ok, here's the story I was working on in response to Infinity Circuit's bright idea. If yer gonna criticise, be constructive while yer at it! I haven't posted any of the fiction I've written before, so let me know what you think I can do differnt...
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Maertann wiped the ichor from his powerblades and looked around for the rest of his group. He had known it would be a tricky task getting into these ruins, but it would be worth it if the rumors were true. The demons had appeared from thin air the moment he had set foot on the crumbling stairs, but the Troupe was ready for them and the beasts were systematically butchered before they had even hit the carved portico. What they hadn’t counted on was the trees pulling themselves out of the ground to stride across the clearing, intent on pounding the Rillietann into the earth. Maertann had lost a number of his group before they had learned that all their sophisticated wargear was useless against the deadly forest. The trees had only retreated when the Margorach had scaled an ancient stone sculpture and burnt them down with sweeping shots from their Bright Lances.
Most of the group had survived, and were carefully dusting themselves off as they gathered around the entrance to the palace. Maertann was not naïve enough to consider the battle over; he had been leading this motley group for far too long. His band moved carefully through the ornately carved doors and into the entrance hall.
If the stories were to be believed, this had once been a mighty palace of his people. He could easily believe that, looking around at the crumbling edifice that surrounded him. The hall in which they stood stretched out to either side and in front of them indefinitely. It appeared that thousands of doors led off into further rooms, although when the closest was opened they found the doorway had been walled up from the inside. He could only imagine the horrors contained inside, and he cautiously shut the door. Maertann led his group slowly down the center hallway testing doors as they went, every one of them watching for the inevitable traps which they knew were there.
The second attack started as a bolt of rippling energy unleashed itself from the wall and curled itself around one of the Troupers. The charred husk of a fine Dancer crumpled to the floor, and the rest of the group bolted. Lightening arced from the bare stone of the walls and ceiling, and the Harlequins needed every ounce of skill they possessed to leap and tumble through the glowing death. After several hectic minutes the ceiling caved in behind them, and a flood of spiny-limbed creatures skittered after them, howling in rage. Someone had the audacity to drop a hallucinogen grenade as he fled, and the beasts paused in confusion before ripping into each other.
The Harlequins wandered for what seemed like days through the ancient building. They passed through mighty halls and narrow passageways, molding rooms and empty cupboards, exploring everywhere for the rumored treasures. But all they found was rotting stone and the nightmares set to guard it.
Maertann was about to give up when the passage they were in came to a four-way intersection. He paused, and the remnants of his group gathered around him. This place looked like any other he had seen in this crumbling death trap, but something about it seemed familiar. He stepped to a half-recognized doorway, and sure enough when he opened it all he saw was a blank stone wall. His followers moved to defensive positions as the Death Jesters opened fire with their Lances. After too long a time the wall started to glow and finally blasted outward, showering them with superheated rock chips.
Nothing stirred in the curling dust, but still Maertann waited. After many long minutes he ducked through the smoking hole, and his crew followed. They found it more difficult than it looked, as the very air seemed to push them back through the doorway into the hall. In the end they all managed to climb through and look around.
The room beyond was empty save for a very large chest on a very small pedestal. Both were intricately carved with Eldar runes, though in a manner so old that no one could read them. There was no lock, and Maertann gently pushed on the lid with the tip of his pistol. It opened without a sound, and everyone tensed in expectation of the horrors that would be unleashed.
Nothing happened.
Maertann tried to calm his wildly beating heart as he looked inside. A soft gray cloth covered the contents, ancient beyond counting yet as beautiful as the day it was made. He pulled it out and tucked in his sash to be examined later. But this was immediately forgotten when he saw what the cloth had concealed.
In his youth, Maertann had heard stories of the Flying Harlequins. Everyone knew that the Rillietann were acrobatic beyond all skill because of their flip belts. But at one time they could actually fly, soaring above the world aided by a peculiar application of anti-grav technology. These Novigilath, as they were known, were unique possessions of the Flying Harlequins, treasured through the long years of their existence. Until, of course, they had been slaughtered to a man during the invasion of the Ar-Kiriel Craftworld and the flight belts had been thought lost to Eldar kind.
Yet Maertann could not doubt the identity of the belts he now lifted out of the chest. Covered in ancient runes and intricate designs, they floated in his hands and subliminally begged to be released from their long imprisonment. There were a dozen of the beautiful creations, and he passed them back to his followers. He turned back to the chest to see if anything else was in it, but found that it, along with the odd squat pedestal, had curiously disappeared.
The Harlequin troupe stumbled back outside to the portico where they had fought the trees. They stared at each other in shock at the treasures they had recovered, how it had been right there at their fingertips from the start while they had walked blindly past them. Many of the younger troupers and mimes knew nothing of the novigilath, and in the manner of true storytellers the elders were filling their heads with stories of flying through the air, chasing the clouds and racing the wind. Many wanted to try them out, but the voice of caution overthrew the impetuous youths.
Maertann sat back and fingered the jeweled belt he had claimed for himself. The possibilities for the uses of these prizes were limitless. They had come seeking gold and riches, and had found only the flight belts. Yet he considered it to be a treasure beyond worth, reclaiming a heritage thought lost to his people. It had been many long lives of his people since the Warp had claimed this planet for its own, and no-one knew what may still await those who visit the Crone Worlds. He had lost many friends this trip and his own world was calling, but he took a moment to take one last look at the places the Eldar once called home. These things would not be forgotten, and he vowed that he would do anything necessary to ensure that did not happen.
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Your humble servant, Rilmanquale
