From: Bookwyrm@voyager.cris.com (BOOKWYRM) Newsgroups: rec.arts.comics.creative Subject: NTB: Dance of the Daemon #6 Date: 9 Sep 1995 20:31:33 -0400 Dance of the Daemon #6 "I found my thrill...." As the eldritch mists swirled about him, Damien Cross trodded on, eyes intent on the glowing orb before him. It bobbed and weave according to no discernable pattern, often fading from sight as the fog roiled. But Damein kept at it, trudging for what appeared to be hours. Eventually, he noticed the clouds lessening, as the globe rose high above his head. Finally they parted completely, and he found himself in a grassy field. At some point, the globe must have been replaced, for in it's place appeared something far brighter. The sun. "Hail and well met, Mr. Cross. Can I call you Damien?" came a voice from behind him. Naturally, Damien whirled, flaring his coat dramatically. A slender somehow familiar-looking youth in his mid-twenties waited patiently for his reply. The young man was dressed in an outfit similar to a karate uniform, made of embroidered green silk. "I suppose...what are you called?" he said, finally, remembering his etiquette. The figure shrugged. "Oh, I have many names. Most of us here do. I suppose you can call me Rafe." "Rafe it is." Damien smiled slightly, "Now that we're on a first name basis, would you mind telling me where in the blazes I am?" Rafe stared at him blankly for a moment, before laughing abruptly, "Of course! We thought you knew...Welcome to Tir na Og, better known to all and sundry as the Land of Faery." "Oh great," Damien muttered to himself, "I'm surrounded by elves." He noticed Rafe was still staring at him. "Is there something wrong?" "It's your outfit. Especially your coat." Rafe replied. "What of it?" "Well...it's kinda hard to ask this..." he replied embarassedly. "C'mon, we're all friends here." Damien lied fluently. "Oh, very well. Are you a trenchcoater?" Damein pondered this. He'd had little to do with the Baron's band, or the group which had preceded it. If nothing else, he *did* wear a trenchcoat once... "Not really. I know a few, but that's about it." "Oh goood." Rafe said with a sigh, "One of the Ladies of the Court had a run-in with one lately, and the Queen has decreed that no more enter the land without Her leave. And She's not here today." "No?" Damien asked. "Where is She?" "She had to go to a funeral." "I thought elves were pretty much immortal..." "It's not for one of Her subjects, but...It's a long story, and I don't think we have the time." They walked further, Rafe pointing out the sights to his only-slightly baffled companion. As they walked toward a neo-gothic castle, apparently their destination, Damien could not shake the feeling that Rafe was somehow familiar. True, he did look a bit like Max, albeit much cleaner, that wasn't it. "You're an elf, right?" he prodded, noting Rafe's slightly pointed ears. The head bearing those ears shook, "Actually, no I'm not. I'm a changeling." "You mean..." "Yeah, one of Titania's goons swapped me for a construct." Rafe replied, shrugging. "Luckily for me, I was in prison at the time, charged with pickpocketing." Damien furrowed his brow, as the feeling of familiarity grew. "I didn't think She did that anymore..." "Oh, She doesn't. This was quite a few years back...almost five hun-" "Fortunato!" came the shout. Damien was rather surprised, since it came from his own mouth. Especially since he hadn't said it. Rafe was even more surprised, and a wistful look came in his eyes. "My little Fortunato...." his lips continued. Rafe bobbed his head, eyes filling with tears. "Master?" Rafe asked, looking very young indeed, "Is that you?" "Yes, my boy. It has been many years." Damien grunted with effort, finally regaining control of his voice. "Now listen here! I can see you two know each other, but *I'm* the avatar here, right?" "I apologize, Damien." Rafe said, "But there is no need. It is within your power to release Master Benvenuto's spirit, for a time." "Really? Well, if it means I get to keep my own tongue, I so will it." A golden shimmer appeared next to them, resolving slowly into a rotund form, dressed in a yellow jerkin and black hose. "It is good to see you, my young apprentice," the former avatar said. "And you, my master." They embraced, unselfconsciously. "My spirit has always been troubled knowing you had vanished. I told you your luck wouldn't last..." Rafe grinned, "Ah, but it did. I kept my hand, and my life." "True, true... I wish we could spend more time together, but Damien has a task to perform." "But we have so much to say to each other!!!" The ghostly figure shook his head. "My time has passed. Always remember, that although we were master and prentice, I always considered you...my son." With a gentle glow, Master Benvenuto vanished. Damien handed Rafe a conjured handkerchief, before extracting one of his own. After both men had blown their respective noses [certainly not each other's] they proceeded to the castle. They found the way blocked, by a massive form in emerald green armor, wielding a remarkably large axe. "STATE YOUR BUSINESS!!!" he roared. "Oh relax, Bercy. Why are you wearing that old getup anyway?" "OH, COME ON...WE GET SO FEW VISITORS..." came the orotund reply. "Could you turn it down?" Rafe winced, as Damien covered his ears. "VERY WELL..." Setting down the axe, the figure slowly removed his helmet, revealing a shaggy, bearded visage, also green. "Is that better?" "Much. Bercy, I'd like you to meet Damien Cross, present avatar of Netatron. Damien, this is Bercilak, the Green Knight." "Nice to meet you," Bercilak rumbled. Damien made to shake his hand, but noting a rather huge size descrepancy, settled for a simple nod. "Now, Bercy...why the old suit?" The Green Knight sat down heavily, as a few leaves, and one startled squirrel, fell from nearby trees. "Wayland is doing another upgrade. We should have never given him Web access...he keeps getting ideas." "You get the Internet here?" Damien queried. "Oh yes." Bercy continued, "I keep track of wrestling that way..." "Y'see Damien, although we tend to default to a sorta medieval mode, we aren't stuck in it." Rafe chimed in. "Come inside and I'll show you." At a wave from Bercy, the drawbridge smoothly lowered, giving them access to the keep. In the courtyard, kevlar clad guards practiced unarmed combat techniques, while a few nobles dueled with oddly straight katanas. "After the Unseelie tried a few tech tricks on us, Titania decided to get more modern. Good thing too, since I get to spend more time Uphill." They continued on into the cavernous main hall. Rafe glanced at the empty thrones, before turning to his guest. "Let me get the Waymaster. Wait here a bit, willya?" Snapping off a quick wave, he left by one of the hall's many doors. Damien waited. And waited. And waited. He counted the tiles in the ceiling. He reminisced about his adventures. He got bored silly. Finally, it got to him. Trusting in his senses to warn him of danger, he strode over to a nearby door, pulling his Key from an inside pocket. Naturally, the door opened. Damien peered inside, blinking at the sudden darkness. The room was filled with flickering screens, showing among other things: A brown truck. A mystic-looking fellow in a flowing white cloak. And what appeared to be a giant turtle. "I can walk like a penguin..." Damien murmured quietly to himself. Apparently, not quietly enough, as a reptilian form uncoiled from the floor, silhouetted against the screens. Azure eyes bore into his, and a deep voice echoed in his head "Go away..." Taking the wyrm's advice, Damien backed out of the door, bumping into the pair which stood behind him. "Finished?" Rafe queried, "BW doesn't like being interrupted." Damien turned to face Rafe and his companion, a similarly, if more ornately dressed elf [the ears were longer, he noted] whose great age could only be discerned by the whiteness of his hair. The elf bore a small chest, with the air of one performing an unpleasant menial task. He stared at Damien, visibly unimpressed. "Damien, this is Tomadil, the Waymaster." The elf nodded coolly. "He has the item you require." "Behold the witchblade of Matthew Smith." Tomadil announced, opening the case. "It drank the power of many wise women before the Witchfinder General finally fell to its curse." Damien peered at the silver dagger nestled within, as the Waymaster continued: "Our Queen has bade me to give this to you. Do you accept our gift?" Damien reached for the dagger, stopping only when he saw the startled look on Rafe's face. "Gifts.." whispered a voice in his mind. "I accept, and in the spirit of giving, leave in return my Key. I know Titania misses the one She held previously." "Very good, avatar." Tomadil smiled, smug facade vanished, "Forgive our little test, but we had to be sure you were truly the one." "Figured as much.." Damien replied, as the blade rippled into the patterns on his robe. "Pity I had to give up the key to do it." "Fear not. I shall return you to the mundane realm. If the future goes as I have forseen, the power you have abandoned will be replaced by one far greater." "Yeah, yeah. Thanks anyway. Could you drop me off in Boston?" Tomadil nodded. "I think I'll go with him. I've got enough frequent flier miles to get me to Frisco." Rafe interjected. "As you wish..." Tomadil raised his arms, and a song poured from his lips. Despite his slightly peeved 'tude, Damien found himself listening to it, closing his eyes to further enjoy it. An interminable time later, the song ended. Damien opened his eyes to find himself on the concourse of Logan Airport. "Well, that was fun." Rafe said from a nearby cluster of plastic chairs. At some point, he'd shed his previous silken attire, preferring a simple T-shirt/Levi's [probaly TM] combo. "Thank you." Damien said. "What, for the tour? Null sheen." "No, for the help you gave me. I'd forgotten that rule about gifts." "Oh that." Rafe grinned, "Us roundears gotta stick together down there." "Still, I want to give you something." Another familiar voice echoed in his skull. "Sorry, two somethings." "This isn't Faery anymore, you needn't bother." Rafe replied, blushing slightly. "First, the words of Netrigan: 'To gain Tyche's Blessing, a bargain is made. The scales must be balanced, a price must be paid.'" Rafe blinked, "I'd forgotten about him. He's as perceptive as ever, I see." Damien nodded, "He's a bit embarrassed about all of these curses, so he's been quiet. He's still in here though." "Anyway, the second is from me." Damien removed his sunglasses, and let them dangle from his hand. As the sun glittered off their golden lenses, Damien dropped them into Rafe's lap. "Um, thanks" Rafe muttered. "What do they do?" "I have *no* idea." Damien grinned. "They may come in handy..if you're lucky" The PA announced boarding for a flight to Chicago. "That's me." Rafe called, hefting a large duffle. Shaking Damien's hand, he strode off into the crowd. Damien watched him go. "So, what's next?" he murmured to himself. Whatever it was, it was sure to be different. NEXT ISH: Something different. A man with three...sorry, wrong script. Damien learns to play ball. ALSO: Find out more about Rafe Fortune in Fortune's Wheel #1. ************************************************************** Mario "The Bookwyrm" Di Giacomo: bookwyrm@voyager.cris.com Visit the Bookwyrm's Lair at http://www.cris.com/~bookwyrm "Writers, by definition, have tremendous egos"- Harlan Ellison