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In front of the doors of a dilapidated Pokémon gym, Jesse and James sat at a table in suits looking over a clipboard. Over the doorway was hung a hastily painted sign: “Sweet 16 Pokémon Tournament! Cash Prize for Winner! Qualifying Battles Today!” “You do realize it’s your fault, you know?” James sighed. “MY fault?!” gasped Jesse. “You and Meowth were the ones who didn’t get our signs back from the printers!” “And you were the one who suggested we set up this scam out here, in the middle of nowhere,” whined James. “Where not only is it hot and smelly, there’s hardly any Pokémon trainers around!” Jessie fumed and snatched the clipboard from James hands. She then clonked him on the back of his head with it. “Listen, James!” Jessie said through gritted teeth as James held his head. “I’m not the one who tried to steal a Bulbasaur that just so happened to belong to the chief of police of the last city we were in! We need to lie low, and get our hands on a Pokémon, fast!” “I know, I know!” James moaned. “I’m sorry, Jesse. Ow! Why does evil-doing have to be so painful?” Jesse pointed at the clipboard. “We already have 15 names. These silly trainers will go anywhere to battle. All we need is one more naïve contestant, and we can have 16 Pokémon in our tournament!” James grinned and put his arms around Jesse. “And when we have a winner, we can steal that powerful Pokémon to have as our very own!” Meowth peeked his head out from under the tablecloth to glare at his teammates. “Will you two knock it off? I’m trying to take a nap down here!” “Um, excuse me?” Team Rocket instantly turned to see a boy with grey hair wearing a strange horned hat. Jesse and James quickly shoved Meowth back under the tablecloth and smiled friendly at the trainer. “Hello!” Jessie sang. “Are you here to take part in our tournament today?” “If you are we can get you signed up right away!” chimed in James. The boy nodded. “Yes. Is there still a spot available?” Jesse and James looked at the clipboard with only 15 of the 32 available spots filled. “Well, we have been pretty busy, but I’m sure we can squeeze you in,” said James. “What’s your name?” “My name is Tim.” “And where are you from, Tim?” “Camelot.” Jesse and James looked dumbstruck at Tim. “Camelot?” “Camelot?” “Camelot?” asked Meowth from under the table. Jesse and James kicked Meowth to stay quiet then looked back at Tim. “Camelot, huh?” said Jesse, trying to sound sincere. “It sounds… charming.” Tim shrugged. “Well, actually it’s rather silly place. But when I heard you were looking for monsters for your tournament, I knew I wanted to try out.” “But we do need to see the Pokémon you are going to be using for the tournament,” said Jesse. “You do have it with you?” The boy pulled out a Poke Ball and held it out for Team Rocket to see. “I certainly do! The most feared creature in all the land. Countless foes have fallen to it’s might!” James clung to Jesse’s arm. “It sounds really scary!” “And just like the kind of Pokémon we’re looking for!” said Jesse. “Let’s take a look at it!” Tim hurled his Poke Ball at the table. “I choose you!” Team Rocket shielded their eyes as the Poke Ball opened and red light shot out of it. When the light had faded, Jesse and James looked down at the table to see… “A bunny rabbit?” Jesse asked in disbelief. The white rabbit sat in front of the pair as Tim gazed proudly at it. “Ooh, it’s so cute!” cooed James. “But it’s not a Pokémon!” said Jesse. “But I thought this was a tournament for monsters!” said Tim. “And there is no monster more monstrous than the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog!” “I don’t care if it’s the Killer Rabbit from Cairo Bannon!” shouted Jesse. “It’s not a Pokemon, it’s a bunny rabbit!” Tim shushed Jesse and pointed at the rabbit. “Shh! Please, don’t let him hear you say that! He’s got a vicious streak a mile wide!” “I’ll show you vicious if you keep wasting our time, you little…” James covered Jesse’s mouth with his hand. “Could you excuse us for a moment?” James pulled Jesse underneath the table with Meowth. “This kid is nuts!” said Meowth. “I agree,” huffed Jesse. “The idea, bringing a bunny rabbit to a Pokémon tournament!” “But maybe we could let them compete anyway?” asked James. Jesse raised an eyebrow at James. “Did I hit you too hard with that clipboard?” “No, Jesse. But we need a 16th Pokémon for this tournament. If this fuzzy thing is as dangerous as Tim says, he might be useful for us.” “And if he isn’t,” continued Meowth. “At least he won’t be around long.” “But it clearly isn’t a Pokémon!” snapped Jesse. “Oh, people are finding new types of Pokémon all the time!” said James. “We’ll just say that it’s some rare kind of Pokémon that has just been discovered and the paying customers will buy it!” Jessie thought for a moment, then hugged James. “Oh, James! That’s brilliant!” James shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a genius!” “Um, are you alright down there?” Team Rocket collectively banged their hands on the table as they tried to get out from under it. Jesse offered up an application form to Tim. “We’ve talked it over, and we decided that you and your… monster will be more than welcome in our tournament!” “Just fill out these forms and pay your P30 application fee and you’re all set!” said James. That evening, the gym had begun to fill up with spectators. Sitting on folded open risers they sat around the rectangular battlefield and chatted in excitement. James stood on the field in a referee shirt and waved to the crowd. “Welcome one and all! It’s time for our tournament to begin! We were planning on having some qualifying rounds tonight, but since our 16 competitors are such amazing trainers, we are going straight to Sweet 16 tonight!” The crowd cheered as James pulled out a piece of paper and read off it. “And for our first match up, from Saffron City, Polly!” A girl in pigtails and dressed in a green pantsuit jogged onto the battlefield and waved to the crowd. James glanced down at his paper and gulped. “And her opponent, from… Camelot, Tim!” There was an awkward applause as the strange boy strode to his position. Jesse and Meowth peeked out from behind a curtain at the two competitors. “I hope this Polly ends this quick, so we can get out to some real competition!” muttered Jesse. “Yeah!” said Meowth. “Rabbit stew is on the menu tonight!” “Trainers ready?” asked James grandly. Dolly and Tim nodded and James threw his arms in the air. “Begin!” Polly reached into her purse, pulled out a Poke Ball and threw it. “Let’s start this tournament off with a win! Vulpix! I choose you!” The six tailed Pokémon emerged from the Poke Ball and stood at the ready. Tim tossed his Poke Ball into the air. “Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog! I choose you!” The crowd laughed at the sight of the rabbit lazily hopping onto the battlefield. Polly smirked. “Your Pokémon may be cute, but don’t think that’ll make me go easy on you! Vulpix! Quick attack!” “Vul!” The Vulpix charged at the rabbit as James covered his eyes. “I can’t look!” “Killer Rabbit! Pounce!” shouted Tim. The rabbit leapt into the air just as the Vulpix was on top of him. The Vulpix looked up to see the rabbit come crashing down on it. “Now use Bite!” called Tim. The Killer Rabbit opened it’s mouth and chomped down on the Vulpix. The crowd gasped in shock as blood spurted out of the fox Pokémon’s neck. “VULPIX!” Polly wailed. The Killer Rabbit let go of it’s grip, leaving the Vulpix bloody and dazed. James looked on in amazement before pulling himself together and raised his arms to the crowd. “Vulpix is unable to battle. Killer Rabbit wins!” There was a tepid applause from the crowd as Jesse smiled in approval. “Well, well. That bunny isn’t looking funny anymore. In fact, if it wins this tournament, it may be just the kind of Pokémon we were looking for. What do you think, Meowth?” Meowth was looking green at the sight of Polly nursing her mortally wounded Vulpix. “I.. think I need to lie down for a while. I have a feeling this night is going to be pretty… messy.” OK: The Killer Rabbit has already advanced to round 2. His potential opponents are: Charmander Squirtle Bulbasaur Pikachu (Not Ash’s) Zubat Raticate Mankey If the Killer Rabbit is able to defeat three Pokémon in the tournament, he wins. Game On!

Jason Bourne shook the thin layer of snow off his coat as he walked off the New York City street and into the department store. He made his way past holiday displays and busy shoppers, doing his best to look inconspicuous as he made sure to avoid any security cameras. Finally, he arrived at the jewelry department, where a young woman in a store uniform stood behind a glass display counter. She gave a friendly smile at Jason as he approached. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you find something?” Bourne gave a quick glance behind him before he replied. “Yes, if you could. I’m looking for a gift. A present for a friend of mine.” “Well, you’ve come to the right place, sir,” the clerk said. “Is this friend a… close friend?” Bourne cleared his throat. “I met her last year, when I came to New York.” The clerk nodded and held up a hand. “Oh, I understand. Say no more, sir. I don’t mean to pry, but it does help me find the item you believe she would like. Now what would you like to get for your friend? Earrings? A necklace, a bracelet?” The clerk leaned forward over the counter and grinned. “Perhaps a ring?” Bourne looked slightly uncomfortable. “Actually, I’m looking for a collar.” The clerk was taken off guard. “A… collar, sir?” “Yes, a collar. For her dog?” “Oh. Oh!” The clerk laughed. “Pardon me, sir! For a moment I thought…” “Don’t bother,” said Bourne with an understanding smile. “I’ve already gotten something special for my friend, but I was hoping to find something special for her dog too. You wouldn’t happen to have anything like that here?” The clerk paused in thought then nodded excitedly and motioned for Bourne to follow her around the counter. Bourne kept up with the clerk until they reached the edge of the display case, where the clerk knelt down and gently lifted up a silver dog collar, with a row of small diamonds wrapping around it. She held it up for Bourne to get a better look at it. “Do you think this would be a good fit, sir?” Bourne nodded in approval. “It’s very… nice. How much does it cost?” “Oh, this is a specialty piece, sir. But it comes to $10,450. If perhaps you would like something less expensive…” “No, this will be fine. However, I am not able to pay that much money at the moment. Perhaps you could have the collar set aside for me and I could…” “I’ll pay double.” Bourne turned behind him and saw a man with long black hair and goatee. Bourne’s eyes narrowed as the clerk stammered. “Um… pardon me, sir, but I was already assisting this gentleman and he is wanting to purchase this item.” “And he told you that he doesn’t have the money,” the man said bluntly. “I will pay double for that collar right now.” Bourne took a step towards the man as the clerk backed away from the counter. “Er, if you gentlemen will just wait a moment, I’ll get my manager and we can get this all sorted out.” With the clerk ducking into a back room, Bourne looked the man up and down. “Look, if you have that much money, I’m sure you can find something else.” “And if you are willing to spend that much money, I can say the same for you… Mr. Bourne.” Bourne kept his voice calm as he replied. “My name isn’t Bourne. I think you have me confused with somebody else.” “Right,” said the man, glancing around the store. “Increased security, cameras. Whoever you are getting that collar for must be pretty important for you to take the risk of being spotted.” Bourne glanced over the man’s shoulder to see a security guard standing by the escalators. “It’s for someone special to me… Mr. Wick.” Wick raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think that Blackbriar knew nothing about the famous Baba Yaga, did you?” asked Bourne, his voice becoming less friendly. The two men held their gaze for a moment, each searching the other’s face for a sign of weakness. “Look,” said Bourne. “Neither of us can afford to be drawing attention to ourselves, and it’s the holidays. So how about you walk away, I finish my business here, and I won’t go to security and let them know there’s a man with a gun walking around the jewelry department?” “Better idea,” said Wick coolly. “You leave, I buy the collar, and I don’t leave an anonymous tip for the CIA that one of their most wanted is walking around New York?” Any further argument was interrupted by a scream and the sounds of gunfire. Instinctively both Bourne and Wick dropped down, and reached for their guns, looking up to see four men in colored ski masks aiming semi-automatic rifles at fleeing customers. “Everyone on the ground! NOW!” the one in the green ski mask shouted. He fired off more rounds at the ceiling as people slowly obeyed his orders. The security guard slowly reached for his revolver, only for the tallest of the four in a blue ski mask to shoot him in the arm. He snickered as he strode over to the downed officer, aiming for his head. “Someone’s trying to get on the naughty list!” “Dude! Quit screwing around!” The man in the red ski mask pointed at the other two. “Grab all you can get your hands on! And move it! Cops will be here soon!” The two nodded, ran to the jewelry display and started smashing the glass. Bourne looked over at Wick, watching as he moved his finger to the trigger. He shot Wick a warning glance. These four idiots clearly weren’t professionals. Engaging them in the store would only result in more innocent people getting hurt. Wick turned away from Bourne but lowered his weapon. As one of the thieves shoved jewelry and cash into a pillowcase, Blue Mask grabbed a hold of the clerk’s wrist. “Hey, lady! What you get me for Christmas this year?” “Let go of me! Just take what you want and leave us alone!” Blue Mask yanked the collar out of the clerk’s grip. “Aww, come on, lady! Where’s your Christmas spirit?” He slammed the butt of his rifle into the clerk’s gut, forcing her to the ground. Bourne and Wick watched in disgust as the robbers finished filling their pillowcase with loot. “Alright! Alright, let’s go!” Red Mask shouted. The four ran out of the store into the street, with Blue Mask bringing up the rear as he pocketed the dog collar. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all, SCREW YOU!” he laughed, and disappeared after his accomplices. John Wick jumped to his feet and took off at a run out the door as Jason Bourne ran to check on the clerk. He helped her up to a seated position as she gasped for breath. “I’ll be okay, I’m okay,” she coughed. “But they got away.” A look of determination came over Bourne’s face. “No, they won’t.” Jason Bourne bolted for the door and onto the street, with people still scrambling in the robbers’ wake. He now had a new mission: find the thieves, reclaim what they stole, and get the collar back. And if John Wick decided to get involved, he would need to use all of his skills to stop him. OK: The winner will be whoever 1) Finds and defeats the gang (lethally or non-lethally). 2) Defeats their opponent one-on-one (both armed with a revolver and any weapons they acquire from the gang). 3) Secures the dog collar. Merry Christmas and… Game On!

1938 The lights of Los Angeles gleamed like a horde of fireflies in the twilight hours, far above the glistening metropolis the passenger zeppelin Aurora drifted through the clouds. The airship's props thrummed deeply as it continued its voyage across the states. It was a serene scene, but within the dirigible what was unfolding was anything but serene. In their finery the high class passengers and white uniformed crew were huddled together in fear. Before the crowd a redheaded woman stood, her face wore a dazzling smile as she aimed a pistol at the assembled crowd. She was dressed as an aviatrix with a leather flying helm and jacket, black leggings tucked into boots. She cut a striking figure and her proportions were generous enough to make any pinup artist salivate. “The sooner you fork over the cash and jewels the sooner you can go back to partying.” The redhead smirked at her wealthy captives. “Don’t you cats have insurance for everything anyway?” With grumbles the hostages complied with her demands depositing jewelry and cash into the pillowcase she held. Many stared at her gun, but none dared move, though they likely could overpower the lone female robber, none seemed willing to risk making the first move and catching a slug. Her robbery complete the woman strode to the cabin door of the zeppelin’s gondola, a twirl of the pistol and she holstered her firearm. “Been a pleasure robbing you ladies and gents.” A burly crewman began to stalk towards her. “Give it up girl. There’s nowhere to go but down, and you ain’t got a parachute.” “Wild, huh?” The girl smirked as she wrenched the cabin door open. A blast of wind swept through the cabin as the robber leapt out into the night. The wind whistled past her as the woman fell, the luminescent sea of the city rising to meet her. Despite the impending doom the woman still wore a grin. There was a roar as a cigar shaped object flew to meet the aviatrix. “Yeah!” the woman shouted as she stuck the landing and gripped the bicycle like handlebars of the rocket sled. Her elation was short lived as tracers suddenly arced over her head. “Woah!” the woman cried out as she looked backwards. Two P26 Peashooters were diving past the Aurora and towards her. The single seat, open cockpit monoplanes were some of the newest and fastest in the Army Air Force’s inventory. Roxy smirked, not nearly fast enough though. The redhead dipped her rocket into a dive, the two pursuit planes followed after her. “Sorry flyboys! Going to have to do better to tango with me!” Indeed the planes were falling behind and the city was getting closer. The woman let out a laugh before her eyes widened as something else soared to meet her, coming from dead ahead. A flying man with a jetpack. A well known figure around LA, the Rocketeer, his exploits were legend. “Mmm, Roxy likes!” the woman exclaimed as she veered off, the Rocketeer giving chase. Cliff Seccord, ace pilot, and the man known as the Rocketeer had heard the distress calls from the zeppelin liner. Roxy Rocket had performed several high stakes aerial thefts in just a few weeks time, including robbing an airmail plane. Each time Cliff had been somewhere where he couldn’t do anything about it. But this time. This time he was prepared and ready for her. Or so he thought. Just over the roofs of the apartment buildings the two rocket powered pilots flew, Roxy would roll or pitch away just as The Rocketeer came close to grabbing her. Neither spoke to another, for even shouting would be impossible over the din of their engines. But Roxy wore a smirk the whole time, much to Seccords ire. Ciff saw a chance and made a pass for the aviatrix who managed to duck the grasping attempt. The Rocketeer attempted to correct his course but found he was too slow as he suddenly found himself plowing through a cigarette billboard. The hero shook his helmet as he finally stopped tumbling about, pulling up just over a flat roof where he hovered. A look to the east and Cliff could see his quarry was long gone, the short mishap was all she needed to escape. Swearing into his helmet the Rocketeer changed course for home. He was going to get that dame. Cliff stumbled through the door of the modest house he shared with ‘Peevy’ the old crotchety mechanic and roommate. The old man was fiddling with a radio when Cliff made his way in, helmet tucked under his arm. “You catch her?” Peevy asked. “Does it look like I caught her?” Cliff replied as he took his Mauser pistol from its holster, verified the safety was on and slid it into the drawer of a dresser. The old timer nodded as smooth jazz played from the radio. “Want a bourbon?” Peevy offered. “Sure Peev, anything for this lousy headache of mine.” Seccord was sulking, he hated it when his foes managed to outwit him. “I got a good look at her contraption though Peev.” “Yeah?” Peevy asked handing the pilot a glass. “It looked real Flash Gordon, a rocket with motorcycle handlebars.” Cliff grunted. “They don’t call her Roxy Rocket for nothing.” Cliff scowled, “Of for the love of- Is that what they’re calling her?” “That is what they’re calling her Rocketeer.” Peevy replied sardonically as he eased himself into a recliner. The music on the radio stopped as a news bulletin began. “It’s the top of the hour, and here is your news at a glance.” The two men leaned forward. “Notorious sky burglar Roxy Rocket has struck again, this time robbing passengers of the Dirigible liner Aurora. Despite attempts from the army air force, and The Rocketeer the thief absconded with a sizable profit.” Cliff scowled. “In other news the regional air races are set to start on this Tuesday… Cliff jumped out of the seat. “That’s it!” Peevy frowned at the younger man, “What’s gotten into you boy? The GeeBee ain’t ready to compete in that event.” Cliff shook his head. “No, that’s where she’ll be. That’s where she’ll strike next! Call it a gut feeling!” Peevy scratched his chin, “You might be right. But then again….” the old man shrugged. “Ah, what the hell I don’t have any better ideas. I’m no detective.” Some miles away in a seemingly abandoned hangar Roxy was wiping the grease from her hands after doing some tuneups on her rocket sled. It was state of the art, tuned to radio waves she transmitted it would always be there to catch her. Far more reliable than most the men in her life had been. Roxy kicked her boots off and sprawled in her cot, her thoughts turned to the nights excitement. The heist, the chase, oh the chase! She had hoped her antics would grab the attention of the mysterious Rocketeer, and she was right! "Oh, whoever you are Rocketeer you make a girl swoon. What a dance we danced up there in the skies.” she grinned widely as she thought about it he gaze going to the various news clippings, and memorabilia she had collected of the Rocketeer. “Oh, you and I are going to have so much fun! See you at the races flyboy!” -Can the Rocketeer defeat this thrill-seeking femme fatale? Or has he met his match? What new thrills are in store? Join us next installment friends for more ‘Gripping Air Adventures!’ Now a word from our sponsors.

In a hole in a wall there lived a villain. Not a well traveled, beloved drinking hole filled with patrons and a boozy smell, nor a decrepit, bare unused hole with imminent demolition and the space cleared out. It was a villain’s lair, and that means crime. It had a perfectly gangly villain wearing green with a shiny gold cane in his hand. He paced about perfectly upset with how things were going. This villain was a very well to do villain and his name was Nygma. Nygma had schemed and planned and riddled in Gotham for the longest of times. Villains considered him one of the most respectable and notable villains in the entire city. He was very rich and very successful, but he had nothing to do. This is the story of how Nygma found something worth his time.He may have left his hole in Gotham and lost his criminal empire, but you shall see if he profited anything of it. They had done it, the Batman had been beaten. Gotham was theirs, but the villain had little to do. Villains are fond of schemes and with no Batman to scheme against crime had lost its luster. He removed and replaced his green bowler hat several times as he asked his henchmen yet another riddle. He was surrounded by simpletons, as many villains are, and his great love of riddles was wasted upon them. They were dullards unburdened with the pains of great thoughts or great loves. Nygma was a most respectable villain and so they gravitated towards him. By curious chance one hazy evening in the world, when there was more crime, and fewer heroes, Nygma sat in his hole working over another sudoku book, when Neron came by. Neron! If you are aware of half the terrible things I know he has done, you would have been very startled indeed. “What do you want?” grumbled Nygma only momentarily looking up from his puzzle. “What do you mean? I want what you want, Edward. I am looking for someone to partake in a scheme. It has been very difficult indeed to find someone willing” Neron bowed his blonde head in a mocking deference to Mister Nygma. “I should think so in these parts, without the Big Bad Bat, there has been a real shortage of schemes in this town. But riddle me this, crack this riddle, take the prize; Cheat, and I shall know your lies; For I hide in your words, you see; A bond that begets your honesty. What am I?” “The truth.” Neron knew many riddles and it was wise to speak to him such, for speaking plainly with a demon bores them and leads their minds to mischief. “Here is the truth, a fellow demon needs a favor, he seeks a simple object, a golden ring, held by a riddling champion. He has matched wits with cursed beings, elven kings, and dragons alike. He has schemed with armies and wizards and lives in a hole in the ground. So tell me Edward, might I interest you, in a battle of wits with the most unlikely creature imaginable.” Nygma had grabbed his golden cane and donned his emerald bowler hat and stood up, “And what price must one pay to partake in this scheme?” “Alas, I cannot go myself, for the agents of good are many in that world, but I can send you. The price is the favor you do for Mairon now called Sauron is payment enough for me. I could tell him where his ring it, but he certainly would betray me and ignore any debt he might owe me, so I will take the ring as recompense till he can pay it back. Your battle of riddles is to be your recompense.” The Demon extended his hand which the Villain took and in a moment he found himself standing in a very different place from what he had imagined. A far green country stretched as far as Nygma could see. A pleasant smell wafted through the air, like a pleasant meal prepared by someone you love after a long day of toil. A faint smell of tobacco came to fill Nygma’s nostrils and he turned to see a short being in a bright waistcoat fastened over breeches sitting upon the green puffing smoke rings. The being wore no shoes, but had a pair of big hairy feet with curly hair not unlike the hair upon his head. He greeted Nygma warmly. “Good morning my fine fellow, I suppose you must be some acquaintance of Gandalf’s appearing like that. Quite a nice staff you have as well. Perhaps you would care for some tea?” The Halfling blew another smoke ring as he casually pulled himself to his feet. “Not often we have wizards round these parts, but they visit me more often than a respectable hobbit should receive them. Nygma was stunned, he expected something more intimidating, but then again, the mind was truly the deadliest weapon. “No tea, I need to find…” The knowledge seemed to instinctively fill Nygma’s mind, “Bilbo Baggins.” The Hobbit walked over, “and so you have found him. You must be a friend of Gandalf’s come in Mister…” Nygma thought as he let the Halfling lead him through the gate and into a smartly painted round green door. “They call me the Riddler.” This Halfling had impeccable manners and had Mr. Nygma seated and his hat and cane put up in a moment. All respectable Hobbits are excellent hosts. One should always pay a call on a Hobbit if he can. “I am quite fond of Riddles myself. Indeed all Halflings are. Shall we have a game of it?” Bilbo placed a bright copper kettle on the roaring fire and began to place cakes before Nygma. Nygma smiled at the thought. “A game is no fun without a friendly wager,” He glanced about the room noting a map that had riddles encoded on it framed upon the wall, a suit of armor and a sword well dusted and displayed in the living room, and a big red book sitting with many pages already filled. “Surly, each of us can spare one treasure to make the game more interesting?” Bilbo paused, he was not of the gambling sort, but that had been what had helped him against the Creature Gollum, and very few knew of the magic ring that sat in his coat pocket. As he placed an earthenware jug of milk upon the table and a wedge of fresh cheese he nodded in agreement. Bilbo sat down with his mithril coat and sting in the room behind him. “It would be rude of me as a host to riddle first.” Edward nodded, “My first is a creature whose breeding is unclear. My second, a price you must pay. My whole can be found in the river of Time and refers to events of today. What am I?” Bilbo took a cake as he repeated the riddle to himself, “A cur…Ah! A current, that’s what it is!” Nygma’s smile told Bilbo it was his turn. “A dozen Royals gathered round, Entertained by two who clowned. Each King there had servants ten, Though none of them were also men. The lowest servant sometimes might, Defeat the King in a fair fight. A weapon stout, a priceless jewel, The beat of life, a farmer's tool. What is it?” Bilbo had opened with one of his favorites. For Halflings love all games, and their fondness for cards was well represented through the entire Shire. Nygma stopped to think. For all his riddling with the Caped Crusader, seldom did he have an opponent ask a riddle back. He was starting to enjoy himself. “A deck of cards, twelve face cards, the ace through the ten are the servants, sometimes the ace is a trump card, and a club, diamond, heart, and spade. Thus the Battle of Riddles was to begin!