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StarCraft: Stewardship

Chapter 1: Invasion

Raise the Glow had carried the golden light up into the hovering ocean, and it was time to get up.

Runs Quite Quickly nonetheless remained in his cabin, lying on his bed of sanger fur. His own fur, by itself, was enough to keep him warm, but the fur of the sanger was far thicker than that of the people. Through his hunt with Throws Very Well, he had won the right to the fur, and that, he supposed, made its warmth all the more lovely. This was the time where Raise the Glow carried her orb shorter than she would in times past. The people had long noticed that the goddess's strength fluctuated in regular intervals, even while Rise the Light showed different shades of his pearl at far more regular cycles. He was tempted to just lie here, in warmth and comfort.

But he knew that it couldn't last. The village was of the world. The world would stay, but Raise the Glow would not stop her march through the hovering ocean, and in time, Rise the Light would carry his silver orb up into the hovering ocean, once it turned to a shade of black. When the ocean became black, the world would become colder, and he would once again enjoy the warmth of sanger fur, after eating ronsooroo meat, and drinking the water of Makes It Flow. But he would have to earn that right by working today.

So he got up, walking across his cabin. For while he and all of the people had earned their names, none expected every member of the people to embody their namesake all of the time – he did not need to run to embrace the light of the hovering ocean. The embers of last night's fire were still crackling. Taking an iron poker, he stirred the flames, as his fur gave prayer to Kindler of Flame that warmth continue to be provided for his abode. He quickly checked last night's stew – enough for lunch, if the gods were not kind to him on today's hunt. But, he told himself, he would be successful. He was always successful. For his name was Runs Quite Quickly, and run he did, faster as any member of the people of his village, or of the non-people of villages elsewhere. He would see Throws Very Well, and they would take up spear and sling, and they would return with fur sticking outwards in pride.

So he exited his abode into the village. He extended an arm and picked up some of the solid cloud off his roof that came from the hovering ocean – he would have to clear more of it away from his hut when time permitted. The solid cloud often fell, and too much of it would cause a hut to crumble. He had seen it, and seen those of the people who were taken to the brulokon for healing. Often, the brulokon would pray to Giver of Life, the goddess who lived within the world itself for the people to be healed. Very rarely did Giver of Life answer their prayers, for the life goddess rarely intervened in those she birthed. All those of the people had to live as best they could. To hunt beasts, to gather the fruits of the forest, and fight against the non-people. And when the time came, die with dignity. Some asked why the gods had not made the people immortal as the gods were, but the brulokon reminded them that it was not their place to know. They were the people, and the world was theirs. The land, the sea, but never the hovering ocean, upon which the gods and goddesses sailed their ships, bar the few who came down unto the world and stayed there, such as Giver of Life.

The village had woken up before he had, he noticed. The people were selling their wares, skinning sangers, selling kerogawi as pets, bartering tools. His top eye drifted towards a shovel (he needed to dig a new latrine pit), but he turned it away, and began to run. He could not be sure, but he felt that he was late. Throws Very Well and Soft Sneaking Hunter would be waiting for him at the northern gate. He ran, and ran, and stopped. For her had seen her. Fair as Flower, selling herbs alongside her parents. She turned her body on all of its ten legs, and all three of her eyes lined up with his. The middle one opened and closed rapidly. Through his own eyes, he saw the bristles of her fur shift, forming an intricate pattern. He saw how her arms became outstretched, however briefly. Through sight, they spoke, eyes, fur, and arms moving in tandem. In moments, it was established that Runs Quite Quickly would have to hunt, but that he hoped to see her later, before Rise the Light carried up his orb to join the shining islands of the hovering ocean. She responded that she hoped so as well. Feeling very, very warm now, Runs Quite Quickly kept heading north, though walking sideways. The people did not have the twisting extension that joined body and head of other animals. They could only face one way. Look one way. So he saw as much of Fair as he could, as much as time allowed. Even while his sha cried out for more.

Soon, he reached the northern exit of the village, coming to a halt. Throws and Soft were there, and given how their fur responded to his presence, and how only their centre eyes were open as they looked at him, it was clear that they considered him late. In response, he gave his apologies. Throws made a 'yip' with his mouth – the people did not use mouths to communicate, bar the most simple of communications, or insults. Runs got the message. He would have to run faster. Today, they would hunt sangers, and jivaros, and gods willing, perhaps even a mashariki. Before the hovering ocean turned black, they would return, and ply their wares. Handed a spear, Runs made his pleasure known, a pleasure that they shared. They were of the people. And neither beast nor non-people could stop them. They headed north, towards the gate, towards the woods whose branches were covered in solid cloud…

…and stopped.

Nine eyes looked up to the hovering ocean, as a series of booms echoed through the air. Squinting through the light of Raise the Glow's orb, Runs saw strange objects coming down from the ocean. Looking back at the village, he saw the people stop what they were doing and look upwards as well. The gods, he wondered? Did they sail from the hovering ocean down to the land, as surely as the people might take to the ocean that bordered the land to the west? All his fur stood on end, even as he kept his arms steady – he was afraid, but would not show it. He would stand as one of the people, and await the coming of the gods. Unbowed, unafraid. He was Runs Quite Quickly, son of Builds Very Sturdy and Picker of Trees. He would greet the gods with his people.

The gods hovered above the village, yet he could only see their ships. Ships that were as black…no, blacker, than the hovering sea after the passing of Glow's orb. All of them large, casting shadows upon the solid cloud below them. And all of them jagged, as if one had taken a spear, made it thicker, and added as many blades onto it as possible. Weapons, he wondered? Of course not - the gods were the gods, who did not need to rely on the weapons that the people used. Still squinting, all three eyes open, he watched as smaller blades came out of the larger ones. Heading down towards the village, flying faster than even the fastest kerogawi. None of them had a kerogawi's wings or beak, but fly they did. Were all the vessels of the gods? Or, even worse, the Emptiness? He clutched his spear…

And dropped it, as he dived into the solid cloud, as a part of the wall that surrounded the village was pulverized. The gods were hurling green lighting upon them. Their large spears remained in the sky, while the small daggers rained lighting down on them. The people scattered, fur on end. He watched Throws hurl his spear up at the flying dagger, showing the worth of his name as it sailed through the air. It hit the dagger, and did nothing, bouncing off its blade. Runs looked at Throws – he was in fear. All were in fear. He moved his arms, to tell him that they had to find other hunters, and-

Throws screamed. It was a soft scream, ill-befitting an end to a hunter of the people. But a piece of green lightning hit him, and he fell into the solid cloud. Dead. His fur blackened, like a dead sanger on the fire. The gods were killing them. And, Runs wondered, who could stand against a god?

He looked at the hovering ocean, as the hovering spears remained in the air between the land and the ocean above. He looked at the flying daggers, letting bolt after bolt of green lightning down upon the land. He looked for Soft Sneaking Hunter, and soon found him running towards the village. To fight, to find family, he could not say. Through the slits above his mouth, he could smell the smell of burnt wood. Burnt fur. Burnt flesh. Kindler of Flame had given the people fire. Now, she was in the service of All Must End, the God of Death. Runs, feeling warm…too warm…picked up another spear. Looked up at the gods.

And then ran. Ran north. Ran away from the fire and fury. Ran through the gate, and didn't look back.

Ran as fast as he could.

From the bridge of the carrier Tsokavis, Executor Selendis of the Daelaam watched the observer feed.

The carrier itself was five astronomical units from Barkul – the third planet of its star system. A multi-biome world situated on the outer edge of its system's habitable zone, accompanied by a single moon. Well within the acceptable parameters for life, albeit that of the kind suited for the cold conditions. She knew that the planet had given rise to a sapient species that the protoss called the eleesh – tiny, furry aliens of three eyes, ten legs, two elongated arms, and a level of technology that didn't even include the wheel yet. What they called themselves she couldn't say, and so early were they in their evolution, they might not even have a single name for their species, let alone a concept of what a species was. And as the observer displayed images on the viewscreen of the drakul attack, she wondered if by the next moonrise, there might be an eleesh species left. The drakul were nothing if not efficient. They would raid, they would kill, they would flee when the forces of the Protoss Empire arrived to enforce the dictates of the Dae'Uhl, just as they had when they last came to this world. But, that had been then. Before the Empire had crumbled and reformed into the Daelaam. And now?

Now I hide in the shadows like a cretin, while living shadows spill blood upon the snow.

Her fellow Templar attended to their duties as could be expected – half a dozen on the bridge, hundreds of them spread throughout the carrier itself. Through the Khala, they sensed her unease. Through the Khala, Selendis felt her unease translate into their own. Unease not so different from the kind she'd felt for the past five cycles. Helplessness. It was a disease, she reflected. The observer stationed above Barkul had been operating for decades. Her eyes blazed with the glow of raging suns as she watched the drakul level the eleesh village. How long had it been since she had fought them, she wondered? How long had it taken them to realize how much had changed in this corner of the galaxy? After the zerg. After the Great War. After humanity had claimed its own fiefdom on the galactic rim and spread ever outwards? She took a step towards the viewscreen, watched as drakul pillagers deployed from Scythes. Clenched her right fist hard enough that her claws dug into her skin. The eleesh were at their mercy. And mercy was not something that the drakul were inclined to show.

Mercy, Selendis reflected to herself. A fool's indulgence.

She would know. She'd fallen into that trap herself only too recently. A trap that she would not fall into now, as-

"I do not suppose this is something to relish."

She felt his voice enter her mind. Her skin mottled as she heard his footsteps on the bridge of the ship. Her eyes remained focused on the observer feed as he came to stand next to her. No Khalai would have escaped her notice in such a way.

"I do not recognize these aliens."

But Prelate Azimar was not Khalai. He was Nerazim. An enigma, wrapped in the Void's shroud, sequestered from her thoughts. Bereft of the Khala's light. Shadows spread over Barkul, as surely as they did in orbit. But now, a shadow walked beside her.

"Drakul," Selendis said, still not meeting Azimar's gaze. "Pillagers, pirates, thieves." Sparks of psionic energy briefly filled the air. "You would like them."

"Perhaps. How well do they bleed?"

"Their blood is red. But that is irrelevant considering that your warp blade would cauterize their wounds."

"You might be surprised."

Selendis turned to face him, even as his own eyes remained locked on the viewscreen. Was that an insult, she wondered? Did he dare suggest that she was unfamiliar with the ways of war? She'd been there on Aiur. Led her people from Aiur. Even returned to Aiur to help rescue what warriors she could from the broken world. If he had been one with the Khala's light, she would have known in a heartbeat, but bereft as he was of the Firstborn's birthright, she could only guess.

"Fate, it seems, has strange plans," Azimar said. "The Tsokavis is stationed in this system, and these aliens attack these…" He looked at her. "Do they have names?"

"Eleesh. Or at least that is what we call them." Selendis turned away and looked upon the assembled Templar. "The dictates of the Dae'Uhl are clear. The eleesh are threatened, and we are behoved to intervene. Set course to Barkul and-"

"Wait."

She stopped short. She had spoken verbally, so that Azimar might hear her words. It was a concession to Nerazim that she do so, as inefficient as such communication might be. But now, he had spoken as well. She turned to face him-

You dare challenge me? You, who are only here by the grace of the hierarch?

…and spoke cordially. "You disapprove?"

Azimar rose a hand to his chin – his right, cybernetic one, a replacement to the limb he had lost two cycles past in an operation in a xel'naga temple. "I know of the Dae'Uhl," he said. "Of its dictates."

"Then you know we must intervene."

He shook his head. "I know that your enforcement of the Dae'Uhl relied on the protoss being at their zenith. And I also know that in a time such as this, as we make preparations to reclaim Aiur, that it would be ill advised to start a war on another front."

"The zerg are gone," Selendis said. "Their queen flees the sector. And we do not make 'war' with the drakul. One does not wage a war against plunderers."

"I do not doubt that you know more of them than myself. But I have witnessed the passage of centuries, and learned the lessons of the universe. Unto my experience, I would advise consulting with the Hierarchy before committing to action. Especially in the context of your last engagement in such similar circumstances."

Selendis clenched her fist again and spared another look at the observer feed. It was still transmitting in real-time – either the drakul hadn't detected it, or didn't care. She suspected the former, but could at least consider the latter. That they knew the Firstborn were aware of their actions, and believed that they were too weak to intervene.

And, gods preserve her, they might be right. The Tsokavis was a single carrier, but one would be enough to destroy their small flotilla. But the protoss would need the Tsokavis and every other ship when the time came to return to Aiur. Gods preserve them, even more if the Queen of Blades did indeed return to the sector, and set her sights upon Shakuras in the same manner that she had Korhal.

"I will confer with the Hierarchy," she said eventually. "They will vouch for intervention, but if it satisfies your desire to follow protocol, I will grant you such indulgence."

Azimar's eyes blazed for a moment. "I trust your faith will not be misplaced."

Faith, Selendis thought, as Azimar stepped away. What do you know of faith? Of the Khala? Of the Dae'Uhl? She sent a thought-stream to Templar Malekis. Establish a psi-link with the Hierarchy. I want their blessing for engagement as quickly as possible.

It shall be done, Executor.

She flexed her fingers, before turning her gaze back to the viewscreen. The drakul…they would know the wrath of the Sons of Aiur. Later than she cared for, but they would feel it all the same. They would fight or flee, but either way, the Dae'Uhl would be upheld. Honour's demands met.

Her honour most of all.