Diablo 3 Armory - Unofficial Diablo 3 Fansite

Quote by aduck1

How could Martin's personality have gotten any worse than it already was? I doubt the brain shock would make him a better person.

LoL, I agree. He was already foul-mouthed, obscene, and violent/sadistic. If his last moments (with Gloria) showed any change in personality, it was quite positive.

BTW people have suffered a staggering array of lethal injuries and survived the encounters, and sometimes without any major personality changes. Some injuries are not lethal, but still brutally gruesome. Does anybody else share my fascination with nail gun injuries? (Sorry... I had to do it.)

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Alexandra followed her secretary to the elevator without a word. They arrived at the first underground level of the building, part of which was a high-quality infirmary for the many officers in the building. They stepped into the waiting room. Alex could see a number of Karzan officials crowded around the closed door to the emergency room, including George and Arthur. Luckily, they hadn't noticed her.

"Let's take the back entrance." She told Julianne, who nodded. Alexandra had memorized every floor of the building months ago by studying a copy of the floor plans, but she had never actually visited this particular wing. The walls were painted a rather unflattering color that could only be described as "beet red." They both turned a corner and stepped through the medical worker's hallway into the emergency room. The room was empty, except for a person lying on one of the tables. Alex stared for a moment, and then walked over to the body of Martin Stransk. She silently observed the gruesome wounds across his neck and cheek. He was still dressed in his torn uniform and the shattered remnants of his armor. He had obviously been through a terrible battle, but his face was still locked in a wide smile.

Alexandra noticed a lump under the front of his shirt. Curiosity overcame her, and she carefully pulled away the singed fabric, exposing a thick roll of papers. Her mind flashed with excitement as she wondered what these pages could contain. There was a rustling in the halls behind her. She would have to act now and read later. Alex pulled out the papers- there was blood splattered on the outer pages -and thrust them into Julianne's hands.

"Put these in the top-right drawer of my desk. Don't read them, don't tell anyone about them." She muttered. Her secretary nodded, and stuffed the papers under her jacket. They both stepped out and walked back to the waiting room.

"Oh, and Julianne?" Alex said before the woman stepped into the elevator. "Thank you."

Alex turned back toward the row of beet-colored seats and stepped closer to them. The other officials had all left, but someone was still sitting on a bench by the closed door of the emergency room. As she stepped closer, Alexandra saw the woman's braided yellow hair and she realized it was Gloria Hammond, the lead weapons specialist for the Karzan Brotherhood. Alexandra knew of the woman's impressive knowledge and combat prowess, but that was all. Gloria lifted her head out of her hands and looked up at Alexandra with bright red circles under her eyes. She had been crying.

Alexandra didn't know why she was standing there, or why she was looking at this sad woman. What did 'normal' people do in a situation like this? She was confused. So confused, in fact, that Alexandra would do something she would never, ever do. She would silently step past Gloria, turn around, and sit next to her on the bench. As if this wasn't disturbing and reckless enough, Alexandra decided to do more. She slowly lifted her left arm into the air, and gently placed it around Gloria's slumped shoulders. The two of them sat there for a long time. They did not speak, which suited Alex just fine. The situation was bizarre and unfamiliar, but at the same time, it was strangely comforting. Alexandra wasn't sure if this meant she was going crazy, or if it meant she was finally becoming sane.

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Probably both. In your stories, it is an act of god that not everyone is insane. Keep up the good work Uber.

Great stuff Uber.

Hey Uber, Your Fanfics are one of the major reasons why I joined up, keep it up! Your writing is awesome!

finally it's back
praise uberlisk

I must say that the character development of the various characters has been amazing! Especially that of Travis, from Terran to Zerg, to an entirely new species. In fact the overall evolution of each race, and the unfortunate demise of the Protoss has created an entirely new universe, an amazing feat. I know you mentioned a while back that you would like to create your story in the galaxy editor, if you can pull it off, that would be unbelievable!

You put the Uber in Uberlisk great job man *high five*

Thanx guys!

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Vanteral, Umoja

"Dear comrades..." Adrian Mengsk said as he stood leaning on a wooden podium covered in the Drogan flag. He paused mid sentence, his eyes drifting to the reflection in the puddle of rainwater below him. He could see the image of his own face, drifting in front of the massive portrait hanging behind him. The face on the portrait was, of course, that of Martin Stransk, the subject of this massive funeral.

The crowd in front of Adrian was huge, and stretched beyond the stone courtyard into the streets of downtown Vanteral for blocks. Those not near enough to see the funeral with their own eyes were eagerly watching the live broadcast on their televisions, from the towering skyscrapers of Tarsonis to the lonely, ice-covered outposts of the Taurus system.

Rain sprinkled down on the somber crowds. The precipitation was artificial, created by cloaked vessels floating in the sky using their electrical instruments to control surrounding rainclouds. A funeral of such standing demanded rain, no matter the forecast.

"Sons and daughters of the rising sun..." Adrian resumed. "...we are gathered here today, united by our sorrow, to join in collective mourning for the loss of General Martin Stransk. We are not here to ponder his motives, or challenge his intentions. We are not here to contest his actions or demean his plans. Because, my friends, there is no irrational doubt, nor fleeting dissent, that can possibly rival the overwhelming truths of this man's life.

"There is not one among you who can claim, in any realm of honesty, that we would have been better off without Martin's remarkable leadership. It is the pure, uncontested truth that without Martin Stransk, our glorious Empire would not exist." Adrian said, pausing. He looked at the flock of black-clothed mourners, holding their uniform umbrellas over their heads. Adrian looked around the area underneath the awning that streatched over him. Some of the highest ranking officials in the Drogan Empire stood at his sides; mostly leaders of the Karzan Brotherhood such as George Pratt and Arthur Raiman. Standing to his immediate right was Alexandra Procet, the Chief General of the Drogan military. As much as he wanted to watch her, Adrian shifted his attention back to the funeral.

"Martin was born and raised on this very world of Umoja. This funeral should have been held at his hometown of Sofia, but the tragedies of the Zerg invasion have made that impossible. The loss of such jewels of human community are themselves a cause for mourning. However, this time, we are here for a single man, one we owe far more than a few hours of remembrance.

"Martin lived a free life, untethered by the bonds of passive conformity. He also lived a lived a humble life; uncomforted by the tenderness of family life. Martin was punished by outsiders for his nonconforming nature, but he suffered even more from the void within his own heart. How miraculous, that from within such a confusing whirlwind of empty misery, Martin Stransk would forge the greatest tools of his genius."

Adrian's masterfully crafted voice was working its magic on the crowds. Tears fell from the mourners' eyes as the looked up at the huge portrait of Martin Stransk. Across the sector, citizens of the Drogan Empire wept at the loss of this corrupted, brutalized man.

"Yesterday..." Adrian continued. "...Martin Stransk, joined by several of his most loyal officers, traveled to the fringes of the Koprulu sector. At first, we were suspicious. We questioned his motives, ignorant to the crucial information he had learned only moments before.

"After observing this out-bound fleet of starships, our misunderstanding became obvious. For on the horizon of space, slithering through the remote Horadran system, was a force of Symek warships. Unlike the previous appearances of this cyborg race, the intentions of this force was quite clear. Within seconds, the Symek warships... opened fire on our vessels." Adrian said in a firm tone, and a soft gasp went through the crowd.

"And so, the inevitable battle broke out between our loyal forces and the Symek invasion fleet. The battle was fierce and brutal, but our warriors fought with the courage, intelligence, and passion that has defined our race from the beginning. They fought to the last starship, and when the last starship fell, they fought on the ground below.

"It was there, on the gore-strewn deserts of a Horadran moonscape, that the Symeks enacted their last attempts at slaughter. The hordes of cyborg abominations broke like waves, crashing against our mighty troops. Our weapons, tactics, and bravery were far superior. But still, the tide of corrupted fiends was too much to bear. In the end, the masses of Symek villains broke our ranks, slaughtered our courageous troops, and murdered our finest warrior."

"We should make no mistake. Let it be written in the pages of history as it happened, and not as it would appear through the distorting lenses of time. The Symek Legion has made war against us. They have forced our hand. Despite whatever those cyborg devils may say, it is us- and no one else -that stands on the moral high ground. Our race is under attack, and in light of these terrible events, I see good reason... to break our declaration of peace..."

The people looked onward, awaiting the much anticipated- and feared -words of their Emperor.

"...and declare WAR - on the SYMEK LEGION!!!"

The audience, across the entire sector, erupted into shouts and applause. Most of the human population had requested a war with the Symek Legion for months, but Adrian had refused on the grounds of coexistence. All of that rhetoric was gone now, replaced by the unrivaled fury of the human race.

"Some would assume..." Adrian continued. "...that I would use this war to circumvent our budding democracy, and replace it with my own personal tyranny. Some would even claim I would be justified to do so, given the circumstances." He paused to shake his head, almost scornfully.

"How many times must I remind you? I am not my father. Nor shall I ever become him. I argue that a true leader does not need to use fear or force to stay in power. A leader must work to please his people, not the other way around. And as long as I keep you happy, I needn't fear losing my throne, should I?

"Surely, in this war, we need a fair and noble government more than ever! To abandon all that we have worked for as soon as someone threatens us is foolish. Our plans to better the lives of our children, undone because of our panic. I say no, and I assure you, so would Martin Stransk." Adrian said, pointing at the portrait behind him.

"...and so, our lives shall go on. Fear not for your sons and daughters. Military conscription is an outdated edifice of the past; mere crutches used by feeble leadership with less-than-noble intentions. Our engineered troops shall dominate the battlefields for us. What you, the glorious members of the human race, must focus on, is the government at home.

"In one week's time, planetary elections shall begin. The radical designs of government, created by the honorable philosopher Ikrahm Karzae, shall provide the foundations of our Imperial Democracy. I urge each and every eligible person to go to the election centers. Share your thoughts, put in your candidacies, ask your questions, and cast your votes. The time for spilling innocent human blood is over. The days for building a better future have begun!" He paused as the curtains lifted away from behind him.

"And now, as a final tribute to our fallen brother, I present to you, the Umojan men's choir." He turned around and faced the thirty singers seated in a crescent around Martin's portrait. The choir began to sing the low and solemn notes of "In the Darkest Days of War," a song written by the Emperor himself. The people watched on as the screens depicted battlefield footage of Martin's bravery during the war with the Confederacy. The final procession of the funeral played out, reducing everyone to tears.

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hey, really good stuff. just a heads up, you prolly just re-clicked the paste about half way through, making a second part on the the intro and ending. thats all...

Great chapter but you pasted a couple of the sections twice.

on 28/6/10Quote by therock030488

Great chapter but you pasted a couple of the sections twice.

LoL, fixed. That was bizarre, but at the time I was using a weird public-access computer. Thanx for the correction.

I haven't written more yet, but before you get all disappointed, check out the new glossary for the units of the Drogans and Symeks!!!

> Drogan Empire

> Symek Legion

> No Razhak thread, because I haven't brought them back into the story ... yet.

Oh boy, more explosive battles. Keep it up uber!

Good Job man! i was bored stiff for a while untill these new additions, the last one was the most superb! cause i just like people being misled.

wow in the standard starcraft universe a low criminal reaper could never have achived this much fame
thats why this story is so great cause its wild amazing and has a never ending supply of suprises
uber you are the greatest writer i think i've ever read

Quote by sinclairlkl

uber you are the greatest writer i think i've ever read

You need to read more. There are millions of books that are WAY better than anything I've ever written.

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Rain splattered against the windows of Alexandra's flat in the large military housing complex. Alex sat at the edge of a large wooden dinner table, where she was involved in her favorite recreational activity; weapon cleaning.

The table was covered in a staggering array of knives, guns and bullets, separated into organized rows. Alex was currently polishing a set of copper bullets with a soft cloth. One by one, she placed the glimmering shells back into their magazine. Once the sixty different magazines were finished, Alex used her precision brushes and oiled cloths to clean the mechanisms of her ten best firearms. After those were finished, she moved to the best part of all; knife sharpening. Alexandra possessed over one-hundred different knives, and each one was completely unique.

As she sharpened the knives with her molecularly-perfected whetstone, Alexandra recounted the gruesome history of each blade. As she ran the stone along the edges of a particular knife, she would remember every single throat she had slit with it. There was no need to feel remorse. Alexandra had suffered more than all her victims combined. Their souls had no right to bother her conscience.

Alexandra suddenly froze as her hand hovered over a particular knife. It was a thin, curved blade exactly eighteen inches long. It was a razor-edged fillet knife, the kind used in the extravagant kitchens of wealthy restaurants. It was the knife she had failed to stab into Adrian Mengsk's neck. She lifted the knife and stared at it for a moment. She stepped up from the table, walked over to a metal waste bin, and dropped the knife into it. The fillet knife had failed her, and the corruptive stench of failure could never be removed from a weapon.

She turned around, and her eyes focused on the rain outside her window. It brought her thoughts back to yesterday's funeral. She had stood at the balcony with the Emperor and her fellow Karzan officials. Arthur Raiman, the Karzan Brotherhood's spiritual adviser, had stood next to her. Alexandra despised Arthur, but mostly for his loyalty to George Pratt, the conservative speaker of the Brotherhood. George had stood to the Emperor's left, with Gloria Hammond.

Despite her best efforts, Alexandra had cried at Martin's funeral, just as she had cried at the funeral of Arcturus Mengsk and his son Valerian. Apparently, she had a low tolerance for foolish remembrances of dead people. She had never been to any other funerals before, so it had been a new and disturbing experience. Alex stepped back to the table and continued sharpening her knives.

Gloria Hammond had cried throughout the entire funeral. But unlike the other mourners, she had never even glanced at Martin's portrait, the speaking Emperor, or anyone else. She had simply stared up at the sky for the entire event, with a look of hatred in her single eye. Alexandra was very curious about Gloria. Something was grinding through the gears of that woman's mind, and Alex doubted it had anything to do with Imperial politics.

Beginning yesterday, the human race took part in the almost fantasy-like system of 'Imperial Democracy' invented by the Karzan Brotherhood. Voter turnout had reached an unprecedented ninety-eight-point-nine percent; with the remaining one-point-one percent being prevented by medical conditions. The first elections had selected civilians to represent individual planetary Districts. Each planet possessed around one-hundred Districts, lumped into ten separate Provinces. Provincial elections would begin tomorrow morning, followed by Planetary elections, and finally Systematic elections. Elections would be held every two years, and officials could only serve five times. The representative for the entire Koprulu Sector was, of course, Emperor Adrian Mengsk I. He would still be the ultimate political authority in the Empire, with the final say on any proposed law or official. He also had the highest authority over the military, which was a much more rigid system of appointment and confirmation by officers only.

Every citizen age eighteen or older was eligible to vote, regardless of their class, religion, ethnicity or political affiliation. And not only can they vote, but they can decide the entire election. Why? Because in order to win an election or pass a bill, the vote must be totally unanimous. A single dissenting vote renders the entire process obsolete.

This may seem like an improbable and problematic system, but the Drogan Empire was the most unified nation in human history. The gaps between classes were being erased by the unlimited production of resources. Criminals were being transferred into guided community-service programs. Prisons were being rebuilt into schools and concert halls. School tuitions were abolished, and millions of people flooded into colleges and universities that were once far beyond their reach. Education levels skyrocketed, with ninety-nine percent of children in school, and ninety-four percent of college-age adults enrolled. Illiteracy was eliminated entirely. Alexandra couldn't believe it, but the things Adrian had promised were actually coming true.

As conditions at home improved beyond measure, masses of Drogan Troops were traveling to the edges of the Koprulu Sector. The military currently boasted nine-hundred-and-eighty-million troops, and more clones were spilling out of concrete birth canals every day. Machinery was slower to make. Martin's capture of the Protoss Multiplexor was fantastic indeed, but his technicians were having difficulty with the device. It still provided an endless supply of iron, steel, gold, diamonds, Boraelium... Any mineral could be multiplied infinite times. However, assembled machinery and electronics proved too complicated to multiply correctly, so the Drogans would still have to assemble their machinery physically. Of course, their attempts to multiply living creatures had failed horribly.

Alexandra caught her breath as the thought of the Strategic Research and Development Corps' inventions flashed through her head. It had been over a week since Martin's death, and she had completely forgotten about the roll of papers she had confiscated off his broken body. Her knife and whetstone fell from her hand, and she stepped briskly away from the table. She left her building, and took the elevated monorail directly to her office.

It was nighttime, and only a few security guards remained in the building. Alexandra carefully crept past them in the shadows, even though she was a high-ranking officer with full access privileges. Alex supposed it was just her nature, a firm desire to remain as undetectable as possible. She arrived at her office and walked straight to her desk. She pulled one of her hairpins out and inserted the code-imprinted end into the small hole above her top-right drawer. The drawer popped open, and she grabbed the bundle of documents feverishly. She unrolled them over her desk- they were quite bent after remaining rolled for so long -and cast a look across the front cover. There were a few blood stains and a small amount of writing in the top corner. Alex pulled out her other hairpin and activated its small light in order to read the lines of Martin's scratchy but strangely elegant handwriting.



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