SirJolt Profile Blog Joined October 2009 the Dagon Knight 3864 Posts Last Edited: 2011-06-22 21:52:11 #1 This is a true story that happened to me while I was doing research for my upcoming book (SirJolt's Galactic Travels: A Guidebook for the Would-be Xenographer). With all the focus on literacy here lately I thought I should share this before the main volume itself is released. The content here was hand-translated by me from it's original tonal probe-speak. Corrections to the finer points of my grammar would be much appreciated.



It happened, one dark and dreary evening, that I had the good fortune to encounter the tiny robot they call Edgar Allan Probe. He is a foppish gent, tending much toward the dandy, but seems to me to worry overmuch about the potential pitfalls of his perennial profession, a plague of prattling players preaching the virtues of the cannon rush.





A hastily drawn portrait of the man himself, Edgar Allan Probe, which I drew using some charcoal from the fire he'd used to boil the kettle as we took hot chocolate



You’ll have to excuse my rough translation, I made many estimations, but when I’d talk to Edgar all he’d ever say was, “Mrreow”



It happened, one dark and dreary evening, that I had the good fortune to encounter the tiny robot they call. He is a foppish gent, tending much toward the dandy, but seems to me to worry overmuch about the potential pitfalls of his perennial profession, a plague of prattling players preaching the virtues of the cannon rush.You’ll have to excuse my rough translation, I made many estimations, but when I’d talk to Edgar all he’d ever say was, “Mrreow” The Templar:



Once upon a midnight dreary, while I wandered meek and leery,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a kreeing,

As of some one gently skreeling, skreeling at my main base door.

`'Tis some executor,' I muttered, `scratching at my main base door -

Only this, and nothing more.'



Ah, distinctly I remember it was on the map Scrap Station,

And each separate fine libation wrought its stain upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

From my clumps surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Fenix -

For the rare and radiant zealot whom the angels named Fenix -

Dragoon here for evermore.



And the silken sad uncertain wailing of each yellow warpgate

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the pulsing of my core, I stood repeating

`'Tis some zealot entreating entrance at my main base door -

Some executor entreating entrance at my main’s front door; -

This it is, and nothing more,'



Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Zerg,' said I, `or Terran, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was mining, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.



Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no Protoss ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, `PsiStorm!'

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `PsiStorm!'

Merely this and nothing more.



Back into the chamber turning, all my volts within me burning,

Soon again I heard a scratching somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my pylon’s lattice;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis Automaton 2000 and nothing more!'



Down then I tore the warpgate, when, with many a flirt and shake,

In there stepped a stately templar of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, drifted above my main base floor -

Perched beside a core of cybers just above my main base floor -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.



Then this white templar beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient templar wandering from the scrap station -

Tell me what thy appelation is on the map’s scrap ridden shore!'

Quoth the templar, `Tassadar.'



Much I marvelled this ungainly thing to hear discourse so plainly,

Though his answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living protoss being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing man above his main base -

Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his main base floor,

With such name as `Tassadar.'



But the templar, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends I’ve known before -

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

The psychic said, `Mine some more.'



Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Research storm."'



But the templar still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a bright archive in front of him and main base door;

Then, with early forge spinning, I betook myself to willing

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous ‘toss of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous ‘toss of yore

Meant in croaking `Research storm.'



This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the ‘toss whose fiery eyes now burned into my robotic core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the nexus’ pulsing lining that the chronoboost gloated o'er,

But whose fervent violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

It shall press, ah, Psychic Storm!



Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by mutalisks whose wing-beats tinkled on the foetid air.

`Wretch,' I cried, `Zeratul hath lent thee - by these dark shrines he has sent thee

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of kheydarin!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this amulet!'

Quoth the templar, `Research storm.'



`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there balm on planet Char? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the templar, `Instant Storms.'



`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that Aiur we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, except the distant Kerrigan,

It shall wield a fated necklace, which the angels named kheydarin -

Clasp a rare and rich amulet, which the angels named kheydarin?'

Quoth the templar, `Instant Storms.'



`Be that word our sign of parting, ‘toss or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the map Scrap Station’s shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the templar, `Zergling Swarms.'



And the templar, never flitting, still is drifting, still is drifting,

On the foetid air of Scrap Station just above my main base floor;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted – feedback more!











+ Show Spoiler + I'm so sorry, I don't even know who the target audience is anymore.





Moderator @SirJolt