Other Sonics #1-- The Barbarian : Part One
By Robert Haynie
Obligatory stuff-- Sonic the Hedgehog, Bunnie Rabbot, etc. TM
and copyright 1995 by Sega of America and Archie Comics. They
probably reserve all rights. This story is copyright 1995 Robert
S. Haynie Jr. This is an exercise in fan fiction, and is not
meant to infringe on their rights, but is a purely recreational
exercise. It may be duplicated freely, with the restrictions that
A) no text is changed, and B) no money is charged.
Foreword:
In more than one issue of the STH comic the so-called "Cosmic
Interstate" has been mentioned. Most noted was issue #19 (I
believe), "Night of a Thousand Sonics", which noted that there were
(in theory) many, many versions of the hedgehog. But what are
these other realms like? What are the others like in them? Is
Bunnie always such a babe in them (Sorry, that just slipped out)?
Let us look at one... Offramp #14-a-347-bx-2, Mobs in the age of
high fantasy...
Prologue
"Know, oh Prince. that in the age of the House of Acorn, when
a darkness rose from the bitter East to cleave the Kingdom and to
bring strife and misery to the children of Karuis, there came Son-
Ak, a thief, a reaver, a runner, who had sought only adventure but
found himself n the path of heroes, who won a crown and a bride by
the strength of his good right arm and the swiftness of his feet.
Or something like that. I really don't remember, I haven't had
enough sleep."
The chronicles of Mandar the Insomniac
Part the first
It was mostly rain that day, rain and mud, and the lost
warrior trudged through the thick gruel that water and dust had
made of the road with an expression of bitter annoyance and a heart
filled with growing mayhem. In time, he came to a roadside tavern,
and entered with considerable depression.
A barmaid took a single look at him and quailed.
Understandably, for the warrior was an intimidating sort. Tall for
a hedgehog-- over three feet, in fact-- clad in a hide tunic and
boots, and carrying a large battleaxe on his back, he had the
still visible marks of battle scars under his frontal fur. His
quills were longer and sharper than the usual for his kind, and
were styled in an intimidating blade-like fashion, and were of
the blue color peculiar to the barbarian tribes of the northlands.
The warrior took a seat at an unoccupied table, and the
barmaid, urged on by the tavern keeper, approached uncertainly.
Her life wasn't the easiest, and she feared that the fearsome
stranger would grab at her, or yell, or something frightening. But
he merely growled for ale and food, tossing a few copper coins
down-- enough to pay for his desires. And sulked.
"Man, I HATE rain."
After a few moment, the barmaid bought a plate of sausages and
cheese, some bread, and a pitcher of ale to the table. She began
to leave, when the hedgehog began to do something odd. First he
cut two slender pieces of bread from the loaf, then placed a
sausage on one, scraped off bits of cheese onto it, sighed, and
covered the whole with the other slice of bread. "Wish I had some
stew for this," he mumbled quietly. "Always goes better with some
stew."
The stranger ate in silence then, silence unbroken except for
the sipping of ale and the occasional unquiet burp.
"He's... not very polite," whispered the barmaid to the
innkeeper.
"Look at his dress, lass. He's a barbarian, a northern
warrior. You think he's used to doilies and fingerbowls?"
"As though you had any," sniffed the barmaid, and returned to
the other customers.
The hedgehog finished his meal in (relative) silence, and paid
for a room in back. He entered, still silent, still sulking. And
fell into a fitful sleep...
speed... the speed of the Chosen... blue wind and golden
fire...
The noise of the barmaid's screams broke the hedgehog's
unpleasant dream. With long-practiced reflexes he leapt to his
feet, grabbed his axe, and cast open his door. He didn't really
expect anything-- perhaps some patron who had drank too much and
could not handle it too well had got too "friendly", at worst some
bandits of some sort-- whatever, it would hardly be any--
For a second, the warrior thought they were soldiers of some
sort, in strange armor. But the movements were wrong, there were
no joints. The barbarian realized that they were statues of some
dark metal, bought to life by some hellish spell.
For the first time in weeks, Son-ak the Blue grinned.
Almost casually he began to whirl his battleaxe in a circle,
but rather than the usual two or three swings most would have used,
(to intimidate) Son-ak continued to spin the blade, faster and
faster, until it was a silvery circle above his head. And then,
with a blood-chilling war cry, he charged the demon-statues.
Where a common blade-stroke would have hardly bent the metal
of the enchanted figures, the whirling axe struck with such force
that the metal parted. Green fire erupted from the cracked shell
of the statue, and the figure collapsed into shards of broken
metal. The two remaining figures turned towards this unexpected
interruption.
Son-ak suddenly threw his axe at one, and leapt at the second,
tucking into a rolling ball in mid-leap. The axe cracked one
statue, and-- amazingly-- Son-ak opened the other with flailing
quills. Both spat the same green flame, both crumbled into scraps
of metal.
The innkeeper stared at the remains of the three figures, and
at the now wildly grinning hedgehog, who threw back his head and
howled a barbaric cry of defiance and victory. Then he turned his
attentions to the barmaid, who had collapsed after she had
screamed.
"Hah! I'd thought that there wasn't anything to do here! You
ought to have told me of such entertainment, innkeeper!"
"Entertainment," spat the innkeeper. "You may call it
entertainment, Barbarian, but no one here would. We've had enough
grief from the Dark Wizard before. Still, my thanks for stopping
those golems. I've never seen such bladework before with an axe."
"Aye," grinned the hedgehog,"And ye won't soon see it again!
I am Son-ak of the Cad-hai, the Swift one, the runner past the
wind, the Striker! I run swifter than a thunderclap, strike harder
thana the lightning--"
"And boast louder than a donkey," came a dry voice from
behind.
"And boast louder than a donkey! I-- Hey, wait a minute,"
sputtered Son-ak. He turned about, to face the new speaker.
"That's hardly polite, bent-ear."
"Spare me a barbarian's etiquette," replied the newcomer.
Son-ak frowned, even as he sized up the speaker.
Most of the females he'd seen in his travels in the south had
been dressed either in simple tunics and dresses (if poor) or in
silks and gold (if wealthy, and rather skimpy if they had the looks
for it). This one was garbed, instead, in a black leather halter
and trunks, with tall boots of the same material and plated
gauntlets. The rabbit's ear was bent, at least one was, but her
eyes were those of a warrior, and the large two-handed sword she
had cast on her back was not any city maiden's toy. That she
could-- and did-- carry such a weapon meant she considered herself
a fighter. The thin scar across her left eye (fortunate to have
missed the eye itself) meant she was. And that no other scars were
visible meant she was a warrior of skill.
Received on Mon Jan 08 1996 - 23:46:11 PST
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