Written by webrunner.
(Here's the original text document » (24 KB) from which this page was transcribed, in case you want it.)
Judicator Kharlim sat in his chamber (obviously quite a feat for a Protoss, given their leg structure)—alone but for the light of a desk lamp and the light of his eyes—and contemplated the piece of paper in front of him. He was holding a Ghar'Mik, which in Protoss means “Dixon HB Pencil sharpened to 75% of its length”, and an eraser, which in Protoss means “Thing that allows you to erase pencil marks”. Every few minutes he paused, and wrote something down. He then started to get a bit angry and tense, until finally he called out—
Well, okay, he didn't really call as much as thought really hard but anyway—
He 'yelled' “Mi'Ta?”
“Yes, Judicator?” came the reply.
“What is a 4 letter word for 'Most Annoying Thing on a Forum?'“
“Imbalance Debate.”
“That's not four letters!”
“It is in Protoss.”
Kharlim thought about this for a second. “Good point” and wrote the symbols for Imbalance Debate into his crossword. He then smiled (again, the closest possible thing to a smile you can do without lips) and then walked into the next room. Mi'Ta was there reading a piece of peanut brittle.
“Mi'Ta, why are you reading a piece of peanut brittle?”
“Oh, well, I didn't want the guys at work spoiling it for me—I wanted to find out myself who did it.”
“Who did WHAT? It's peanut brittle. And where did you get it anyway?”
Mi'Ta stopped for a moment and thought. “You know, that's a very good question.”
They both stared into the brittle and just then without warning the opening title started.
Mind Over Matter
Episode One
Part One
Chapter One
Shoelace One
Line 37.
By webrunner
“Okay, who let the titles in here?” Kharlim asked, shooing the titles out the door, “I'm not made of title food you know.”
“It wasn't me. Maybe the peanut brittle will tell us the truth!” Mi'Ta then began to look anxiously at the snack food.
“For Adun's sake, it's just peanut brittle.”
“That peanut brittle holds more knowledge than it would lead one to believe...” a booming voice suddenly boomed.
“Gharak, what are you doing here?”
Gharak, the Dark Templar, replied “The peanut brittle is a sign of oncoming doom and destruction...”
“It's just peanut brittle. In my vast studies I have never—”
“You speak of knowledge Judicator? You speak of—”
“Experience, yada yada yada negative suns, reality entropy, etc etc etc.”
“Er—yes.”
“Do all you Dark Templar know that line?”
“I don't think this is appropriate. Think about it Judicator...suddenly a piece of peanut brittle on a planet covered in nothing but Protoss—a race without mouths.”
“And?”
“It's a food. Food requires mouths.”
“Maybe one of the Terrans dropped it off?”
“Do you really think that Terrans fleeing from the might of the Zerg, UED, and/or Empire would think to bring peanut brittle...and what the hell is he doing?” He pointed, but it was kinda point-less due to the whole invisible thing.
“He's expecting it to tell him who let the titles in.”
“Oh, that was me.”
“May I ask why?”
“How else would anyone know who wrote the story?”
“You believe in the pre-destined fate nonsence of some 'author god' controlling everything we do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Suddenly, Kharlim caught on fire.
“That is why, Judicator.”
“Ouch ouch ouch ouch hot fire burn ouch! Mi'Ta! Get the fire extinguisher!”
“Maybe—maybe the Almighty Brittle will shine some light on our grave hour!”
Judicator Kharlim looked in awe, then suddenly released that he was still on fire and dropped to the floor and rolled.
“Do you believe in the author now?”
“Not really, it was just a—hold on, I have an unmistakable urge to run head-first into the wall.” *THUMP*
“Ouch, what the-...umm...Okay. I'm convinced.”
“Back to the peanut brittle—”
“The Almighty Brittle will save us all!”
“—Yes, the brittle issue,” Kharlim interjected, feeling his head for bumps...or rather bumps that weren't there before, “It is a conundrum.”
“It seems to have enslaved your assistant's mind.”
“A toothbrush could enslave his mind.”
“A...tooth...brush?”
“Oh nevermind.”
“Anyway, we must investigate this further.”
“We should.”
“Should we bring him?”
“I think he'll be fine here...it's not like he'll forget to eat or something...because he doesn't.”
“Alrighty then. I'll lead the way.”
“I think I should lead the way...”
“And why is that?”
“I'm visible.”
“Good point.”
And so the two Protoss left the building and went off in search of answers...while Mi'Ta sat and stared at the peanut brittle looking for exactly the same thing.
After taking the long way around the block due to the fact the chapter title was in the way, the two Protoss arrived at the archives (which in Protoss means 'big book place'.) They both entered different doors, Gharak having a bit of trouble since the automatic-door-opener thing couldn't see him, and then looked upon the incredible sight.
The archives is one of those places which are huge on the outside and simply humungous on the inside. They often wondered just how they managed to get so many books, tomes, and other paper-between-cover works under one roof that happened to be shaped like Tortalini. Not that they've ever come in contact with pasta, mind you...restaurants of any type don't last long on Sakuras.
They immediately headed for the OPAC terminal (even in the future everyone has them—even the races that haven't ever seen the Terrans before) and looked up “Peanut Brittle.”
*Beep* No Entries Found.
“Peanut”
*Beep* No Entries Found
“Brittle”
*Beep* No Entries Found
Kharlim thought, and then suddenly came to a revelation.
“Brit—*backspace quickly* Peanut!”
*Beep* Fifty Thousand Entries—Oh dammnit.
Kharlim smiled a doesn't-have-a-mouth smile and then printed out the decimal IDs of all the books listed. This would normally take few hundred years due to the fact every Library known to mankind, Protosskind, Zergkind, Lintkind, and Applekind always had a slow dot matrix, but for the purposes of narration, it happened pretty much instantly.
“Wow, that was fast” Kharlim remarked as he picked up the page (miraculously all 50,000 entries managed to all fit on one 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper without having a molecular-sized font) and read off the first entry. “The How, Where, Why, When, More How, 50% extra Where, and What of things that have nothing to do with Peanut Brittle.”
Gharak blinked, which would have had more effect if anyone could see him, “I suppose that book is out of the question then.”
Kharlim kept reading, but kept finding things which didn't help him in some way such as The Third Annual Peanut Butter Non Brittle Making Contest, How to Not Make Peanut Brittle, 1001 things that aren't Peanut Brittle, Peanut Brittle, an unauthorized biography with many glaring omissions, and 50 Years of Peanuts Cartoons. Nothing even remotely related to peanut brittle except in a non-inclusionary sense.
“Well that was a bust. Where to now, Gharak?”
“That way.” He pointed.
“*Ahem* Invisible.”
“Oh, yes, right right, my mistake.” He looked around and picked up an arrow that someone had discarded right there for no good reason except plot contrivance, and pointed with the arrow. “That way.”
“Alright.” He followed the floating arrow...video game characters will always have good reason to follow floating arrows.
They left the building and through an interesting, but long and non-included due to laziness set of events ended up in none other than Bora Dalis, the spaceport.
“What are we doing here, Gharak?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we here?”
“I don't know, I was following you.”
“But I was following you with the arrow.”
“You were? I just kept it after the first time I pointed because it looked cool.”
“So you mean we went through all that for nothing?”
“All what?”
“The stuff we just did to get here.”
“We didn't do anything to get here.”
“Yes we did.”
“It wasn't included in the narrative.”
“Good point.”
“So now we're in a seedy spaceport...we should look around.”
“Agreed.” They began to walk.
“So then—”
“I have a question.”
“What?”
“How the hell can you see? The light bends around you right, so wouldn't the light that you would be seeing with also bend around you? You wouldn't be able to see because the light would stop right there in your eyes if you could and make black spots.”
“Well, uhh. You know, that's a good question. I never really thought about it.” Then he promptly walked face-first into a wall. “Ow.”
“I'm sure if I could have seen that it would be funny.”
“Dammnit, since when did our world abide by Cartoon rules?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I could see up 'till you asked me about it.”
“Oh, well, umm...okay...umm...maybe you can see...umm...because...you...sense...things?”
“Okay, good, now we can drop the whole blind thing.” Which Is something great for me because I don't have to come up with contrivances every five minutes to keep him from falling off a cliff into a Zerg hive and get shot and fall on an exploding bomb and then die in a car accident.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. You take the steak, and then after the maranation is—wait...that's not it.
Hmm.
OH! Yes. Okay.
They continued walking and noticed that everyone who happened to wear a red uniform tried to shoot at them...of course, being two very able Protoss warriors it wasn't really a problem, but it was kind of annoying.
Suddenly a firebat in orange came up to them and began to ask a question “Hey, you two Pro-argh!”
“What did you do that for?” Kharlim asked
“He was wearing red.”
“Firebats always wear red here” he pointed, “But the team color is this part” he pointed again.
“Oh. Well. Umm. Sorry. I didn't know.”
“You speak of Knowledge, dark templar? You speak of—”
“Shut up. I suppose we should find out who he was.”
“Says here 'Mox'. You know, I have an eerie feeling we just slaughtered the fabric of continuity.”
“Hmm, yes.” They picked up the body and brought it to the body deposit centre (A place like Bora Dalis needs it) and then continued on their way.
They left the area and then a few minutes later a marine and a medic walked in and the marine began to say “Ach, you don't need to...huh? Where is everyone?”
Our heroes (as close as they can possibly be to heroes) continued searching through Bora Dalis spaceport, confronted with all manner of red-suited resistance, a few grizzled bikers, a set of chapter credits, endless advertisements for HoloFone (Including their highly successful campaign “Do you want to change your long distance carrier? No, well TOO BAD!”), way too many trams, and various other time consuming obstacles when they came across a curious sign. Kharlim read it aloud.
“You are now entering: “Big Crime Sector”. Population: 500.” There was a distant bang, and the number on the sign rolled down “Make that...499.”
“What do you suppose it means?”
“It means that those 499”—bang—“498 people are not going to be happy to see us.”
“How do you tell.”
“Well look here, 'Official Sector Colour: Red.'“
“Oh. I see. But does it really matter? It's not like they're going to pose much threat.”
“I suppose so. Anyway, onward.” So they went onward. What, you expected them to stand still? That wouldn't make much of a storyline, them just standing still looking at a sign. I mean, think about it. “Kharlim and Gharak looked at the sign. And they looked some more. And they kept looking. Oh, and they looked a little bit more, and kept looking for several hours.” It just isn't that entertaining. If you want to watch people watch things go to a golf game and face the crowd.
Anyway, while I was explaining that, they had some very superb action sequences that would have been very nice, but unfortunately got pre-empted by the rant.
Anyway.
They arrived at the now famous “Casa de Trench” and looked around.
“Excuse me, ghost. I know you are there.”
“Ahh shoot, how'd you find out?”
“We *ARE* Protoss you know. It's a psionic thing. I sensed your psionic presence.”
“What presents, this isn't Christmas.”
“And this isn't a time for cheap laughs.” What Kharlim didn't realize was that it is ALWAYS time for cheap laughs, but I let him off the hook this time.
“If you can sense me why don't you use that in every battle?”
“Well that would upset the balance of the game.”
“I suppose. Anyway, name’s Aster. Trent Aster. You can call me Trench if you like.”
“Well then Trench, we have a question for you.”
“We?”
“Oh, that's right, you can't see my associate.” He gestured to the side of him and said “I'd like to introduce my associate—”
“I'm on the other side of you.”
“What?”
Gharak tapped on Kharlim's shoulder and he quickly turned and gestured to the OTHER side, “My associate, Gharak the Dark Templar.”
“Well what do you want, I'm busy. I have this major part in a campaign coming up and I have to meet this guy Mox for the first time, even though I did encounter him before during the prequel missions which aren't finished yet.”
Kharlim thought about this...Mox...oh dear.
“Oh, umm, well, we will be brief then. Do you know anything about Peanut Brittle?”
“Do I? I remember my mom used to make the best ever Peanut Brittle ...mm mmm, those were the days. Back then the Zerg weren't an issue and everything was just fine...and you could always count on the peanut brittle—”
“But do you know anything recent...umm...Groove was it?”
Trench ignored them and kept talking “Oh glorious days those were, waiting patiently while the brittle was being made. It was such a wonderful time.”
“Well Kharlim. It appears this has been, as Terrans call it, a 'Bust.' This Terran is no more helpful than your aid.”
“He's more of a band-aid than an aid, really.”
“Well then, back to the Arbiter.”
“We brought an Arbiter?”
“Oh right, it was part of the whole bit that got cut out of chapter two. Well anyway, time for recall.”
Then in a flash of expensive special effects they were gone, leaving Trench babbling about his childhood.
“...so that was the day I got my new bike...so I started riding it back and forth, picking up the ingredients at the store so mom could make her famous brittle...”
Suddenly, contrivance struck, and they ended up not in their arbiter, but in a large circular room with an altar in the middle.
“That was certainly unexpected,” Kharlim remarked
“Not really, I read ahead in the story.”
“How? The author -is—writing this thing pretty much through improvisation.”
“Yes well...hmm. I don't know.”
“I mean, how can you read ahead when the words we are saying are the latest portion of the story to exist at that—”
“Excuse me?” A voice called out.
“—time. It doesn't make any sense. If the story had any sort of storyboard or—”
“EXCUSE ME?”
“—some sort of planning to begin with it might have been possible but—”
“HELLO YOU STUPID PROTOSS THINGS.” yelled the voice, and it sounded almost like a breaking windshield. Only talking.
“What?”
“Who?”
“Where?”
“When?”
“Walrus?”
The voice and Gharak said in unison, “What the...walrus!?”
“Sorry, I couldn't think of any other W words.”
Gharak blinked. Again, with no effect whatsoever.
The voice staggered “Er...anyway. I brought you here.”
“Why?”
“So that I could...DESTROY YOU!”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? Do I need a reason?”
“I think you do.”
“Yes, Gharak is right, you really need a reason to destroy people, unless your just insane, but that's still a reason.”
“I suppose—”
“Do we go interrupting your dimensional recalls with threats of being destroyed?”
“Well I—”
“This is just very perplexing you know, this voice is here and wants to kill us for no reason, does that make any sense.”
“None whatso—”
“DAMMNIT. Okay, I DO have a reason you know. You mustn't find out the truth!”
“Which truth?”
“The truth about the Peanut Brittle.”
“See, I told you it held many secrets.”
“The truth must not be found out...and now I will destroy you.” The owner of the voice stepped out into the open. He looked exactly like he sounded...like a broken windshield. Only with Zerg tentacles. “Now, Gharak and Kharlim. You shall die.”
“We will defend our selves to the death!”
“That's the point, you imbaciles.”
“I suppose...er. Yeah.”
“But before I eliminate you...yes...before I do that...I shall show you my incredible power and END THE CHAPTER!”
And he did.
“How did those credits get in here!?”
“Sorry there, uhh, really powerful Zerg thing?” Kharlim inquised. Wait, is inquised a word? Oh who really cares. The meaning should be apparent.
“I am known to many, but only to few.”
“What?”
“Just call me The THE. That's a theee and a thuuhh.”
“Okay, er, The THE, sorry about the credits. They are following us around.”
“Oh. I see. Well...uhh...that's it. Time to DIE!”
“Really, because my watch says 2:15.”
“What? You're Protoss, you don't wear watches. And it's 2:30 now anyway. You probably didn't account for local timezone differences.”
“I suppose you're right. So can I pencil that dying in for next Thursday?”
“You're dying now.”
“I'm sorry, I'm all booked up.”
“SILENCE!”
And there was.
Except a cricket. He chirped.
Then he got promptly fried by a beam of pure energy from the THE.
“Er,”
“SILENCE!”
There was more silence. It continued for some time.
“Shouldn't we be—”
“SILENCE.”
“Technically this is silence, because we're not using sound waves to talk.”
“Er, well...”
“We could leave, that would be more silent.” Gharak added with a (totally inconcequensial) nod.
“YOU DIE!” He fired a beam but missed, because again, Gharak is invisible. “Dammnit! Stand still and visible so I can kill you!”
“PSIONIC STORM!”
“What?”
“Oh sorry, I forgot this wasn't an Anime RPG where you have to call out the name of an attack.” Kharlim then casted a psionic storm, but unfortunately being indoors it sort of fried everyone quite a bit, even our invisible friend.
“Ow! You idiot! Use Psi Assault next time!”
“But I don't know it!”
“Of course you do, you're a named hero, you have to know the attack.”
“I was wondering why I looked like Tassadar.” They looked over at the steaming pile of dead Zerg flesh. “Well, at least it worked.”
Gharak coughed, “A little too well.”
“How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That cough thing?”
“You mean this?” He coughed again.
“Yeah. How?”
“Just like this.” He coughed yet again.
“But...coughing is a vocal thing. We don't have mouths.”
“I suppose...er...umm. Hey, look...a door!”
“Oh? A way out?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“You know, the quality of dialog just took a nosedive.”
“Don't blame me, blame that 'Author God.'“
“You shouldn't do anything to make the great Author angry.”
They went through the door, Kharlim tripped over the doorframe “Dammnit!” They were in a tunnel.
After some time (about seven hours) they found their way out of the tunnels to find that the building they were in was actually a telephone booth.
“What the bloody hell!?”
“How what...huh!?”
“How did that phone booth get so big on the inside?”
“I suppose it's a matter of perspective.”
Gharak coughed. “I think we should be getting back to the Arbiter now.”
“Yes, prepare for—wait a minute, you coughed again!”
“Yes, and?”
“Oh nevermind. Recalling...n—”
“WAIT!” a garbled voice called.
“What?” He turned to see an archon standing behind them. “An archon?”
“Hey whazzup solid dudes!”
Kharlim looked skywards “Er...I suppose...some clouds. And a plane. There's a Valkrye” He pointed.
“Damn you dudes are square!”
“How did you know we were dudes and not just a dude?” Gharak asked.
“What? Who said that? Me and my two Judicator twin buddy dudes here are trying to have a rocking conversation!” He turned to Kharlim. “Names Quakefish/Flakekilah.”
“Twins?”
“I am Gharak, Dark Templar associate to Judicator Kharlim.”
“There is only one of me.” Kharlim replied. “At least last time I looked.”
“What? Oh damn. That sux0rs. It means my double vision's popin up again!”
“Sux...ors?”
“Sux0rs. You gotta pronounce the Zero.”
“Since when do people spell things with numbers?”
“You d00dz are lam3rs! Ph34r my l33tness!”
“L-thirty-three-t? Is that some sort of code?”
“No, man! l33t! Don't be such a—AGGHH!” The archon started running around in circles around Kharlim.
“What is it?”
“RUN AWAY!” and he ran down the street.
“What could he be so worked up about?” Gharak looked around. Suddenly an Explorer Class Scentific Research platform streaked over their head.
“SCI3NC3 V3SS3L! RUN AWAY!” came the unmistakable voice of Quakefish/Flakekillah.
“This has become a very interesting day,” Kharlim observed, “Quite unfortunately.”
“Yes, quite.” The dual Protoss followed the Archon (or rather 4rch0n) down the path. They were stopped briefly when someone offered to sell them Lemon Meringue Pie and Peanut Brittle, but they said they were in a hurry. It wasn't until 3 minutes later that they realized something.
Kharlim stopped running. “Hey wait a minute. Did that guy say Peanut Brittle?”
Silence, except for the bustle of crowds.
“Hello? Gharak?”
No reply.
“Gharak!!!”
“I am here.” A piece of floating peanut brittle came up to Kharlim.
Kharlim jumped “AGH! Haunted brittle!”
“It is only me. Brittle resists the light-bending effects of the Dark Templar.” Gharak explained. Actually, it's probably closer to 'The author wanted to scare Kharlim with floating brittle' but you get the idea.
“Well, we seem to have lost that Archon.”
“Why were we following him to begin with?”
They thought about this.
They kept thinking about it.
In fact, it was two hours later when Kharlim said something.
“Er, I don't know.”
“Brilliant reasoning. It only took you two hours. I say we prepare for recall.”
“Yes, recall. Sounds good. Recalling...Now!”
Then, in a swirling semitransparent blue mass, they were gone.
The peanut brittle, however, remained right where it was, and then fell to the ground without a hand to hold it. It then got trampled on.
(NOTE----
THIS DOES NOT MEAN BRITTLE DOES NOT HAVE AMAZING POWERS. IT MAY SIMPLY BE INANIMATE. BUT THINK ON THIS: THE BRITTLE DID RESIST RECALL!
—NOTE ENDS)
Back in the Arbiter.
“Now, we must get this britt—hey! Where did the brittle go?”
“I think it didn't go anywhere...that's the problem.” Kharlim observed.
“Hey d00dz! Welk0m b4k...!”
“...” “Oh Author...”
“Umm, what the hell are you doing in my arb—”
“Our.”
“Our arbiter!?”
“D4t lam3 Sc13nC3 V3SS3l chac3ed me h3ar! CHEATER!!!!!11111”
Kharlim had an aside with Gharak. “Can you understand a word he, er they say?”
“Not a word.”
Kharlim turned to the Archon, “Well, En Taro...er...Author I guess, to you. I suppose you want to come with us back to Sakuras?”
“Sur3 d00dz!!!!”
“Alright then. Gharak...engines online! Engage!”
“What?”
“Just start the damn thing.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Gharak turned the key, depressed the gas pedal, and in a flurry of spaceship exhaust they were on they're way back to Sakuras.
“4r3 w3 th3r3 y3t?”
“NO!”
“U fr33kz, wh4t wuz dat?”
“Credits.”
“Why is there always a credit joke at the beginning of each chapter?”
“There just is, now be quiet and steer us to Sakuras, Gharak.”
“Yes, do that. We need to get there as soon as possible.” The archon said. Both Kharlim and Gharak stared at him.
“What? Oh, yes, sorry. I mean, er, u shut up u sux0rzzz!!!!1111”
They continued to stare at the Archon for a few seconds, and then went back to what they were doing.
“So what's our, how the Terrans put it, ETA?”
“Well, only a few more words left, Kharlim—”
“Excellent.” He tapped his fingers together for effect.
“But there is a problem—”
“DO'H.” (NOTE: THUS ENDS SIMSPONS MODE)
“It appears we're being attacked by a squadron of Zergs.”
“You idi0tz! FIRE B1G l4z4h g00n!” He quickly reached ahead and pushed a button on the console, causing a siren to start.
“That would work except for a few problems,” Gharak explained, “One, we don't have a big laser gun. Two, that isn’t the weapons panel. Three, the Zerg are out of range anyway.”
“So what button DID he press?”
“I...I'm not sure.”
The sirens went on in silence, and then suddenly a countdown.
“OH MY GOD, THE SELF DESTRUCT! AGHH!” paniced the Judicator.
“BEEP. FIVE SECONDS.”
“WE'RE DOOMED!”
“BEEP. FOUR SECONDS.”
“Calm yourself Judicator. Ready yourself for the Khala.”
“BEEP. THREE SECONDS.”
“U all sux0rzzz! CHEATERS!”
“You're the one that pressed the button you sad excuse for an effigy.”
“We're gonna die we're gonna DIE WE'REGONNADIE!”
“BEEP. TWO SECONDS.”
“I don't wanna die!”
“BEEP. ONE SECOND.”
“Kharlim, since we are dying, I have something to say. I lo—”
“BEEP. ZERO SECONDS.” And the windshield wipers come on.
“—oooooooaned you a warp blade didn't I?”
“No you didn't...” said the still-shaken Judicator.
“Well, that was a close one wasn't it.”
Then, as if on cue, because it was, because I'm writing this, the audio system crackled to life once more.
“*BEEP* Pre-Destruct washing complete. Self-Destruct in 5 minutes.”
Kharlim was worried. “Umm, Gharak. How far until the planet?”
“Five minutes, thirty seconds. We can, however, stop thirty seconds before the planet, and use the escape pods.”
“Well that sounds good.”
“But,” he pulled Kharlim aside, “They aren't big enough to fit an Archon.”
“No arguments here.”
“H3y, u l4m3rzzzz!!!1111 Whut r u whizprin???//?////”
“We can't whisper—” said Kharlim
Then, Gharak interrupted. “Umm, Quakefish/Flakekillah is it? We have figured out a way to...uhh...disable the self-destruct! And we're giving you the arbiter, aren't we, Kharlim?” He elbowed Kharlim.
“What, huh? Er...YES! Of course! All yours. We just ask to be let off in the pods when we near the planet. Is that good?”
“K, thx.”
“Alright.”
“*BEEP*. Four minutes until you're all dead meat. Have a nice day.”
So they prepared. The Zerg swarm would intercept them in 2 minutes. They would then use stasis, and when they got within 1 minute of the planet, they would then get in the pods and float down to Sakuras.
The Zerg attacked, snarling (obviously) and then the Judicator casted a nice clean well-aimed stasis, freezing the lot of them.
“Z3rgs1cklz! RaWk!”
“Hey, there's the planet. It doesn't look like Shakuras, though. It's...red.” Gharak was confused.
“Let me see, oh. Well. It doesn't matter. We have to get in the escape pods.”
They got near the pods and then told the archon what to do.
“You have to *chuckle* recite Mary had a Little Lamb while pressing the *chuckle* coffee button repeadedly. That'll work.”
“And don't forget, *chuckle*, Alt-F4.”
They both broke out laughing and crawled into their pods and as they were falling to the red planet below, they saw the majestic blue explosion of the Arbiter, and smiled their little no-mouth smiles.
After planetfall they crawled out and were greeted by a twelve-armed juggling robot painted green.
“Hallo space adventure travelers!” the robot whirred, “Welcome to Sakuras, the world known everywhere as not being anywhere else but here!”
“Wait, did he say Sakuras or Shakuras?”
“Sakuras.” the Dark Templar replied.
“Oh, damn. CURSE THE AUTHOR AND HIS TYPOES!”
Then, without warning, Kharlim fell off a cliff, even though they were in the middle of a flat plane.
After climbing back up, Kharlim spoke. “Gharak, you can wipe that smug smile off your face.”
“However did you know?” replied the Dark Templar.
“Aaannyway! Welcome travelers! You must come to our WALRUS large welcome centre! Follow me!” The robot skittered away.
“Walrus?”
“I suppose, there is nothing else we can do, shall we Kharlim?” He followed.
“Walrus!?” He followed too.
“I wonder what's next in our little adventure. I hope it ends soon...I'm getting weary of all the stupidity.”
“...Walrus?”
Somehow, the Dark Templar sighed. “Yes, Kharlim, Walrus.”
They followed the robot towards the welcome centre.
“And that SEAL was our world champion credi—”
“Mention a credit joke, robot,” Gharak angrily said...almost snorted, well obviously he cant snort, he doesn't have any nostrils, but anyway, “And I will cut off your elbows.”
“Er, very well. We are almost there...I have some BUSH very important things to tell you.”
“Does it involve why you shout random words in the middle of a sentence?” the visible one asked.
“Er, no. Whatever are you GHANDI talking about?”
“Nothing, nothing. What do you have to tell us.”
“We have a few rules here punishable by death. First rule...No Protoss.” He eyed them, “Are you two Protoss?”
“Er...umm...” Kharlim decided to take a chance. “No?”
Just then a prototype tank rolled by and blew up for no reason except that Novaseaker wanted me to put that in.
The robot paused, and looked at Kharlim suspicously. Kharlim looked nervous.
“Hmm...Okay! Second rule...You aren't allowed to lie. Are you lying?”
“Er...No?”
“Okay! The third rule, is that you aren't allowed to have a spike growing out of your head.”
“Well that's definitely not true.”
The robot stopped.
“I don't believe you!”
“Do you see a spike?”
“What's APPLE this?”
“That's my arm. It's attached to my shoulder. Not my head.”
“Oh, sorry. Follow me!” They did.
Gharak whispered to Kharlim. “Are you sure this is wise, Judicator? Not all of them might be as idiotic as this one.”
“I'm sure we'll be all right. We're the heroes of the story after all.”
“Did you ever read any other work by this author?”
“No, why?”
“Very seldom do the good guys survive.”
“Oh. Er. Uh. RUN!” Kharlim started running off at a 90 degree angle. Gharak sighed and followed.
The juggling robot saw this, and yelled out mechanically “Hey! There's no running away! You will all HORSE die!” And ran after them.
It kept running, then stopped running because it got cut in half by Gharak's warp blade. He then began to run to catch up.
After he did, “You can stop running now. I destroyed the—
“Hold on!” he stopped. “I just realized something.”
“What?”
“Why did our arbiter have a coffee button? We don't drink coffee.”
“I...well...that's a good question.”
“Yes. Well. I suppose we should cross that stream over there.” He pointed.
“Why?”
“There's a ship on the other side. We can use it to get to Shakuras.”
They walked up to the river. It could only be loosely known as one.
“Well, you first.” They looked in the water.
“Gharak, I am not going in that.”
“Why not?”
“Water flows. It doesn't gloop.” The river glooped.
They stared at it for a minute, and Gharak picked up a rock. He then threw it into the river and it bounced off.
“Well, maybe we can stand on it.” Kharlim picked up a rock, and dropped it in the 'water'. It stopped steady. “Well it seems—” then a hand reached out of the gloop, grabbed it, and pulled it under.
“Oooookay. I suppose we find a bridge.”
Then the rock flew up and hit Kharlim in the head.
“Ow! Hey, there's a note on it. 'Keep Your Stupid Rocks.' Yes, We should find a bridge.”
They followed the river for a while and found no bridge, but they did come across a raving lunatic.
“THE BAPHOMET IS COMING! THE TIME OF THE BAPHOMET HAS COME!”
“Really, I have 5:30.”
“Umm, Kharlim, you don't have a watch remember.”
“Right, Gharak, I keep forgetting that. Hey, didn't we do this joke before?”
“Yes, we did.”
“This author isn't very original is he?” Then he got hit in the head with another rock. This one also had a note.
(THIS JOKE SHAMLESSLY RIPPED FROM...ER...SOMEONE, I FORGET WHO, ON #ANTIOCH)
Gharak read it. “You try writing stories, Toss Boy. Hmm. I think the author is mad at you.”
“Yeah, well, we still need a way across this river.”
“We could use that bridge.” He pointed. Of course, it was to no effect.
Kharlim noticed the bridge anyway. “What...how...was that always there?”
“I'm not sure. I just noticed it now.” It was there all the time. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. You all saw it, right? You can't prove anything! It's your word against mine!
They crossed the bridge, and made their way to the ship. As they were about to enter the ship, a blue glow covered the area.
“D00dz! u sux0rzz! u r1gg3d d4t!”
“Oh...no. Not him...Anyone but him.”
But it was. It was the return of QUAKEFISH/FLAKEKILLAH! [insert ominous music here.]
“How did you survive, Archon?” Gharak asked.
“I rul3 j00!!!!! Z3rg sux00rrzzz!!!!111”
“I suppose that is as good a reason as any.” Kharlim reasoned.
“J00 d13!!!!!!!”
“I shall destroy you with my blades, evil burning...er...thing!”
“Have at thee!” Kharlim yelled.
“What? 'Have at thee'? What the hell?”
“Sorry, I felt caught up in the moment.”
“u fr333kzzz!” He fired a psionic wave of energy, but was easily dodged by the heroes. The beam ended up hitting the river and causing a huge explosion (due to the highly combustible nature of the water), but they were sort of far away from it but it didn't matter. Kharlim casted psionic storm, but only succeeded in burning a tree and two shoe salesmen.
Then suddenly, as Gharak was about to attack, a science vessel showed up.
“5c13nc3 V3ss3L!!!!!” He ran. The science vessel was in hot pursuit as the archon strode...er...floated away, around trees, through canyons, until he reached a cliff. Below the cliff? A lawyer/torture device convention, along with a lot of sharp pointy rocks.
On either side? One side was a Jehova's Witness building. The other was a public High School.
The archon was stuck on four sides, inching ever closer to the cliff. Rocks fell down below and beaned a few lawyers. The science vessel started powering up. Then suddenly a roving spirit took over Quakefish/Flakekillah's body and made him do the macarena before commiting Hari Kari with a block of cheddar.
Well I didn't say this story would make any sense.
Kharlim and Gharak got on the spaceship they found, and it turned out to be a Terran Wraith. It turned out to be one, because on the outside it looked exactly like a Protoss Scout. This was confusing to no end.
“Well this is confusing to no end.” Gharak exclaimed.
I just said that.
“Tough.”
“Well then, let's go off to SHAKURAS now. Emphasis on the H.”
They started up the ship and flew away from the red planet of Sakuras, and headed off to the Dark Templar homeworld.
The trip was uneventful, except for the time when they went through the asteroid field, and the time when they went through the Terran armada gridlock by the skin of their teeth (which was impressive, due to the lack of any teeth whatsoever) and the time they played cards.
“Do you got any threes?” This might seem like go fish...
“Go fish. Got any sevens?” But I assure you...
“I've got 13 sevens.” ...it's quite different.
“Well then that's Kh'Dn for you. Here's your hat.” Gharak took the hat and put it on.
“That means I get to use the chip of power right?”
“Yep!”
“You're making this game up as you go along right?”
“Er...yes.” Kharlim said guiltily.
“That's what I thought. Well, Queen's to Joker 5. King me.”
Then, suddenly, they got attacked by the Zerg swarm they frozen, now highly burnt due to the legacy of the Archon. And angry.
“I suppose we'll have to schedule your game for another time?”
“Oh [BLEEP]!”
“I have an idea! We can slap them around a bit with the Credits!”
“Kharlim, don't make me plant my warp blade in your eye.”
“Oh, well, um, okay. Well then, take evasive action!”
“What do you mean 'Evasive Action'?”
“I mean RUN AWAY.”
“That would work wonders except for a few points. One, this scout doesn't have the speed upgrade. Two, we're surrounded on all sides. Three, Mutalisks are notoriously fast. And four—hold up a minute...” Gharak looked out the window. “I suppose this isn't really a problem then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well for some reason all they have is guardians. Why they would ever attack us in deep space with guardians I'll never know.”
“Well, they can attack scouts on cutscenes, can't they?”
“Is this a cutscene?”
KABLAM, an acid spore splashes against the side of the hull. Kharlim thought. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Any suggestions on how we—” *BLAM* “solve this?”
“Do we know the co-ordinates of any huge Protoss fleet?”
“No.”
“Well, do we have enough energy to turn them into Zergsicles?”
“We're in an Arbiter?”
“Do we have any sticks to poke them with?”
“No.”
“Do you have any 3's?”
“Go fish.”
Kharlim walked over and picked a card up off the table. “Aha! Full house! Now I get the junk bag!”
Suddenly there was a tapping at the window.
“There seems to be a tapping at the window all of a sudden,” Kharlim observed and walked over, to see a Guardian right there making 'roll down the window' motions.
Kharlim rolled down the window which, for the sake of the joke, had a window-roller-downer-handle-thing and did not, against all logic, depressurize the cabin. Not that it would matter anyway, since they don't have mouths to breath through. However, also against all logic, there will be no mention at all of any kinds of mustard, let alone any specific color of poupon.
“Excuse me, is that a set for Kn'Dn you have there?” the Guardian asked pointing at the hat and 13 sevens.
“Erm, why, uhh, yes it is.”
“Do you have the Jack of 12 Moons? I lost mine.”
“Er, yes. Here you go.” Kharlim handed the Guardian the card, who turned to his fellow Guardians. “I got the card! Now I can play the trick deck!” The Zerg Swarmed off and left a very confused (non)looking Gharak and a very smug (if he had a mouth) looking Kharlim.
“Can you explain to me—”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I don't have a clue either.”
“But if you just made up that game...”
“Don't ask me. I just supply the cards. Now, do you have any fours?”
“I thought you took the fours out of the deck.”
“Oh yeah.”
They continued on their way until suddenly, for no reason other than a break in monotony for me, the author, they were suddenly at the bottom of the ocean instead of in their Wraith/Scout.
Before I continue with the narrative, I would like to address a little interesting thing in common English. Notice everyone says “The Ocean” or “The Sea” even though there are several on planet Earth and even more on other planets. It makes you wonder which ocean actually is “The” ocean.
Anyway, suddenly being at the bottom fo the ocean would be disorenting to say the least, and entirely boggling of everything not just the mind to say slightly more, for VERY obvious reasons. The least obvious of which being they no longer are carrying cards but actual fish. Because of the incredible shock such an event would cause if they noticed it, they completely failed to notice it, and kept looking at their fish for possible Full Cabins.
Then, as suddenly as it happened, it un-happened and they were back in their spaceship.
“Got any fifties?”
“Go fish.”
“Er, fish?”
“Yes.”
“Now that you mention fish, weren't we just at the bottom of the ocean?”
Gharak looked up from his cards. “You know, you're right.”
“Eh, whatever.” Kharlim shrugged.
Gharak shrugged and went back to his cards. “Good thing we don't have mouthes or we would have drowned.”
Then they arrived at their world of Shakuras. They landed, returned home, and burst through the door carrying huge bags. There is no reason why they had these bags, but there is a law somewhere that says you cant come home after a long trip without bags full of souveneers. They dropped them at the doorway, quite clicheingly, even if that isn't a word, and entered the building and had the following exchange until Kharlim saw something very shocking. “Well that was a bust. We didn't find anything at all about peanut brittle.” Gharak spoke first.
“Well, except for the fact you cant Recall it.” That would be Kharlim
“And some Zerg thingy wanted it.”
“And—what the hell!?”
The sight that shocked them so was Mi'Ta kneeling (a tough feat for a Protoss) in front of a homemade shrine, apparently made from paper, tupperware, and a cut up table. In the centre, between the burning candles, was the peanut brittle.
Gharak and Kharlim stood speechless. They would both have their jaws on the floor if they had mouthes.
“Oh Judicator, you have returned! By Brittle, he has returned!”
“Uhhmm, yeah...er...”
And then again, suddenly, something happened. Very seldomly do things not suddenly happen in this story, but that didn't stop a Marine from busting through the door.
“Hey, any of you seen my Peanut Brittle?”
“Uhmm, is this it?” Kharlim, against Mi'Ta's dissaproval, handed the Marine the Brittle.
“Yeah, thanks.” The marine took it and left, leaving the three blinking.
“Well, I suppose that solves that.” Kharlim said.
“Who knows...” Gharak said.
“I WANT MY BRITTTLE!” Mi'Ta whined.
In the darkness of a drawer in a battlecrusier, the Brittle waited. If anyone else could fit in the drawer, they would see a faint glow.
The brittle waited.
the end.
“Umm Gharak?”
“Yes Kharlim”
“Why was this story called Mind Over Matter?”
Gharak paused. “I have no idea.”
Next on PTV: Three Men and a Zergling! Three Marines get teamed up with a Zergling as their partner! Mayhem ensues! Today's episode:
“Hey Johnny, why can you cast spells and why do you have a third arm growing out of your head?”
“Holy Smokes! I've been DRAFTED!”
“KHAHAHAHDAHDASHLNSAH” the Zergling adds, for effect.
Well I hope you liked it. Might be more in the future (episodes, parts, etc) Sorry about not revealing the secret of Brittle but it wouldn't be much of a Secret after that would it.
Anyway, uhh, if you didn't like it, screw you.
If you did like it, screw you too, but not as much.
Well, okay, I take back the screw you.
Er, why am I still typing?
Good question.
ARGH.
“Gharak?”
“What is it!?”
“Is our Author clinically insane?”
“Well not *CLINICALLY*...”
Edited Wednesday, May 17th, 2006 at 1:50 AM by typhoon.