Legend: Legacy of the Dragons Forum

CrackerJack's Easter Quest

One spring morning, as Easter bells jingled in the distance and the sun peeked through the still-chilling clouds, CrackerJack, a mischievous little fox with a red coat and a hat too big for him, woke with a start.

"What day is it?" he groaned, his eyes still glued shut with sleep.

"The big day," murmured the White Rabbit, an old white rabbit with long whiskers and crooked glasses, who was standing at his door with a basket full of hand-painted eggs. "You've been chosen."

"Chosen for what? I'm just a mischievous fox!" said CrackerJack, puzzled.

The White Rabbit approached slowly, a serious look in his eyes. "The Big Goldfish has disappeared."

CrackerJack's eyes widened. The Big Goldfish was no ordinary fish. He lived in the sacred pond deep in the woods, and every Easter, he granted a wish to the animal that brought him the most beautiful egg. But without him, there would be no magic, no wishes... and no Easter.

Accompanied by the old rabbit, CrackerJack set off, crossing flowery fields, mossy paths, and secret tunnels. They arrived at the cabin of The Woman, a mysterious guardian of ancient tales, reputed to know the secrets of the invisible world.

"Ah... the goldfish," she said, stirring a strange soup that smelled of violets. "It was taken... by the Mist."

"The Mist?" repeated CrackerJack, shivering in spite of himself.

"An old magic. But there's a way to bring it back: you have to paint an egg with your true heart, and throw it into the empty pond."

So CrackerJack sat down, and for the first time, he painted an egg, not to joke or make people laugh... but to save the magic of Easter. He painted the forest, the old rabbit, the wise woman, and even the Big Goldfish, with colors he didn't even know he knew.

He threw the egg into the water.

A silence.

Then, a golden light emerged from the bottom. The Big Goldfish, immense and shining like a sun underwater, appeared in a swirl of pastel bursts.

"You understand, little fox," he said in a deep, slow voice. "True magic comes from the heart."

And so, the magic of Easter was saved, thanks to a mischievous fox turned hero, a wise old rabbit, a mysterious woman... and a golden fish older than spring itself.

THE FALL OF VELDAN: THE WARLOCK’S STORY
Long before he became the terror of the rabbit realm — before the iron pumpkins and the undead — he was simply Veldan.
Veldan had once been the most promising mage in the capital's academy. A boy born under a rare celestial alignment, his affinity for magic was unrivaled. Teachers whispered that he might even eclipse the elders. While others struggled to master elemental incantations, Veldan could summon fire and bend water before his voice had fully broken. He even levitated the giant goldfish causing quite a stir! But unlike the others, Veldan didn’t seek power for the sake of power. He was driven by a desire to protect.
You see, Veldan had grown up on the outskirts, near the Darkwoods — the very border between the realm of light and the creeping shadows. His mother, a herbalist, had once saved the life of the elder’s child during a plague, the child's mother had wept and sent them cherries every year in thanks. However when the shadows threatened the borders, the same elder denied them refuge behind the city's walls. That night, shadow beasts razed the village. Veldan alone survived, buried beneath a collapsed root cellar, clutching his mother’s burnt satchel.
After that, he had one purpose: create magic powerful enough to ensure no one would be left defenseless ever again.

Years passed, and Veldan’s power grew exponentially. But with power came fear. The elder — once his mentor — began to keep his distance. Whispers of his experiments reached the High Council: spells that borrowed from both life and death, theories involving soulbinding, spirit echo, and worst of all… resurrection.
But Veldan didn’t care for their approval anymore. He had begun hearing something in his dreams — a voice, distant but warm. It promised him understanding, knowledge beyond the limits the council feared to cross. It claimed to be a guardian of balance, forgotten by time.
The voice led him to the Valewell, an ancient, sealed shrine said to house forbidden relics. There, Veldan discovered a shattered mirror infused with necromantic energy — and from that moment, something inside him shifted.
He didn’t just want to protect anymore.

He wanted justice.

Veldan disappeared for years. Many believed he was dead, devoured by his own ambition. But those in the far regions began to whisper of a new ruler rising — a Pumpkin King, who commanded legions of cursed warriors. Behind his smiling iron mask, no one recognized the boy once called a prodigy.
He began to resurrect the fallen, binding them to his cause. But not out of malice — or so he believed. In his mind, he was balancing the scales. The elders had turned their backs on him and others like him. He would raise an army of the forgotten, the betrayed, the discarded. His pumpkin-headed soldiers? Once volunteers, farmers, or rebels who had fallen and been returned with purpose.
Veldan no longer sought peace. He sought balance by force.


Deep down, part of Veldan still remembered the boy who wanted to save the world. It was visible in the hesitation before he unleashed his final spell, in the way he lingered in the forest outside the capital rather than destroying it outright.
When the elder’s mage challenged him, it wasn’t just power versus power — it was belief versus belief. Veldan almost won. His magic was stronger, older, more dangerous.
But when he saw the warriors and this CrackerJack, a complete stranger to the world, fighting not for power or revenge, but for each other, something in him cracked. The spirit of the young boy from the outskirts resurfaced… just long enough for hesitation.
And that’s all it took.

EPILOGUE: THE UNSEEN PAGE
There’s a rumour — barely a whisper — that before the mage passed, he retrieved a small scrap of parchment from Veldan’s cloak. A letter, never sent:
"If you find this, know I only wanted to save them. All of them. But the more I tried, the more I lost. If there is still hope, bury me beneath the Valewell, where the stars still remember me."
The elder burned his name from their records. But in the quiet corners of the library, in one of the hidden sections you never quite reached…
a notebook waits, glowing faintly under the silver moonlight.
And in it, the real story begins again.

It had been peaceful beyond the rabbit hole since the Pumpkin King’s fall. The elder, still in his white rabbit form, had worked tirelessly to restore the old balance. The city’s wounds had healed, and the ferns once again danced in brilliant colors at the hidden spring.


One quiet morning, I returned through the gate — invited by an old, familiar note tucked in my notebook: “The current whispers of danger.”


At the lake, I found the elder waiting, his ears drooped low. Beside him, the great goldfish swam sluggishly near the surface, its scales dull and dim.


“The water’s magic is fading,” the elder explained. “It speaks of something buried upstream.”


Before we could set off, the woman appeared from the treeline, her robe as colorful as ever, a basket resting on her arm. She offered no cherries this time, only a folded piece of parchment: an old, worn map. I recognized the style — like the stone altars from long ago.


“Follow the current,” she said softly. “But beware: CrackerJack has seen shadows overhead.”


Sure enough, CrackerJack was waiting farther up the path, perched casually on an old tree stump, fiddling with one of his peculiar, brass-colored gadgets. When he spotted me, he gave me a crooked grin and clapped me on the shoulder.


“There’s always another secret, you know,” he chuckled.


I followed the clues upriver through tangled woods until I found the source — a shattered piece of iron, unmistakably part of a pumpkin helm, sunk deep in the mud. Remnants of the Pumpkin King’s army, still poisoning the land.


With the elder’s guidance and a chant whispered by the woman, we cast the last of its dark magic out. The moment the helm fragment dissolved, the goldfish leapt high, scales glistening gold once more.


The elder, relieved, placed a paw on my arm. “Even the smallest shadows can grow large if left unseen. Thank you for returning.”


I smiled. In this world beyond the rabbit hole, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

CrackerJack stood at the edge of the lake, gazing out at the still, glass-like surface. The air around him was thick with the magic of the forest, the scent of damp earth and the soft whisper of leaves swaying in the wind. It had been days since he had followed the elder through the tangled woods and across forgotten paths. Yet, the weight of their mission pressed heavily on him. He wasn’t sure exactly what they were trying to stop, but the words of the elder rang clearly in his mind: “The balance is tipping. We need your help.”
He had barely had time to absorb the magnitude of the task ahead of him. The elder, a white rabbit whose ancient eyes sparkled with a wisdom that transcended time, had explained very little. The woman, too, had offered no clear answers, only cryptic guidance as they moved through the forest and across unknown lands.

It was the goldfish that had first captured his attention. A shimmering creature, impossibly large, it had appeared one day, rising from the depths of the lake like an ancient guardian. Its scales glowed in the sun, each flicker of its fins creating ripples across the surface that seemed to stretch far beyond the confines of the water. The elder had explained that this creature, this goldfish, held the key to the safety of their world. But even now, CrackerJack felt unsure about the true nature of the creature’s power.

The woman had been the next piece of the puzzle. She was both ethereal and grounded, her presence as calming as it was enigmatic. With her colorful robes and ageless face, she seemed to blend into the forest as though she were a part of it. She never spoke much, but when she did, her words always seemed to resonate deeply within CrackerJack, pulling him into a world of understanding he hadn’t known before. She had spoken of a coming storm—an unseen enemy, something that threatened to tear apart the delicate balance of their world.
And then came the day the storm broke.

They had been walking deeper into the forest when the sky darkened, the air thickened, and an unnatural silence fell over them. The woman had stopped, her hand held out to signal the others to be still. CrackerJack felt it before he saw it—the presence of something unnatural, something dark.
The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, and from the shadows of the trees, figures emerged—creatures twisted and contorted, their forms flickering in and out of existence like ghosts. They were not alive, not quite dead. Shadows, maybe. Or something worse.
The elder, who had been calm and silent up until that moment, spoke in a voice that was barely a whisper but held the weight of the world in it. “They are coming. We must act quickly.”
Without another word, the goldfish—who had been silent and motionless until then—rose from the water. It didn’t leap like it had before; this time, it seemed to glide across the surface of the lake, its enormous form rippling the water in a way that felt almost deliberate, as if it were calling the forces of nature to its side.
CrackerJack’s heart raced. He wasn’t a magician, nor a warrior of legend. But he had learned enough in his time here to understand that the goldfish was more than just an animal. It was a manifestation of the world’s magic, a force of nature that commanded the elements themselves.

The shadow creatures closed in on them. The air thickened with their presence, cold and suffocating. The elder stood firm, his white fur glowing faintly in the dimming light, while the woman moved with a graceful swiftness, her eyes sharp as she prepared for the coming battle.
The goldfish, with a great splashing of water, opened its mouth and unleashed a torrent of elemental fury. Waves of water surged from the lake, crashing against the shadow creatures. Lightning crackled across the sky, summoned by the sheer power of the goldfish. The earth shook as if the very ground was alive, responding to the creature’s call.
CrackerJack didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a nearby branch, using it like a weapon, his instincts kicking in. The creatures weren’t just shadows—they were real, and they were coming for them. He swung the branch at the nearest one, feeling the weight of his strike as the creature recoiled. But as soon as one fell, another took its place. They were endless, a swarm of darkness that seemed to have no end.
The woman fought alongside him, her movements fluid, precise, as if she were dancing with the air itself. She whispered words CrackerJack couldn’t understand, and the creatures seemed to falter, as if bound by an invisible force.
But even as they fought, CrackerJack knew they couldn’t win this battle by brute force alone. The shadow creatures were relentless, and their numbers seemed to grow with every passing second.

It was the goldfish that turned the tide.
With a great roar, the creature dove beneath the surface of the lake, disappearing into the depths. CrackerJack could feel the shift in the air as it gathered its strength. The shadows faltered, as if they had been cut off from their source of power. The goldfish reemerged, its form now glowing with a brilliant light that filled the entire clearing.

The woman smiled, her eyes shining with understanding. “It is done.”
With a final, triumphant splash, the goldfish released a surge of energy that enveloped the clearing. The shadow creatures screeched as they disintegrated into nothingness, their forms unraveling like threads pulled from a tapestry.

The battle was over.
As the light from the goldfish faded, the world seemed to breathe again. The forest, once heavy with darkness, was now calm, the air lighter, the colors more vivid.
CrackerJack stood, panting, his body sore from the fight. He glanced at the elder, who gave him a nod of gratitude, and then at the woman, who merely smiled.
“We’ve won,” CrackerJack said, though he didn’t feel victorious. The battle had been won, yes, but there was a lingering weight in the air—something unresolved, something more. The goldfish, now returning to the lake, looked at him one last time before disappearing beneath the surface.
As he turned to leave with the elder and the woman, CrackerJack knew this was only the beginning. There were still mysteries to uncover, still shadows to fight, and this world—this world beyond the rabbit hole—was far from finished with him.

And he, with all his newfound knowledge, was ready to face whatever came next.

The Return of the White Rabbit: A Tale from Beyond the Veil
There are moments in the weaving of fate when the ordinary frays at the edges, and reality grows thin. One such moment arrived quietly, like the soft tread of paws over dewy grass.
The moon hung swollen and pale over the forests of Faeo, casting long, twisting shadows across the land. Beneath its glow, something stirred: a ripple in the stillness, a whisper in the wind.
It began with a letter.
No courier delivered it, and no soul saw it placed. Yet when CrackerJack, the wandering jester whose riddles both amused and unsettled the people of Faeo, awoke from a restless dream, he found it nestled on his chest. The parchment was strange — cool to the touch, and inked with silvery symbols that seemed to shift when he blinked.

Quoted

"The rabbit returns when the world forgets laughter.
Seek the hole beyond the waking dreams.
Time waits for none — not even you."

CrackerJack's heart raced. He knew that handwriting. It had been a long time since he had last seen the White Rabbit — the elder whose paths twisted between the real and the imagined, whose actions could save or doom entire kingdoms.
He slipped the note into his coat and set off without a word.
Days blurred into nights as he journeyed across the lands. In every village, there were signs: mirrors cracked without cause, clocks that spun backwards, whispers of a woman cloaked in stars speaking to the oldest trees. People began to dream of golden fish that spoke in riddles, of deep rabbit holes opening in their gardens, only to vanish by morning.
He was not surprised, then, when the big goldfish herself appeared to him in the river at midnight, her scales aglow like a constellation submerged in water.
"You are late, CrackerJack," she murmured in a voice like a song half-remembered. "The Rabbit grows impatient. The world’s laughter is dying. If it fades entirely, so too will the dream of Faeo."
"Then guide me," he said simply.
The goldfish's tail flicked once, and a path of silver lily pads unfurled down the river. He followed, never once looking back.
The trail led deep into the heart of a forest that had no name, a place where even the bravest hunters dared not tread. There, in a clearing lit only by the cold gaze of the stars, she awaited him — the woman of veils.
CrackerJack knew her from legend: the weaver of dreams, the guardian of doors best left unopened. She regarded him with eyes like molten gold.
"Your riddle is unfinished," she said. "You cannot face him alone."
Before he could ask what she meant, she drew back the folds of her robe, revealing a shard of a broken clock, its hands forever frozen at the thirteenth hour. She pressed it into his palm, and the world around them split like thin ice.
He fell, tumbling through layers of memories, forgotten wishes, and the echoes of laughter that once filled the streets of Faeo. At last, he landed softly on a bed of moss before an ancient oak tree — and there, sitting cross-legged, was the White Rabbit himself.
The elder rabbit looked older, wearier. His fur was grayer, his eyes shadowed with a deep sadness.
"You have come," he said. His voice trembled not with fear, but with hope.
"Of course," CrackerJack replied. "You called."
The White Rabbit nodded gravely. "Faeo has lost its way. The people no longer believe in wonder. They have grown dull, forgetful, tethered to the grind of war and toil. If we do not act, the dream will end."
"But how?" CrackerJack asked.
"The answer lies within the Clockwork Garden," said the Rabbit. "A place forgotten by all but a few. It was once the wellspring of dreams and mirth. Now, it lies in ruin."
The White Rabbit’s paw trembled as he drew a door in the air with his claw. A portal opened, swirling with colors that defied description.
"You must find what was lost. Restore the laughter."
"And if I fail?" CrackerJack asked quietly.
"Then we all fade," whispered the Rabbit.
Beyond the portal lay the Clockwork Garden — a strange and beautiful wasteland. Broken sundials leaned drunkenly over fields of ticking flowers. Gigantic gears lay half-buried in shimmering sand. Echoes of laughter and music, barely audible, danced on the breeze, mocking him with what once was.
The trials were many.
CrackerJack faced riddles that twisted his mind into knots. He battled living memories that tried to drag him into endless regret. He was tested by illusions so real that he wept when they faded.
Each step, he carried the shard of the broken clock, feeling its weight grow heavier with every choice he made.
And in the heart of the garden, he found it: a small, cracked music box. Inside, a tiny figure of the White Rabbit spun endlessly to a silent tune.
CrackerJack knelt. He wound the key — once, twice, thrice.
The music box sang.
The garden trembled, then bloomed.
Color and sound returned like a flood. The ticking flowers chimed in harmony. The gears rose, spinning anew. Laughter — true, heartfelt laughter — rang through the air, waking the land from its slumber.
When CrackerJack stepped back into Faeo, he found the world changed. Smiles were wider. Songs were sweeter. Dreams were brighter.
The White Rabbit met him beneath the same ancient oak, his fur gleaming white as moonlight.
"You have restored what was lost," he said. "For now."
CrackerJack, tired but smiling, tipped his hat.
"For now is enough," he replied.

And somewhere deep in the forest, unseen by mortal eyes, the big goldfish leapt joyously from the river, sending ripples through the stars above.