Soul Priest Darkuul

Joeyray's Bar
<Chapter 1>

"Distant... Distant... I can feel... My brethern, their pain... Auir gone!!! The Dark Ones' aid.... Distant... Farther...." The Soul Priest stumbled out of meditation as he collected his thoughts. "No... My job is over... I have served enough!!!" His eyes glow brighter as he mental scream of agony echos through the tranquil forest. "Three hundred years... I hadn't harbored one since.... The fallen souls of my brothers, I am to guide into the Khala...."

Darkuul's eyes beam open. He had been experiencing the same dream for weeks now. Even on this distant planet, he still felt the need from his people. Soul Priests were once as numberous as the Preservers. While the Preservers kept the memories, the Soul Priests guided the souls into the Khala to become one with it. Both had been hunted down, both had been almost annihilated. Oh the pain of leading those souls away. All the knowledge lost...

Darkuul made acquaintance with his surroundings; His wooden hut held the darkness in like a cage, the early morning light from the first sun shown through the jaded cracks between the planks. He slowly rose to his feet, brushing dust off his hands... Long and gnarled, yet palms smooth from care. Hands more used to discharging psionic balls of energy rather than wielding weapons of the Templars.... With only subconscious movements from such delicate hands, a great staff appeared in them; its mightly purpose lost with age of it's master. Containing the ability to channel psionic storms large enough to envelope five storms from the templars trained in their own psionic arts; it has been reduced to keeping the balance of an elderly who can barely travel outside to assimilate the bare nutrients.

A monotonous routine that was performed every day.

Outside his hut stood only two Ihan-rii artifacts. Two artifacts he had been protecting since before the Khala was brought to them. Only two artifacts that were like a grain of sand in the beach of artifacts his tribe, the Shelak, had been protecting since the Makers left them. One being a monolith; though the pale-green color known to them was replaced with an almost emerald color. The other being an ancient obelisk, its metals that of a black hue contrary to that of most like it. Without each other, both artifacts would be useless; without both artifacts, the immortal known as Darkuul would be dead millenia before then.

With the monolith powering the special obelisk, the feeble, old soul priest drank in the energies that flowed out of the Makers' contruct. The twilight of the first sun and the energies of the obelisk made for optimal reguvination; but such was the reason for his extended stay on the planet.

Having an adequate fill, Darkuul walked slowly to a small clearing in the woods; crossing his legs in a well-practiced sitting position, he began his morning meditation.

"They come... They come... They come....! They come!!! THEY COME!!!" The faded glow of age eyes burst to life as the prophecy came unexpected through the Khala to Darkuul. Only then, when he reached out to answer, that he finally realized something...

He was no longer the only intelligent life living on that planet....
Finally a Protoss story! And a good one at that.
EWWWW my bro put something up.....

ok, on the 4th actual paragraph you might confuse people saying 'the immortal known as Darkuul' I remember him being more of a templar.

second, on the 5th paragraph, between '...extended stay on the planet.' and 'Having and adequate fill,' should be made a new paragraph to differentiate from an explaination and what is happening.
Fixed!!! :P
Haha nice.
Im thinking about making a zerg story about a Psionic zerging called Nike xD
Nike! The Greek (or Roman?) Goddess of Victory! Yay!

*On topic, Awesome story. Protoss rule.*
<Chapter 2>

The crushing of bones and the tearing of meat echoed through the clearing as two corpulent men sat on a make-shift table eating a purple colored meat. "Yew reckin we c'n calonize this here planet?" The young of the two asked in an accent that made Earth's 'Sourthern' accent sound almost proper.

"Well... We can breath, that's good. And there are things ta hunt. Enough wood to build us some fine, here buildings... But..." The other man, round-figured with a long, grey bread, stood and walked over to the dropship. "It'll cost more than a shiny penny to be able to stay here. Them Dominions got costly fees for colonization. He trodded back to the table, grabbed another piece of purple meat, and continued eating.


Three figures danced in a circle as they laughed innocently. Each of them, reaching down to an object encircled by them and pulling up a liquid, repeatedly smeared the substance on themselves. The cycle continued for hours; Darkuul, a prisoner in his own dream, watched as his brother was ripped apart and reveled in by the young ones of the Akilae Tribe. Such events were commen during the Aeon of Strife, he had seen it countless times, participated in many himself; but never had it hurt so much as that of his brother's death.

The Soul Priest awoke in a cold sweat. He sat up slowly, pushing off what little coverings he had. The air was cold and humid; droplets of water could still be heard as they slid of the tree leaves and hit the damp ground. Closing his eyes, Darkuul reached out with his psionic powers; a long time had it been since disturbance had caused him to become trapped in his own memories. "Such is the curse...." He murmured to himself.


A static message echoed through the ship's haul, a man sat infront of the radio, turning nobs and levers to keep hold of the pirated wavelengths. "This is *** ***** we've ***** **** **** nearest Dominion ***** **** Colonization fee ****~" The man turned off the radio, a toothy grin could be seen in the dim light. He quickly stood to his feet and headed for the launch bay. An old, but well-kept DF/A-19 Wraith sat ready to fly; as the man suited up and climbed into the cockpit.

"Come girl. We have some suckers to kill...."

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