense of grandeur is completely lost in the muck, matted fur, and general dishevelment of the towering hare. However, in his mind he is a conquering champion, standing valiantly over the humbled foe he has struck down by the might of his projectile.
With conciliatory remarks prepared for his downed opponent, Fedlund is about to claim victory when a gout of expletives explode from the mud covered dragon. Even for Fedlund, who prides himself on quick thought and tongue, the length and variety of the tirade is astounding. His jaw droops slowly as the marvel of such a verbose and vile tongue sink in. Always one to acknowledge the accomplishments of another, even an enemy, he goes so far as to applaud the prolific display of loquacity. Still wowed, he turns to the on looking mage.
“My oh my. Your friend, despite his stature, is possessed with a towering gift of gab. If not for his grotesque manners, he might even put such an ability to good use. I could even teach him…EGH!!”
Distracted from the fight, Felund has allowed the airborne Zirkan to close to an uncomfortable proximity before reacting. Still, the reach and size of the hare provide adequate defense to Zirkan’s reckless charge. Zirkan’s jaws close on air as Fedlund grasps the dragon’s neck, the hare’s rangy arms maintaining a safe distance between the snapping teeth and his muddied fur.
Absorbing the force of the charge, Fedlund rolls backward to the ground to execute a simple grappling move that had worked to great effect against a number of other opponents during Fedlund’s travels. As he falls, he seeks to plant his powerful hind paws against Zirkan’s chest, planning to catapult him helplessly through the air. Fedlund grins triumphantly as he pictures Zirkan tumbling across the ground and into the thicket by the side of the path.
At the point of execution, Fedlund’s confidence turns to panicked alarm as he discovers that Zirkan’s stubby body does not reach far enough for Fedlund’s hind legs to come into play. Long legs kick the air, wrestling with an invisible bedsheet, as Zirkan lands fully on Fedlund’s chest. Fedlund’s view is all gnashing teeth, flapping wings, and spraying mud as he struggles to maintain a grip on the dragon’s neck. Slick mud on hardened scales complicate the matter. Kicking and clawing against the hare’s grip, the claws of Zirkan’s gash Fedlund’s tunic and send puffs of fur into the air. Grunts, yells, and flapping wings create a cacophony as the two ineffectual combatants flail against one another’s assaults.
Eager to escape his disadvantaged position, Fedlund tries to roll over on top of Zirkan, pinning the dragon beneath his wait where Fedlund can pummel him with relative impunity.
The hare was quick. Atzar had to give him that.
A last minute grab had saved the large creature from a painful, humiliating injury. The impressiveness of the move, however, was quickly erased by an equally graceless and hilarious one. The mage wasn’t quite sure what Zirkan’s adversary had planned to accomplish with the maneuver, but it hadn’t worked. The hare was on his back with one hand around the dragon’s armor-protected neck, and both were struggling comically to gain the advantage. Another laugh broke from the mage’s mouth. He was truly enjoying this spectacle. It wasn’t often, after all, that two beings so gamely embarrassed themselves.
Zirkan realized with growing alarm that the bigger beast was trying to roll over. If he succeeded, the battle was over. The little dragon was full of vinegar, but he just wasn’t big enough to counter such weight. He needed a way to break free.
The first hastily-formed plan that popped in his head was put into action. He needed to distract the hare. And there was still quite a bit of mud left in his mouth from his graceless plummet…
“Ptuh!” Zirkan spat the bad-tasting goop at the face of the creature. His mindless kicking and writhing was renewed with gusto, wings beating frantically in a desperate effort to take to the air. His scales protecting his neck from the hare’s tight grasp, but until he broke free, he was at the bigger beast’s mercy. "Big, stupid rabbit!" the dragon snarled between clenched teeth. "Let me go!"
“GAH!! BLA GARF NOOF TUFTLE PTHHH!!!”
Tiny bits of dirt, sand, and a healthy glob of dragon saliva splatter across Fedlund’s face, stinging his eyes and easily accomplishing the goal of distracting the hare. The incoherent exclamations of disgust accompany a flailing of all four legs, a shove aiding Zirkan in his escape to the air. Clumps of mud spray from beating wings as Zirkan takes position over the field of battle. Clearing his eyes of their obstructions, Fedlund wrinkles his nose in Zirkan’s direction.
“Your breath is a far fouler weapon than your teeth. Perhaps you should stop dining on dirt. Between your breath and your tongue, you may one day find yourself a winged handbag for the lady of an individual not so kind as myself.”
Zirkan hovers in the air and there is little Fedlund can do as he glares up at the troublesome beast. Without further banter, Fedlund loosens his belt and pulls his shredded tunic over his head, revealing smeared blood streaks through white fur from the numerous small cuts and scratches criss-crossing his belly. The torn garment flutters through the air, cast aside to the pile of equipment arrayed on a stump at the roadside. The weight imbalances the bundle and the backpack falls from the impromptu table, spilling its contents into the grass. Gold lettering glistens as the leather cover slips from “A Noble Way.” Lying atop the mess, the book draws Fedlund’s eye. Unbidden, as if the book has spoken to him, the words are replayed in his mind, laying out the high calling of a Noble Hare.
[b]A Noble Hare must always maintain a proper perspective on life. You, Fedlund Overby, are a Noble beast, a rare breed unique from the beings who will surround you. Those who choose not to recognize your value do so at their own detriment, it will not be your place to correct them. Inform, instruct, befriend, and spread the Noble way, but do not force anyone, no matter their offense, to be swayed to your understanding.[/b]
Fedlund knows the lessons well. He has read “A Noble Way” many times and, on unfortunately numerous occasions, he has recalled the expectations of his lineage AFTER a rash of impropriety has set unfortunate events into motion.
It seems I have yet again made a poor hare of myself. Blast my pride!! I am supposed to be a model of the best traits sentient beings display and here I go, buffeting about over a silly insult from a winged rascal. I fear I will never live up to what is expected of me.
Fedlund’s perspective shifts, no longer does he see a flying nuisance spewing stinging words. Instead he sees an outsized creature bravely defending himself against his foolish assault.
Vulgarity notwithstanding, he must not be totally without quality. He has certainly gained the loyalty of the human, who seems reasonable and pleasant enough. Hopefully this situation can be ended with no further foolishness on my part or his.
The anger and aggressiveness are absent from Fedlund’s eyes as he addresses Zirkan, disappointment in himself replacing any venom toward his foe.
“I’m afraid you will not understand this, but this whole scuffle has been quite a mistake. I should not have instigated such an affair. Your tongue is cruel and has spoken unjustly, but by my actions I have demeaned the great tradition of Nobility from which I come. I have no desire to pursue this matter further. Let us go our ways and live in peace.”
Zirkan’s eyes flashed angrily, and the bared teeth were visible even from Atzar’s remote vantage point on the ground. An mock moan escaped the mage’s lips. Whatever happened next, it was very unlikely that the hare would get the peace that he requested.
“Numbskull of a hare!” the dragon shouted venomously. It just wasn’t in the little blue creature’s nature to back down from a fight, even if there was nothing to be gained from continuing. With a wide sweep of wings, he fell into a dive, aiming straight for the hare. The bigger beast, meanwhile, made no move to stop the dragon as it grew ever closer to its target.
CONK!
The world above was a white haze. He blinked once, twice, three times… slowly, gradually, the world came into focus above his head. Finally, he was able to distinguish two blurry figures moving around above his head. One of them was Atzar, his face framed by his long, black hair. The other one was easily identifiable by long ears and great size.
“Wha…. What… what happened?” the dragon asked blearily, his voice sounding thick and slurry as it left his mouth.
The world came into focus a little more. Enough, at any rate, that the creature could make out the wide grins on the two faces that loomed above him.
“You’re not going to believe this,” the mage said. If it was even possible, his grin became even wider.
Some of the dragon’s waspish temper began to return. “Alright, tell me,” he ordered, his voice a bit clearer now. “What happened?”
“You were attacked by a hawk.”
Zirkan lay in the mud, dumbstruck, while both of the creatures above his head broke into hearty laughter. For once in the blue pygmy’s life, he was at a complete loss for words.
“The bird flew off,” Atzar elaborated, still grinning. “The impact knocked you out, but you’re not hurt at all.” A chuckle escaped from his lips. “Do you still want to fight?”
Finally, the dragon’s temper returned in full force. “I just got knocked out, you dolt of a magician! Of course I don’t want to fight anymore.” Angry eyes roved over the face of the smiling Noble Hare. “Don’t think this is the end of this, rab- …hare,” he threatened angrily. “We’ll meet again, and when we do, I’ll show you just what us dragons are made of!”
Still sharing in the hearty laughter, Atzar and the hare straightened. Atzar met the creature’s eyes. “He’s right about one thing, I think,” the mage said tentatively. “You seem like a likable fellow. I’d like to meet you again sometime.”
With that, he offered his hand to the hare, a gesture of peace and goodwill.
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