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.

     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.
     "Captain Rabbot," blurted the innkeeper.  "You should have
seen him, he--"
     "I saw, innkeeper," she interrupted.  "You-- I think you'd
better come with me."
     Son-ak tightened his grip on his axe.  "If there's some idiot
law against aiding innkeepers here against demon-tricks--"
     The rabbit laughed.  "By Mosthe', no, swift one.  But anyone
who can fight like that-- and with such an unusual technique-- will
interest my mistress immensely.  Besides, there's a bounty of five
royals for each of the dark Wizard's toys wrecked.  You've made a
pretty penny today, Son-ak, and I merely thought you'd like to
collect it."
     "Your mistress.  And who is that?  For that, who are you?"
     "I," replied the rabbit, "Am Captain Bunnie,  in service to
her Highness, the Princess Salar-Alicia of House Acorn, and leader
of her Royal Guards.  And I already... ah... 'heard' of you,
hedgehog.  You want your fifteen royals or not?"
     Son-ak grinned.  After weeks of boredom, things were looking
up.  A good fight, gold to refill his almost empty purse, and he'd
met a female of both obvious bravery and courage-- and, not that he
allowed himself to notice, beauty as well.  Yes, perhaps his
fortunes were changing for the better...

     To the east, a massive form shuddered.  A hand clutched a
glittering stone, and a quiet snarl escaped thick lips.
     "Sniv.  To me.  Now."
     The shadows produced a short, black swathed figure.  "My
lord?"
     "Something in the west has destroyed three of my iron golems
in as many moments.  And when I am about to begin my true plans,
that is an ill matter.  Ill indeed...You are my master spy, Sniv
the Quiet.  Go forth, go and learn what causes me such concern at
this time."
     "As you command, Master."  The figure melted back into the
shadows.
     And Roboth-amon, the Dark Wizard of the East, mused on the
possibility-- for the first time-- that his designs might be in
peril.



               Part the second

     The City of Mobius was, simply put, large.  Larger than
anything Son-Ak had ever seen, or even dreamed of seeing.  To Son-
ak, born and bred amongst the barbarian tribes of the north, a
village was large in his mind.  A town was huge.  A city was
something he had never even conceived of.
     And the City called Mobius was the largest in the known world.
     Simply put, the hedgehog was steeling every nerve in his body
to keep from freaking.
     An old cliche', true, but an accurate one-- the sounds, the
smells, the sights, and above all the people-- the teeming crowds
of people-- of all the different races of the world, talking,
bargaining, arguing, flirting, debating, all in one place that was
larger than the hedgehog had ever dreamed possible-- that was
larger than he COULD have dreamed, in fact-- buying, selling,
dealing...
     Well, he could be forgiven.  The Great Marketplace of Mobius
could stagger even the most jaded of travelers.  It was a violent
sensory overload that numbed the body of all but the most obvious
of stimuli.
     So it is no surprise that the normally alert barbarian never
noticed the small, stealthy hand slip under his belt, lift his
(severely depleted) purse, and make off with it.
     The little thief slipped into an alleyway, looked about to be
certain that no-one had seen him, and then removed his tattered
cloak.  Clad now in only a battered loincloth and a equally
disreputable vest, he rolled up the cloak, bent slightly over, and
began to spin what proved to twin tails, slowly at first, then
faster, until he rose in the air.  He lifted himself to a rooftop,
donned the cloak again, and then began to run and leap from roof to
roof, until he found the abandoned garret he called home.
     "Tails!" cried a younger child, a small kitten.  "You found
anything today?"
     Milos, the street-thief more commonly known in the gutters and
alleyways as "Tails", opened the pouch, grinning.  "Oh, not much...
just a few coppers and a SILVER piece.  We can feast tonight!"
     The gathered children of Tails' gang gave a ragged cheer.
Poor, abandoned, and without any other form of support, the four
cubs looked upon their leader with undisguised admiration.  A
silver coin might be little to the spendthrift hedgehog, but to
five small half-starved kids it meant bread, cheese, ale (no-one
would drink the water in the City) and even some sausages or cold
meats.
     "Where did you get it?"  asked another.
     "He stole it, you doof," retorted the oldest of the four, a
rather sour-looking ferret.
     "I know that," replied the rabbit-child.  "But where?"
     The kitten and the youngest-- a five- year old skunk-- gazed
at their leader in awe, as he replied, "Oh, just some wandering
barbarian... huge one, with a honking great axe."
     "Wow.  Weren't you scared?"
     " Maybe a little... not of him, of course.  But he WAS walking
with ol' Cap'n Rabbot."
     The ferret's usual expression of sour boredom loosened a bit
at that.  "You mean you filched it with Rabbot there?  That's awful
dangerous, ain't it?"
     "Maybe...  but she's not likely to catch me.  And that
barbarian was so city-struck I could've grabbed that axe, and his
tunic, and likely his underwear and he still wouldn't have
noticed."  Tails grinned, and then laughed.  "Besides, even if he
had, he'd never have caught me.  He's a hedgehog.  And you know how
slow they are."

     Elsewhere, the hedgehog in question discovered what had
happened.  And was indulging himself in a litany of unusually
imaginative curses.
     "As though you had lost anything of import.  You had a few
coppers, and single silver, true?  And you're about to receive
fifteen royals-- gold royals at that.  By Mosthe', we'll even throw
in a new purse."  Bunnie looked at the incensed barbarian with ill-
concealed amusement.
     "Not the point, Bent-ear.  Someone stole from ME-- Me, Son-Ak
of the Cad-Hai, the swift one, the runner, the--"
     "The compulsive whiner about trifles.  "Now, hold your tongue
and your temper.  The princess isn't impressed with either brags or
curses."
     Son-ak grudgingly complied.  He was not looking forward to
meeting this city-princess, no doubt some homely inbred noblewoman
with an inflated ego and a temper to match, with few wits and no
forethought, and almost certainly--
     Then he was ushered into the audience hall by Bunnie, and for
a moment, Son-Ak, the swift, the runner, the warrior, forgot to
breathe.
     Salar-Alicia, Princess of House Acorn, was a slender, well
formed ground squirrel.  A mane of red-brown hair was contrasted by
eyes of a deep, almost hypnotic green.  Dressed in white silks with
gold trim, (and frankly, not a great deal of them)  white sandals,
and a simple tiara of office, she was simply the most beautiful
creature Son-AK had ever seen.  (And when you're a travelling
barbarian adventurer , who spends most of his non-combat time in
taverns and bars, with the requisite scantily-clad exotic dancing
girls, you see a lot of beautiful creatures.)
     "This is the warrior you spoke of, Captain?"
     The warrior-bunny stepped forward, and knelt.  "Yes, my
Princess.  Three of Roboth-amon's iron men smashed by him.  I
thought you would like to see such a marvel."
     "Indeed."  Salar-Alicia rose from the couch she had been lying
on, and strode over to the dumbstruck hedgehog.  "You hadn't
mentioned that he was so handsome, though."
     Son-ak just stood, transfixed at the proximity of the girl of
his dreams before him.  Something inside him clamored for him to
say something-- anything-- and in horror he heard himself say,
"Aren't those clothes drafty?"
     Salar-Alicia blinked.  And then began to giggle.  "And he's
witty too!"  She fell back onto the couch, laughing.
     Bunnie Rabbot was at that moment thinking very hard about
throwing herself on her sword.  _Idiot barbarian..._
     Son-Ak was thinking similar thoughts... but realized that axes
were impractical for such actions.  _Maybe I can borrow bent-ear's
sword..._
     The princess/ mirth wound to a stop.  "Oh, well... Warrior,
when you are a princess, there are certain expectations that the
people have of you.  They expect me to be beautiful and alluring,
and unapproachable.  Besides, if you can pull it off, why not?  I
admit that this style of dress may not be practical, but I do not
need to be practical."  She sighed, and added, "Once I am Queen,
then I move into gowns and gold.  Tradition is a complex thing...
And I am bound by it."
     "Oh," replied Son-Ak.  "Well... um... you wear it well.
Royalty, I mean, not the... AH, that is, you..."
     Salar-Alicia grinned.  "Bunnie, when are you going to
introduce me to a male that doesn't react like this?"
     The rabbit sighed," When you gain twenty-five pounds and start
wearing a grain sack. "  She stood, and grinned.  "But it's a
fairly effective defense, I suppose, throwing a possible opponent
off guard."
     The princess frowned.  "Must you see everything in terms of
defense or offense?"
     "Zat is 'er duty, Highness.  As mine is to protect you in
making ze spells, nest pas'?"
     Son-Ak turned to meet the new voice.  The vulpine stood
unimpressed, clad in a long elaborate robe, with a tangled mane of
gold hair falling about his shoulders.  He carried a staff of
gnarled oak, and an expression of hauteur that almost immediately
antagonized the hedgehog.
     "Ah.  The other of my closest aides.  Son-Ak, meet Antos, my
personal sorcerer."
     Antos looked at Son-Ak with undisguised disdain, which changed
to suspicion.  "Princess.  Zat is the magic I am sensing."  He
pointed to the hedgehog.  "Zat... person, he is stinking of magic.
He is enchanted."
     Son-Ak growled.  "Enchanted, spell-weaver?  There's no magic
in me."
     Antos walked over to the barbarian, and sniffed.  Before
Son-Ak could react, he nodded.  "Non.  Not you, but ze axe.  Zat
axe is ze magical blade."  He walked away, muttering.
     Bunnie sighed, "Never mind Antos, Son-Ak.  He's a sorcerer.
All sorcerers are a bit peculiar."
     Son-Ak stood bewildered.  "My axe is magic?"
     The princess smiled.  "If Antos says it is, then it is."
     The barbarian hesitated.  "Bah.  That spellweaver's nose is
broken.  I've no magic, and neither has this blade."  He paused for
a moment, and suddenly blurted, "And where's my money?"
     Again the princess laughed.  "Why, I had almost forgotten."
She picked up a small purse, and tossed it to the hedgehog.  Son-Ak
caught it, and grinned himself at the heavy and satisfying feels of
gold.
     "Perhaps you will dine with me tonight?  I hear little of the
world outside Mobius, and should like to hear of your adventures."
     "And I know he's gonna LOVE to tell you about them," muttered
Bunnie under her breath...


     The dark clad figure dropped from the windowsill, into the
shadows.  Scurrying from alley to alley, he made his way to a less
than reputable tavern, where he climbed the back wall to another
window, and climbed in.
     Throwing back his hood, he revealed a human face (one of the
rarer races in the land), sharp, with an almost dagger-like nose
and a think unruly mane of brown hair.  He reached into a pocket
hidden in his tunic, and bought out a small, oddly shaped mirror.
     "Master," he hissed.  The mirror seemed to ripple for a
moment, and then to clear, showing the shadowy figure of Roboth-
amon.
     "Yes, Sniv?"  the wizard of the East replied.  "What have you
found out?"
     "Your golems were destroyed by one person, Master.  A
hedgehog, with an enchanted axe."  Sniv paused, and added, "A big
hedgehog.  Blue, a northerner.  And the Princess seems taken with
him, rather."
     "A hedgehog.  I've little liking for the idea that my greatest
plan is to be spoiled by a hedgehog.  Keep spying, Sniv, and keep
me informed.  Meanwhile, I shall prepare a present for this
interloper..."

     Part the third

     Son-Ak stared at all of the dishes laid at the Princess'
table.  Fine meats, breads, cheeses, vegetables, soups, wines,
ales...  And all to his way of thinking inedible.  A barbarian's
tastes invariably run to simpler fare.  But the ingredient's were
there, and so he began the rather peculiar construction of a
sausage and bread layer again.
     Sniffing at a thick, reddish-brown stew, he asked, "What's
this?  Smells good."
     The princess thought for a moment, and replied, "Well, it's a
sort of spiced bean and meat stew.  Onions, red peppers, some
spices...  Not a favorite of mine, actually, but the cook loves to
make it."
     Son-Ak paused, then ladles some of it onto the sausage
construct.  Tentatively, he took a bite--
     And smiled.  Widely.  "Perfect.  The perfect food.  At last,
I have found the perfect food."
     "Sausage, bread, cheese and bean stew is the perfect food?"
whispered Bunnie to her Princess.
     "It would seem to be," replied Salar-Alicia.  "Look at him!"
     Bunnie stared in open-mouth disbelief as the hedgehog rapidly
constructed six of the bizarre items, and wolfed them down with
unexpected speed.  "The PERFECT food!"
     As he began to pull at a mug of ale, the guard captain shook
her head.  Her princess was obviously taken with the stranger, and
she wasn't sure that that was wise at all.  Princesses weren't
meant to be close to commoners, much less to fast-eating
barbarians.


     Son-Ak's idea of the perfect food was being shared at that
moment by Tail's gang of street-rats.  Oh, they hadn't created the
odd compound that the barbarian had, but Tail's theft had paid for
bread, cheese, sausages, and some (rather thin) bean stew, as well
as a jug of sour wine that they had cut with water.   To the
princess, or even the hedgehog, the meal would have been sparse.
To the assembled urchins, it was a feast as grand as any at the
palace (or so they fondly believed, in a Cratchet-like fashion).
     The four younger ones were as happy as clams (Hmm... You know,
that's a rather unusual phrase.  I mean, how happy can a clam be?
No brain, almost no nervous system, existing only for the purpose
of chowder, but I digress) but Milos was somewhat more somber.  The
silver piece had bought a deal of foodstuffs, but it was gone now,
and such a lucky haul was not a regular occurrence.  At the age of
eleven years he was a bit more of a realist than his gang.  True,
his unusual gift of flight gave him some advantage, but not
enough...  Not to steal something worth stealing.
     Besides, if he were to go for a real prize, it would certainly
attract the attention of the Guild of Thieves, who might not care
about a wild urchin grabbing the occasional silver, but would
certainly be annoyed at one not in the Brotherhood performing any
real theft.  And there was always the small, nagging guilt he felt
at each pickpocketing.
     If there were only some alternative.  But he had to keep his
charges fed, somehow, and the number of jobs for an eleven year old
fox could be counted on the fingers of his left foot.  At best he
could gain apprenticeship to some brute, for little more than food
or board, and that would not help his friends...
     A thought occurred to him.  There was enough food for tomorrow
as well, except bread.  Sometimes the Palace cooks could be
persuaded to give a crust of three to a appropriately pitiful
looking waif.
     "Cleth, come with me.  We're going to see if we can get any
bread for tomorrow.  Get pathetic."
     Cleth, the kitten, grinned.  Only five years of age, he often
treated the plots that Tails cooked up like a game, and "get
pathetic" was one of his favorites.  Removing the ragged but clean
tunic he wore (Tails insisted on keeping what clothing they had in
as good repair as possible, and even on weekly bathing-- to cut
down on odors that might give them away) he donned a mass of dirty,
shredded rags that made him look as though he had not eaten in a
month, had been beaten daily in compensation, and more like three
or four years old.  He opened his eyes wide, until they resembles
something that in another universe would have been painted on black
velvet, and generated a hint of a practiced tear.  Perhaps even
Roboth-amon would have had a moment of tenderness at the kitten's
demeanor.
     And so Tails and Cleth set out on what was planned as a
begging expedition, but what would turn out to be-- aw, you know.


     As two cubs set out for the back of the palace, a black-clad
figure also made his way towards the royal residence.  Holding a
small green stone with obscure glyphs inscribed upon it, Sniv
effortlessly scales a wall, entered a window, and hid the item
under a bed.
     Leaving as silently as he had come, the master thief and spy
of the eastlands returned to his room at the disreputable inn he
was patronizing.  Again he withdrew the mirror that was his means
of communication with his dark master.  (Yes, I know, but the
phrase Dark Master is traditional in this kind of fantasy.)
     "It is in place, Master,"  Sniv said quietly.  "Um... If I may
ask, what is it?"
     Again the mirror swirled, again the shadowed form of Roboth-
amon  appeared.  "A beacon of sorts, Sniv.  A beacon for a spell of
transport.  Also a window into the mirrors of the princess's
chambers.  I shall see just how capable this barbarian is for
myself.  Then, after I appraise him... I shall break him."
     And even the hardened soul of Sniv the Unseen, master spy of
the Eastrealm, shuddered at the cold laughter that emanated from
the mirror...


          TO BE CONTINUED