EPTAfter the extremely limited success of my last blog posts, I've decided this time to try something different. Perhaps this has been done before, surely it has, but nevertheless I'd like to give it a try.
I haven't done the Starcraft 2 single player mode. I haven't read any Starcraft 2 books, and have very limited background knowledge. That's why my story will have no place in the storyline most of you are familiar with.
This is an experiment. If you like it, I'll continue. If you don't, I'll try something different.
I've always wanted to become a writer. I'd most certainly make a career of it, if I could truely believe doing so were realistic. Perhaps it is, who knows, but until now I haven't seen it that way, and have been relying on other qualities to get through life. Bear it mind that English is not my native tongue, however I feel comfortable enough in it to express my writing style.
So here it goes.
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Iliad
Chapter one: The Maiden's Call
Chapter one: The Maiden's Call
My day had finally come. I knew that in 15 minutes, my mother would call upon me and bring me to the Altar. I hadn't slept in weeks, just thinking of that one moment. Dreading it, as much as I had been dreading Death herself. Today I would know if I would have to serve or not. If Protoss military service would be my destiny.
The laws on Shakuras were maliciously simple. Those who are physically apt to serve would spend their life training to be a templar, until the unholy call of battle would most certainly take their life. Those who weren't apt would be banished. I was one of those who chose exile over death.
The town I grew up in used to be magnificent. Gleaming golden arches connected the rooftops of mile-high buildings, reflecting the morning sunbeams on the bustling traffic below. On the ground floor of every building, glistening turquoise runes told us everything we needed to know upon demand, anything from morning news to information on public transportation. Trained zealots patrolled the outskirts of our protective psionic shield, giving us a sense of security.
All of that had changed since the Great Invasion. I remember very little of it. That smell. The sickening stench of the blood of my people, mixed with that of our enemies' rotting corpses. The noise. The deafening screech of mutalisks above our heads. The ecstatic roar of a rampaging ultralisks tearing up the pavement. My father's panicked voice, shoving me into mother's arms as he cloaked and disappeared into the void. The darkness of that cave where we hid for twelve days and twelve nights. My fear. Would I ever see him again?
Since then, we lived underground. The Elders agreed on a new order, one where our people would learn to fight. They told us that our difficult times called for the sacrifice of our children, such had been the message of the Gods. Somehow, we believed them. Only a fraction of those who once made the greatness of our town were still living. All I could think of was whether or not I would join the dead.
The psionic lighting in my room flickered. I got up, already fully dressed for the ceremony. As I passed the light cloth curtain, the only guardian of privacy I had been given, I saw mother waiting for me. Although beautiful, she looked terrible. She smiled to me and said “Father would be proud”. We both knew it was a lie, but it kept us going. It gave us courage to step out into the deserted caverns of Sal'tharim.
As we drew closer to the Altar, we were joined by others. It had been announced that judgement would be passed on six of us. What was left of their families had come to watch.
The Altar was a small platform, adorned with ancient runes sculpted in crimson all around its base. Four columns of dark rock rose from its four corners, with atop of each a sizzling dark blue ball of dense psionic energy. In the middle of the Altar was a fairly large pedestal, upon which was standing one of the Elders. Around him, six lower pedestals, upon each of which a runic letter had been engraved. Four young men and one woman were already in place. I was the last one.
I clenched mother's hand one last time, and began to climb the cold staircase. With each step I felt my heartbeat, as it detonated in every limb of my body. Three. Four. I could see the last empty pedestal in the back, with the first letter of my name on it. Nine. Ten. My breathing was becoming heavier. Thirteen. Fourteen. My feet wanted to just keep climbing, but we had reached the top. I could barely see the Elder showing me towards my place with a very ceremonial gesture. There it was, the last step. I used the last of my body strength to climb up. The ceremony began.
I couldn't hear a thing, it all happened too quickly. The Elder read the Will of the Gods, reassuring us that our souls would always be protected. He explained that it was too late for this town, that we would have to fight for the glory of our race. And then he began with the names.
“Arassan, son of Si'anur, you have been chosen to serve.” The boy looked proud. I could hear his father cheering.
“Senethas, daughter of Orossar, you have been deemed unworthy to serve.” She fell to her knees and cried, as two zealots had already taken place at the bottom of the Altar to escort her outside.
“Porentis, son of Xenith, you have been chosen to serve.” I had stopped looking at that point. I was up next.
The Elder turned towards me. His pale green eyes seemed to be looking into the depths of my soul. I had stopped breathing. Had I done it? Had I escaped the Maiden's call?
“Iliad, daughter of Aris, you have been chosen to serve”. All the rest was blackness.
