Aiur, 2500 CE "Honored one, the enemy approaches." Thessir turned to regard the sentry, a frown creasing his brow above the bright yellow pools of his eyes. The emotions emanating from behind his almost featureless face, protruding above his armor, would be unreadable to a Terran observer, but they rippled easily through the Khala, and the sentry could clearly feel anticipation alongside righteous anger. His long-fingered hands clenched as his eyes briefly glowed a new color, a teal that was slightly brighter and more intense than the soft azure of his flesh. Psi-blades of the same color erupted from the gauntlets at the end of each arm, and he brought one near his face, examining the lethal manifestation of his considerable psionic power. "Nagat Zuul," he replied, acknowledging the new information. "Move the dragoons onto the upper rise; the zealots will stand with me at the entrance. Dispatch an observer to track the enemy's movements. I will inform the Templar." The sentry inclined his head, a slight physical gesture that brought respectful deference through the Khala with it, and moved away to carry the orders to the waiting warriors. He did not have to travel far; Khalani was a language of minds, each Protoss using telepathy to interpret its otherwise meaningless noise, and this freed it from some of the limits of sound waves. Pushing such musings from his mind, Thessir looked around him at the assembled military of the Ara Tribe, the most loyal devotees of the Conclave who formed the majority of the Judicator Assembly; his tribe. It was an awesome sight to behold; as the mighty dragoons lumbered into position on the wall above, ready to rain swift death on any who dared trespass below, scouts combed the skies for enemy air support while zealots marched in formation, their polished armor reflecting the glow of their lit psi-blades. Turning to look behind him, Thessir beheld the reason for the massed defense: the great stasis cell that contained a single Protoss, the Protoss that had torn his people's society asunder with an act of disobedience, disrespect, and even treachery so shocking that Thessir still shuddered to contemplate it. And then he had surrendered himself, but his followers had not been content to allow him to stand trial before the Conclave. At the base of the cell, three Templar held vigil. Thessir approached them, the weight of his armor making each step sound like thunder as it struck the ground, then waited respectfully as they completed their meditations. "En Taro Adun, Thessir," one of them said after a moment, turning to face him. "I take it the enemy has broken our lines. I defer to you in this matter; how may our skills be best used in the defense of this sacred ground?" Thessir imitated the gesture the sentry had given him; though he was of the Judicator caste, the top of the Protoss hierarchy, the Templar were still worthy of his respect, for they led the Protoss in spirit just as the Judicators led them politically. "En Taro Adun, Aremas," he replied. "Will you and your brethren accompany me?" Aremas acknowledged his request, and the three Templar glided away from the stasis cell, their feet trailing in the air a foot off of the ground and providing the perfect contrast to Thessir's own heavy footfalls. The aged Protoss commander turned his head slightly to watch the Templar leader, subtly observing her presence both in reality and in the Khala. Few Terrans had time to consider the fact that the Protoss had two genders as well; they were usually either annihilated or eluded long before any such detail could be noticed. Nor would Aremas have seemed attractive to a Terran, for only a Protoss such as Thessir could behold her full beauty, streaming not simply through her physical features but in the strong, shapely outline of her mind as it touched his own. It was no time to be considering his attraction to her, however; the impending battle commanded his attention. "The rogue executor's disciples have indeed broken our forward lines," he said, his words filled with terrible heaviness, "and we have lost many warriors. We must repel them before the Zerg reach this location and finish us all. I have directed those under my command into the primary entrance; we will attempt to hold them there. But, judging by the success of the traitors thus far, we will not hold them. We require a secondary plan." Aremas affirmed his words, then spoke. "Issah'tul?" It was a simple request for instructions. "We must buy time for reinforcements from the personal guard of the Conclave to reach us; your psychic storms must provide a wall against the enemy." "Very well," Aremas replied. "We will take a position on the walls and hold our enemies for as long as we can. Adun Toridas!" Adun give you sanctuary, she had said, and Thessir could only hope that her words would be fulfilled as she and the other two Templar moved to their battle positions. He made his own way to the front of the assembled zealots, waiting calmly for the approach of the traitor forces. His focus reverberated through the Khala, reassuring each of his warriors. He and those with him were the last line of defense for their way of life, and even if it cost them their lives they were going to give everything they had to keep the enemies that had come from within their own race from finding victory. The traitors came into view all at once, a great mass of dragoons, zealots, aircraft, and even those Templar who had chosen to throw their lot in with a darkness long exiled from the face of Aiur. They outnumbered the defenders more than three to one, and that was after having smashed the forward defensive lines. As the Ara aircraft opened fire on a mighty carrier, trying to bring the great ship down, Thessir knew he had only one chance to buy the time he needed. Even as enemy weapons fire flew all around him, he held his ground; the dragoons had not yet been seen. On each side of him zealots fell, a great blue torrent of psionic energy recalling them to safety when their armor registered their wounds. Still he waited. It was all he could do. A blast of energy struck his left shoulder guard, spinning him around and ripping off a section of armor, but he turned back to face his foes; he had been fortunate, suffering no wound. He could make out individual faces now, could feel the emotions of each enemy as the charging force grew closer, closer, closer still. And then, at last, he gave the order. The dragoons fired as one, rising up on their mechanical legs to cast a rain of pure death down on those who dared to invade this consecrated place. Bodies were flung into the air as the ground churned, the moss-covered earth swiftly burned to blackened sand as the bombardment continued. The sky was lit with blue as countless zealots were teleported away in the hopes of saving them from their wounds. Yet the enemy pressed on; the skies were thick with scouts and interceptors, quickly overwhelming the defenders' much smaller force of aircraft despite their valiant combat. Much of the Ara fleet had been smashed during the failed attempt to purify the Terran colony of Tarsonis, and most of what remained was engaged trying to prevent further Zerg forces from breaching Aiur's atmosphere, leaving the tribe without its strongest and most famous asset. Dragoons exploded in sprays of deep sea-blue nourishment fluid as the guns of the airborne war machines assailed them, though an equal number of enemy craft spiraled out of control to hit the unyielding ground and erupt into flames. Sensing their moment, the three Templar stood tall. The triple psychic storms rippled through the Khala like as many earthquakes, their psionic lightning mildly painful to Thessir even from well outside their range. The agony of those caught within was unimaginable, but he felt no pity; the traitors had chosen their course, and they would reap what they had sown. Yet, even through the wall of artillery and storms alike, the enemy was still managing to advance. One of the Templar on the wall was struck full in the chest with a blast from an enemy dragoon, and the lightning faltered, creating a breach through which yet more foes poured. It was time. Breathing his righteous fury into the Khala, Thessir raised his blades and charged. "Zerashk Gulida!" Oblivion awaits. It was his battlecry, and his promise to all traitors. ((The second chapter will follow shortly. Reviews are appreciated.))
