The Font
Chapter 4
John Doe, the Undead Hero, walked with purpose in his step and intent
in his stride. The weasel warrior was smiling with excited glee. At
last, for the first time since vanquishing RD Rivero and his
nefarious Penis Plucker, he had a cause.
He came to the door that led into the Font Chamber, and was met there
by Lo-Ra. The servant of the Font was was just closing the door. In
her free hand was a tray of various cheeses, some with bites out of
them. The swiss looked runny, oozing a white substance from it's many
holes. John's delicate nose detected the peculiar odor of fish oil in
the air, and he hoped Lo-Ra was not returning that particular
delicacy to the refrigerator.
"Stop," she said when she saw him. "You have seen the Font, and are
not permitted in his presence again without five years of
discipleship."
"Then carry this message to him, servant. I, John Doe the Undead
Hero, am setting out this very day to storm the fortress of the Elven
Lord and rescue the Lunatac Goddess from his sinister clutches!"
"Yay. Wait here, and I will convey your words to the Font," Lo-Ra
said dourly. She slipped back into the room.
"Honk," John's spirit dodo said.
"You're right, she didn't look very happy, did she?" John
answered. "No matter, she will come around after I've delivered the
fandom from the schism that holds it apart!"
A moment later, Lo-Ra returned with a small package wrapped in plain
brown paper, about the size of a paperback novel. She handed it to
the weasel and said, "This is a talisman against the Elven Lord's
sorcery. It contains special herbs and potent ingredients to
safeguard you on your quest."
John took the package and put it to his ear. "I've never heard herbs
tick before," he said.
"Maintain possession of the package as long as you are in the Elf's
citadel. Release it for an instant, and he will turn you to stone. Do
not open the package, or it will cease functioning and you will
suffer the same fate."
John had a brief but vivid vision of himself and his bird as garden
gnomes. He was largely unkillable, but he had a feeling petrification
wasn't covered under that policy.
"Thank you, and thank the Font for his support. It will be rewarded
as it deserves!" he said, then tucked the box into the waistband of
his pants, beneath his poncho. He turned on his heel and marched
away, his dodo waddling quickly behind.
When they were gone, Lo-Ra heard a voice sigh behind her. "That boy
is our last hope."
"In that case, I have nothing to worry about," she said simply, and
walked back to the kitchen with her tray of cheese.
********
It took John a full day to locate the Elven Lord's citadel, mostly
due to bad directions he got from a clerk at the 7-11 as he left the
Font's territory. By the afternoon of the next day, however, he was
standing before the perimeter gate of the Elven Lord's mighty
fortress. On the other side was a magnificent mansion with a large
roling yard and a few ornamental trees. The house itself looked like
someone had plucked Tara, in it's entirety, out of "Gone with the
Wind", and dropped it there on the lawn.
"Odd. Somehow, I'd expected something more midevil," John
observed. "But we will not be swayed! Though the river is deep, I'll
never falter. Though the mountain is high, I'll still believe. Though
the valley is low, it never stops me. I know he is waiting! I know he
is wating for me!"
The weasel stepped back from the gate, then ran at it, head lowered.
He slammed into the wrought iron bars with a resounding crash, his
head popping through the other side. Using his rodent powers to
unhinge his bones, couple with their long history of being fractured
and dislocated, he popped through the gate to the other side in a
matter of moments.
"Victory!" he declared as he reorganized his limbs. "Already, the
first obstacle to penultimate triumph has fallen before the powers of
the Undead Hero! I--"
John stopped when he heard a low growl behind him. He turned slowly
to find himself looking at a german sheppard the size of a small
horse. The dog had a green spiked collar, gold eyes, and an
expression that could have been either a smile or a snarl. Somehow,
John sensed it was both.
"AAAAAAAAA!" the weasel screamed and ran off like a cannonshot, the
dog snapping happy at his heels. From it's vantage beyond the safety
of the gate, the dodo watched the dog chase the weasel across the
yard, back again, over the porch, under the porch, through the
shrubs, and right straight up a tree, where John cowered, shuddering
like a frightened cat.
Realizing it would have to intervene, the bird waddled away from the
fence, got a running start and managed to flap-jump it's way over the
gate. As soon as it touched down, the dog abandoned John and ran at
it, snapping and snarling. The dodo tucked it's head beneath it's
wing, as though afraid to face it's destruction.
"NO! DON'T!" John screamed, and leapt down from the tree, chasing
after the cur as it closed in on his avatar. The, suddenly, the dog
stopped with a startled bark, and John leapt onto it's back, throwing
his arms around the massive neck in an attempt to strangle the
monster into submission.
"Squeak, squeak."
"Huh?" the weasel said. Then, looking over the cur's shoulder, he saw
his bird holding a rubber snarf squeak-toy in it's beak. It gave the
toy a couple more squeezes, and the big dog bounded playfully,
throwing John onto the grass. Then the dodo threw the toy across the
yard, and the sheppard dashed over, caught up the toy, sat down and
began chewing contentedly on the snarf's head.
The dodo bleated proudly and waddled over to where the weasel lay on
the grass. John gaped at the dog, then got to his feet. When the
monstrous beast cheerfully ignored him, he declared, "HAH! Elven
Lord, your hour is at hand! Even your faithless hound can be bought
off with a no-calorie snarf! Your friends abandon you! Your --"
He stammered to a halt when he realized the dog had turned one eye
towards him and paused in gnawing. "Ah, yes, we'll just be going
now," he smiled, waved, and ran like hell for the mansion's front
entrance, his dodo flapping and leaping after him. The cur
steadfastly ignored them both, content to gnaw his new snarf in peace.
At the door, John stopped and said, "Wait, my ally. There may be a
trap." He tried the door and found it unlocked. He stepped carefully
inside, into the pitch-dark chamber beyond.
Abruptly, the lights came on. John and his bird were in a long foyer
hall, extending some fifteen feet from the door. The only exit was a
single door at the opposite end.
>From somewhere overhead, a synthesized female voice said
aloud, "Welcome! You have activated the Bierce Security System 2003.
Please enter your password on the keypad to your right within ten
seconds, to prevent system arming."
The weasel looked at the keypad, then looked at his spirit guide.
Both of them shrugged. A moment later, the voice announced, "Security
is now armed. Intruders are cautioned. Anyone attempting to reach the
end of the hall shall be sliced, diced and Jolie-anned."
The rodent warrior blinked. "Must be a british system. They
mispronounced 'julianned'. Ah well, no security system is a match for
the awesome powers of an Undead Hero!" He stepped boldly down the
hall.
Instantly, three razor sharp scythe-like blades slashed outward from
the wall to John's left. With weasel speed and agility, the Undead
Hero threw himself into the air, letting the upper two blades slip
neatly above and below his body without striking him. He landed in a
handstand and sprang past the stroke of the deadly steel.
When he struck the floor, he heard a click overhead. Dropping down
from the ceiling was a mesh of steel, presenting a cross-hatch of
deadly edges to the weasel as it dropped towards him. John dodged,
slipping into one of the openings in the lattice. It withdrew with
lightning speed and struck again, but John dodged yet again, nimbly
working his way through the obstacle and towards the door on the
opposite side.
With a final bound, the Undead Hero landed on the floor in front of
the door. Breathing hard with exertion, but proud nevertheless, John
yelled, "Elven Lord, your defenses couldn't protect you from Mister
Potato Head, much less the wrath of the ERK!!" While John had been
bragging, a robotic hand had descended from the ceiling. The gripper
closed around the weasel's neck and hauled him into a panel overhead,
where he disappeared. There were screams, cries of pain and outrage,
cursing and vows of grim vengeance.
Then the panel slid open and John Doe dropped onto the floor of the
hall once more, terribly transformed. His tablecloth poncho bulged
with a set of enormous breasts. His lips had been pinched, swollen,
and painted red. A brunette wig, trailing a four-foot pony tail, was
stapled over his mop of blonde hair. As he lay there, two objects
fell from the panel overhead and landed in his lap. One was a
squawling toy baby doll. The other was a set of divorce papers,
signed by Billy Bob Thornton.
John groaned and struggled to his feet, and wobbled to the door. He
staggered inside and found himself in an ornate living room,
decorated tastefully in the post-Cataclysm Qualinesti style. But he
only had a moment to admire it before he pitched forward onto his
face on the sumptuous carpet. Or would have, if his new boobs had not
prevented his nose from hitting the ground.
"How does she walk with these things?!" John said incredulously. He
got back up, carefully balancing himself. Behind him, there was a
thump, and the door opened. John looked back to see a large pair of
latex breasts waddle into the room, the tip of a hatchet-like beak
projecting from the upper cleavage.
"Hrk," the bird managed to squeak out. John sighed and went to help
his spirit guide.
********
A short time later, liberated of artificial breasts, and large
patches of fur and feathers from the glue, the Undead Hero and his
sidekick ventured across the living room and into the kitchen. They
found the room as neat and orderly as the living room, with all the
modern amenities and tools suitable for a gourmet chef.
"Honk!" the dodo bleated, flapping it's wing at the refrigerator.
"I already told you, no." John said testily, digging through the
silverware drawer for clues to the Elven Lord's whereabouts. "We are
not common theives. You can wait till we get back to the monastery
for dinner."
John closed the silverware drawer just before a banana hit him in the
back of the head. "Wha?!" he blurted, turned and saw his spirit guide
shut the refrigerator door and point again. This time, the weasel
observed a note taped to the door. He crossed the floor, pulled the
note off and read aloud.
"'Axelle, thanks for feeding the dog for us while we're on vacation.
There's a bag of Kibble and Snarf-Bits under the sink. Help yourself
to the fridge, and we'll bring back plenty of pictures from Disney.
Without that asshat Font along, it should be alot more fun."
"DISNEY?!" the weasel exclaimed. "VACATION?! THE NERVE OF THEM,
LEAVING WHEN I CAME ALL THIS WAY TO SAVE HER AND KICK HIS--"
"Honk?" the dodo queried.
"Ah, yes, of course," John answered, calming slightly. "This is just
minor setback. All we must do is track them to their new location and
effect the rescue there! It will be even simpler, since the Elven
Lord's guard will be down."
"Honk?"
"Which Disney? Ah, yes, there is more than one, isn't there? Come
then, let us locate the Elven Lord's computer, and I will call upon
my snarf-trained hacking powers to learn their flight plans."
They returned to the living room, and after several minutes of
searching, managed to locate the armoire containing the computer. The
Undead Hero sat down, powered up the system and smiled a snaggle-
toothed grin in anticipation of pitting his computer savvy against
the evil of the Elven Lord.
After a few moments, it was obvious he wasn't going to get the
chance. "The arrogance!" John sputtered. "He didn't even bother to
password his log-on? Well, no matter. Let us load Outlook Express and
see if there are flight confirmations available."
A few more keystrokes and they were in. "Observe, my grim avatar of
evil-stomping. The in-box is fairly filled with messages from the
Font of All Wisdom to his lost Lunatac Goddess." He paused, then
said, "I suppose it will do no harm to read a few. It is, after all,
gathering intelligence to complete my mission."
John grouped the files by source, then date, and began reading at the
earliest, using his incredibly short weasel attention span to skim
rapidly through years' worth of messages in just about ten minutes.
But near the end, he had to stop, exhausted.
"I never imagined," he gasped. "My dodo, we have been decieved.
Behold, the Font has been tormenting, annoying, intruding and
otherwise making life difficult for the Lunatac Goddess and her
chosen love for years now! He has ignored all sound advice to drop
the issue, even threats of legal action! His behavior ranges from
rude to psychotic! He even threatend to send a bomb to their house!"
He stopped. He looked at the dodo. The bird looked at him. Then he
pulled the box out of his waistband and held it before them both. The
box stopped ticking, and began to ring.
"AAAAAAAAAUGH!!" John screamed.
"HOOOOOOOOONK!!" the dodo wailed.
Then both of them ran out of the living room, through the kitchen to
the stairs, up two flights, down the hall, and into the bedroom at
the end. John ripped open the casement window, and drew back his arm
to throw the box.
The uppermost floor of the west wing of the Elven Lord's mansion
exploded in a fireball one hundred feet across. The forest resounded
with the collosal force of the blast. Chunks of flaming timber and
hot embers rained down on the manicured lawn, but fortunately, it was
too moist to ignite.
When the glow of the detonation had passed, at the center of the
destruction, there stood a tiny section of charred wall with a square
out where a window had been. At the window were two figures, one
composed of burnt matchsticks, the other looking like a piece of
charcoal married to a feather duster. The matchstick figure's right
eye popped out of it's socket and dangle on one burnt cheek. The
briquette emitted a stangled honk and toppled onto it's side. Then,
through cracked and blackend lips, the stick figure spoke.
"He's going to pay for this," it said.
TBC