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An AoS short story, feedback welcome.


Marche
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Ch. 01

“I spent a long time running.

When the executor showed up on my desolate little slab of rock he asked me what I did upon finding this place. I answered him plainly, hoping he would understand my meaning.

It started with the marching, it was always the marching. This place was nothing more than the resonance of days long past, with the thunderous conquest of two eternally stalemated forces. I couldn’t handle another vision. Everything that was about to happen was the common practice at this point. So often for no explainable reason this land would flow with the energy of Khala and Uraj, and the ground would feed on it. I tried to remember my training, the patience of the Templar, but mostly I ran. The Executor was growing impatient with my fidgeting, he told me to keep quiet. I felt his mind open outwards, it briefly touched mine as he extended into the surrounding wilderness. I begged him to stop, to listen to my experience. He would have none of it. The rumbling had begun to cascade upon us, and as I saw the first cobalt blade shimmer; I stood up.

Battle erupted around us, the ghosts of Roaches and Zealots bathed each other in ethereal blood, condemning the enemy back into the shadows. I think the Executor told me to sit still, but I could not. I ran. I glanced back a moment later and watched him fall to his knees. In this place we were not members of the caste; we were simply [Protoss], our minds broken and screaming from the psionic input overwhelming him I knew that he could perish without assistance. I apologize if this seems harsh, but my memory begins to fail me when I get closer to those moments.”

 

Karek spent some time considering his next words. He was not sure what to tell the council. He had done as instructed when he arrived on Zha’kul. He searched for the legendary shrines that flowed so much Khalis and Uraj. He had documented the Terran presence in this place. He even went so far as to experience the energy of the memories this sanctuary had offered him. This place was not what the Conclave had thought. This was not a beacon of information to defeat the Zerg. Here in the middle of this Sanctum was a new remembrance of the tribulations of the Protoss. This was the Aeon of Storms.

 

“My brothers there is no way to explain what happened on Zha’Kul with words, I offer you my memories, but beware as there are some things the Khala has not prepared us for.”

 

**Please note thoughts are appreciated but editing has not been performed, this is 'raw footage' so to speak.

 

CH. 02

 

The sanctum was reaching its prime capacity again. Stale air filled the space around them, the immense humidity of the valley closed in around them. Karek leaned over the body of Executor Tarn’Ul.

What is happening?

 

The Sanctum calls, it is only a matter of time before you witness it. Karek did not want to reply in excess, the realization that he had been wrong, that they all had been wrong was one the Conclave would face, willingly or not.

This place- it calls to us so- is it not a trap? The elder Protoss was too exhausted to speak. His weakness was apparent in transmission of these short telepathic bursts between heavy breaths. Karek did what he could to comfort him, but soon there would be no quarter to be given, the armies neared their destination, and with them the champions arrived. Tarn’Ul gazed through the brush at the carnage. May Adun be with us.

Looking forward the Zerg warmachine marched upon the area, roaches and hydralisks littered the dirt path. A large red hydralisk stood out from the rest. The massive stature of it dictated his leadership. Approaching from the other side were a collection of Stalkers and Zealots, with the strangest sight Zarek had seen, a dark templar with what looked like a helm of Zerg larva. The double sided scythe of this warrior shone brightly as he quickly rushed into the fray. It was a spectacle to watch this warrior perform his art of war. The moves were serene as each cleave carved through the thick mantle of the roaches. The mandible of a roach closed on the blade of his scythe, and for a moment he paused. He ripped the blade back, taking a part of the roach with him, and blinked through the small horde. A moment later an explosion filled the ground as fire burst to the sky. The roach who had been there previously was now impaled by a pair of spines extended by the crimson hydralisk. The creature roared in frustration as it whipped and pulled the roach back towards itself. The roach did not stare at his attacker, nor did he stop to consider the damage to himself. He simply resumed his battle and charged the nearest Zealot. The large hydralisk was pacing now, looking for another opportunity to strike.

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