Post by grandaddy on Oct 11, 2014 7:08:23 GMT -5
 | Annabelle had been quite a surprise to her elderly, childless parents, a gift from the Gods many from the Clan had whispered. Raised by her aging father Edgar, Anna never knew her Mother; a fever took her Mother along with several others before Anna reached her second birthday. Yet Anna was a very happy-go-lucky child, always a beaming smile on her face. Growing up in the Clan of the Knotwise she learned all the skills presented to her with ease. She excelled in open lock, search for secrets and disable trap. So over-curious and nimble-fingered that Edgar often wondered to himself if Anna was part Kender… on her Mother’s side of course, bless her soul. |
Annabelle was beaming! The pretty little Halfling would turn twenty-one today, just a week before the annual fall festival.
Once a year, around the autumn equinox, the three Halfling Clans, the Knotwise, the Brisslefoot and Buckleberrys, would all meet in the Great Forest for three days of companionship, fun and competition.
“I can win the punching contest Papa”, the little Halfling smiled confidently.
Oh Anna could punch, her father could surely attest to that. He’d spend many an hour repairing doorframes and bookcases Anna had attacked while playing the “protect the hovel from the evil goblins” game. He’d seen the black eyes and swollen lips on those foolish enough to try and mess with his feisty little daughter.
But winning the Punching contest against some of the older boys from the other Clans would be virtually impossible, yet the old man just smiled, nodding his head.
The punching contest consisted of smashing oaken planks with your fists. Starting with one half-inch thick oaken planks and progressing in half inch increments until all but one of the contestants were eliminated.
Sixteen contestants began the competition, but by the time they’d reached the three-inch thick plank, only Annabelle and one of the Brisslefoot boys remained.
Brisslefoot had devastated his three-inch plank while Anna had barely smashed through the oak. Anna knew she could not bash through the three and a half inch plank.
Suddenly Annabelle turned to the ancient Halfling judging the Punching event.
“I demand the right of combat, as written in the Great Halfling Book of Justice,” Anna spoke firmly, “tis my birthright!”
Mouths dropped open, eyes went wide and old Edgar bleached white, fainting dead away from the shock. Brisslefoot belched out a booming belly laugh.
“HAHAHA, you want to challenge me to a fight?” Brisslefoot scoffed, “go back to your kitchen little girl!”
Looking the young warrior straight the eyes, Annabelle smiled… “Unless you’re a-scared of losing.”
Brisslefoot’s face went rigid. “I accept your challenge,” he snarled.
Annabelle knew how to beat the boy; she’d fought meatheads like him before out behind the old mill. The secret was all about speed and knowing where to hit. Punching him in the head would be a waste of time and energy, and she’d likely break a hand on that rock-hard skull, his body was the weak point.
Everyone at the festival stopped whatever they were doing and gathered around to watch the fight. Bet takers had the boy favored 5 to 1.
The tournament Judge raised his hand for silence. “Ready, set, begin!”
Like a wildcat, Anna pounced on her rival before he had time to think, her powerful, tiny fists slamming into his ribcage like a dozen tiny war hammers. Dodge and weave and punch, punch, punch! Dodge and weave and punch, punch, punch!
A millisecond too slow, Anna was knocked head-over-heels by a crushing left-hook. The punch instantly closing her right eye, a deep purple hew quickly coloring the whole side of her face. She tumbled back to her feet, quickly shaking the cobwebs from her ringing head. Another hit like that and she’d be a goner.
Dodge and weave and punch, punch, punch! Dodge and weave and punch, punch, punch!
Brisslefoot was weakening, his breaths now coming in ragged gasps, his fists slow and wild. Anna kept up her relentless assault like a rabid woodpecker attacking a bug-laden tree. Her powerful little fists slamming into his ribcage again and again… rata-tat-tat-tat… rata-tat-tat-tat… rata-tat-tat-tat…
Now the weakened and pummeled Brisslefoot dropped to one knee gasping for breath. Anna paused for a moment awaiting the Judge’s decision, but before a decision was rendered Brisslefoot again rose to his feet.
“Is that all you got?” The battered warrior wheezed.
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, and bam came the instant reply from Anna’s two-fisted arsenal. Brisslefoot swayed and gasped, then pitched face-first down into the dirt.
“Tis over,” the tournament Judge declared, his ancient, wrinkled face crinkled in delight.
“The winner of this years Punching Contest is Annabelle from the Knotwise Clan, Annabelle… with the Thunderfists. All hail her victory!”
“HAIL!” Came a hundred voices in unison, “HAIL, HAIL”
The wanderlust upon her, Annabelle left her aging father and her little Halfling village before the swelling was gone from her pretty face. Off to explore the world and all its wonders was the happy-go-lucky, overly curious, fearless and feisty… Annabelle Thunderfist!