Fresh from my pre-reader, Defender of the Light, here's
the next chapter of The Emperor's Hand!
Disclaimer: The trolls in Great Britain at Games Workshop
own Warhammer 40,000; I don't. I don't own the Ranma
characters, either.
The Emperor's Hand
Chapter Nine: Demonstration
It was roughly ten o'clock, and both Nabiki and Akane
were skipping school. This was rather unusual, but also
understandable. They were also walking into the Nekohanten,
to meet this friend of the Shaman's. The sign said 'closed',
but the door was open. "Cologne, we're here!"
"Children," came the reply, "we're in the back."
They passed through the dining room, and into the store
room for the cafe. Mousse, Shampoo, Cologne, and the Shaman
were there, as well as one of the most colorful sights they
had seen. The figure was roughly human-shaped, but almost
seven feet tall, and extremely slender. He wore a rainbow of
colors in a multitude of patterns, scarves, and tassels. On
his face, he wore a green and red mask, that was a parody of
a frowning face. His head was covered by a black hood, with
bright purple metal studs. "This," said the Shaman, "is a
Solitaire, and the one I sought to contact."
The figure bowed, and a voice issued forth from his
mask. "I still do not know why I should help a Mon-Keigh, but
I owe the Shaman a favor." He crossed his arms. "I will help,
but this evens the scales between us."
"Alright, Mr. Solitaire, let's get down to business.
What _can_ you do to help us?" Nabiki put on her 'business'
face, which would make the Gambling King jealous.
"Think of him. Picture him in your mind. Drop your
defenses, and allow me to see that image," said the
Solitaire.
"I think it would be better if Akane did that. She's his
fiancee, after all."
Nodding, Akane thought of him. Almost without her
conscious thought, every time she had seen him flashed
through her mind. From the time he showed up on their
doorstep, a bedraggled girl with a wet panda, through his
various challenges, and his dramatic rescues of her from foe
after foe. She tried to keep it out of her mind, but one
image that popped up was what she saw that first day, when
she walked in on him in the bath.
After a second, the Solitaire nodded. Turning to the
Shaman, he asked, "Two people? I thought you said there was
but a single boy."
"That is true, my friend," said the immortal man.
"According to Khu Lon, the boy is subject to a curse, of
sorts, that causes him to change gender upon exposure to cold
water, and back upon exposure to hot water."
The Solitaire sighed. "I will pass this along to my
brethren. Should they see him, they will use the Webway to
send him home." He turned, and began to leave the Nekohanten.
"But remember - this evens the scales between us. We owe you
no more. And he shall owe us a favor, as well."
Before Nabiki could protest, reality itself opened up,
and swallowed the colorful form. "Well, that's something, at
least," she muttered. "What now?" she asked.
"We wait," said Cologne. "Would you like some ramen?"
*****************************************
The entire Craftworld seemed excited, as the Eldar
bustled about their business with a little more haste than
their usual, stately grace. Even Ranma could feel it, as
Eldaveril and the other Banshees seemed distracted during
their morning spar. "Hey, what's up? Why's everyone so riled
up?"
One of the other Banshees picked herself up off the
ground, where the pigtailed martial artist had put her. "We
received word, yesterday, that the Harlequins are to arrive
this afternoon," she said.
"Harikins?" he asked.
"No, Anial Gorwydd, Harlequins. They are the servants of
the Laughing God, the Lord of the Dance, and are both
warriors and performers." Eldaveril dropped her mask, and
Ranma could see the odd transformation that flew across her
features as they softened into her peace-time aspect. "They
pass along the ancient history of our people by their dance,
and use their dance as a weapon in battle."
"Martial Arts Dancing?" he asked, puzzled.
"Well, you could see it that way. Or, to use your terms,
it could be said that their katas are so like a dance, that
by performing, they hone their battle skills."
"Oh. Well, when are they gonna arrive?" Ranma glanced
around. "I mean, I'm probably gonna hafta get cleaned up."
Teldurin, the Exarch, glanced at him. "I am sorry, Anial
Gorwydd, but you will likely not be allowed to meet with the
Harlequin Troupe. They tend not to like Mon-Ke... er, Humans,
and would likely take offense at your presence."
"Oh. Too bad, I woulda liked ta have sparred with 'em,
sounds like they practice martial arts, too."
*****************************************
It was a room in the Craftworld reserved for this
specific purpose. Ailunaraven, High Farseer of Valdur
Avendel, stood awaiting the Harlequins there, flanked by the
other Farseers, and select Warlocks. The room, itself, was
home to a Webway gate that none but the Harlequins could
open, and was decorated in their own, inimitable style.
Gleaming masks of various shapes and colors adorned the
walls, connected by scarves of brilliant color and pattern,
Mosaics representing the stages of Eldar history covered the
floor, ceiling, and various wall sections, while the far wall
was a single, black expanse.
In front of the dark wall, a ripple in space echoed the
opening of a Webway tunnel. One by one, thirty members of the
Troupe of the Lethal Song stepped forth, each one a cacophony
of color and a maze of patterns. Their Dathedi, or Holo-
suits, were deactivated, but the eye still had trouble
understanding the dazzling sight. First, came the Mimes,
young Eldar who were in training, learning to be the warrior-
dancers they aspired to be. Behind them, the actual Troopers,
who danced the chorus in the performances of history. Next,
given a wide berth even by other Harlequins, came the Death
Jesters. With black suits, and bone ornaments, they had their
huge Buanna, or Reaper, cannons, resting across their chests,
below the death's-head masks that hide their grim faces,
ready to dance the roles of darkness and death. After the
Death Jesters, came the Harlequins own Warlocks, their
shining blank masks hiding a mind that could touch the fabric
of reality, and carrying a backpack grenade launcher that
launched hallucination grenades. The last of the Troupe that
emerged was their leader, he who was considered to be the
mortal Avatar of the Laughing God, himself. If the others
were a cacophony of color, then he was a symphony. Though
numerous shimmering colors wove around him in patterns
dazzling to behold, they supported each other, and confirmed
him as an artist second to none.
"Greetings, Priests of the Laughing God," began
Ailunavaren. "The halls of Valdur Avendel are yours, and all
here breathlessly await your performance tonight."
"Greetings, Farseer of Valdur Avendel. Tonight shall be
an honor, for we shall perform the Great Dance." The mortal
Avatar glanced around. "In moments, a Solitaire shall be
among us."
The Farseers exchanged a telepathic murmur of amazement,
as the impact of the Harlequin Avatar's words sunk in. Bowing
deeply, the High Farseer smiled. "You honor us, High Avatar.
The place shall be prepared."
The High Avatar cocked his head, then his grinning mask
transfixed his counterpart. "Your Infinity Circuit tells me
there is a Mon-Keigh aboard, one who is held in high regard
by the spirits of the Fallen."
The assembled leaders of Valdur Avendel stood in shock
at this statement. "Why, yes. He has been sort of adopted by
one of the Banshee shrines here, and named Anial Gorwydd by
one of our Warlocks."
"Send him here. He should be here when the Solitaire
arrives." Nodding to the other members of his Troupe, they
began to draw forth the furniture that sat against the walls.
They placed the seats and began to stretch around them.
"Please, let us rest here in waiting."
*****************************************
It didn't take long for Ardallan the Warlock to reach
Teldurin's Shrine. Staying outside the door, he waited for
the sparring match to end. Noticing him, the Exarch strode up
to him. "Why do you come? Need you speak to your daughter?"
"No, Exarch Teldurin. It is Anial Gorwydd I must speak
to." He glanced in, and saw the pigtailed human demonstrating
a particularly devastating leap kick to the gathered
Banshees.
The Exarch crossed the room to him as he was giving
comments to the Banshees, correcting the form of one of them.
She spoke briefly to him, and he stepped out into the hall,
after bowing to the Shrine. "Yeah, whatcha need?"
The Warlock smiled broadly. "The Harlequin High Avatar
has requested your presence in the Gathering room. If you'll
accompany me, Ranma?"
"Finally! Say, this 'High Avatar' isn't like yer
Avatar, is he?"
"No," he laughed, "he's a Harlequin. An Eldar who is
dedicated to the Laughing God, and second only to the
Solitaires, and the Phoenix Lords, in his skill and battle
prowess."
"Then, c'mon, let's go!" exclaimed Ranma. He started to
walk down the hall, then stopped. "Um, which way is it? And
just what is a Phoenix Lord?"
"It's right this way," said Ardallan. He led the human
through the maze of the internal Webway, to emerge in the
gathering room. Whispering, he added, "And I'll explain about
the Phoenix Lords later."
Ogling the explosion of color and movement that he saw
before him as most of the Harlequins danced around the room
in a symphony of grace, Ranma's eyes were drawn to a figure
sitting near the middle of the room, speaking to the ancient
Farseer, Ailunaraven. His full-head mask had a rainbow Mohawk
sprouting from it, even as its grinning face shimmered in a
pattern of ever-changing colors. "Izzat the High Avatar?" he
asked, quietly.
"Yes," responded the Warlock.
The High Avatar finished his conversation with the
Farseer, and stood, to walk to where the human stood,
unheeding of the diving and bounding of his Troupe. "Anial
Gorwydd, the Infinity Circuit speaks highly of you. I am the
High Avatar of the Troupe of the Way of Heaven."
"Um, yeah. I'm Saotome Ranma, of the Anything Goes
School of Martial Arts. Pleased to meetcha." He bowed, a bow
that was returned by the Avatar. "So, um, why'd ya wanna see
me?"
"To test you, boy. There is a tale spread throughout our
order, that there should be a Mon-Keigh that shall appear
within the Sight of the Eldar, who must be given a message."
He stepped back, and the dancing of the Troupe ended. "If you
are he of whom the legend speaks, then you shall be given the
message. But the one who must test you has not yet arrived."
"What kind o' test?" asked the pigtailed martial artist.
The wall at the far end of the room rippled, and a
figure stepped forth. More severe in his garb than the rest
of the Troupe, he still was a riot of color. A simple black
headband wrapped around his mask, and a single scarf hung
from his belt. "Why, Mon-Keigh, it shall be a test that you
will pass. Or you shall die."
*****************************************
Akane sat on her bed, once more. Tonight it would be a
week since Ranma had vanished, and she had found that all her
hope rested on the actions of an alien who didn't even seem
to like humans.
Sighing, she reached over, and looked at her clock. Ten
at night. She should be going to sleep, but couldn't. She
knew she was missing something, that there should be
something more she could do. But what it was, she couldn't
figure out.
Standing up, she crossed the hall to the bathroom.
Noticing the sign on the door, she waited, and, minutes
later, a rather drowsy-looking panda shuffled out. "Gruffle,"
it said.
"Good night, Mister Saotome," she replied. The panda
yawned and stretched, then shuffled into the room he used to
share with his son.
Akane stepped into the bathroom, but had no need to do
anything. Instead, she just stared into the mirror. On one
level, she saw herself as she thought of herself. Plain,
ordinary, with short black hair, and a boyish figure, the
uncute tomboy Ranma always accused her of being. However,
just for a second, she caught a glimpse of the girl Kuno
constantly raved about - the raven haired tigress, with
flashing eyes. 'Why couldn't Ranma see that?' she wondered.
"Bukwee?" came the squeal at her feet. She looked down,
and saw her little pet pig.
"P-chan? Oh, baby, come here." She bent over, and picked
him up. Cuddling him to her cheek, she started to do
something she hadn't done in weeks.
She started to cry.
=====
- Valandar the Red of the Empty Tankard
Captain of the Guard of the Barony of the Far Woods
Empire of the Iron Mountains
and Ruler of the Spammish Main
http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/fanfic.html
http://members.tripod.com/~Valandar/ran40k.html
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