#sabaja

Sabaja is very, *ahem* eager in his service to his beloved Master, the Highlord.

The attack had come without warning; zerg poured onto the remote outpost where they had been staying and attacked before the warriors could even retaliate. The Khalai were scattered as they fled, families torn apart and separated as they attempted to escape the slavering fangs.

They never expected the Tal’darim to respond. As far as they were concerned, those who died were weak and deserved to be culled; nevertheless, they descended upon the zerg and snapped up those who still lived, departing before the Golden Armada could arrive. No one knew if their actions were to make them into slaves or or to truly help them--or, perhaps, a little game played by a particular powerful Tal’darim to tease the leader of the Khalai. For now, they huddled in cells under careful watch of terrifying guards.

Sabaja had only survived out of sheer luck. His father had given him a psi inhibitor for the trip, designed to dampen his incredibly powerful psionic abilities and sensitivities to make him more comfortable. So blocked, he was virtually invisible to the beasts, and the feral child knew how to hide.

He hadn’t expected his rescuers to laugh upon seeing his twisted, scarred body, and to pull the psionic dampener off his small head. And they hadn’t expected the amount of power to pour out of him, blasting their bodies away and charring the ground underneath him in his terror.

He was treated much more carefully after that. They coaxed him out with promises of safety, only to put him in a special cell that his power could not destroy. And there he was left to silently panic, shadows roiling over him with no control.

The words “Ascendant” and “Highlord” meant nothing to him. The rumble of telepathic voices, uncomfortable to his sensitive mind, caused him to shrink into the corner. He just wanted to go home...

Putting this here because characters, despite the dragons.

First we have Tiger! She’s my baby <3

Random dragon time, and in the middle up top is Pyktis, a very strange youngish protoss who wears a veil at all times because REASONS... and his eye is under Tiger there. They suck you in. Don’t look at them. Also he often has pins in his nerve-cords.

Poor little Sabaja is under all that, as well as his twisted arm. It doesn’t work really well and is usually taught with pain. Under Sabaja is @protoss-menagerie‘s Eris, unshaded, as well as one of my Faes from flight rising.

IT IS DONE

Darkness. A cramped, dark room, smelling sharply of chemicals. It’s almost too small for a child to curl up in, with the jars and the broom and all the items scattered about. The door is locked, he knows. He can’t see it from in here, but there’s a chain on the other side that no one can break. He’s too dizzy to try and push on the door anymore, too thirsty, too tired.

A young woman in old, ratty, patched clothes opens a door, light streaming in behind her. Her right arm is crooked in the forearm, the bend swollen and bumpy. She holds a bowl of water in her left hand.

“Mother’s out to market. Feralis went with her. Here, drink this, quickly. I’ll stand by the door so you can get light until she returns.”

“You worry too much, Daddy.”

Sabaja turned his head stiffly, the word blocks falling from midair where he was concentrating on making them hover. They hit the floor with a clatter, making him jump; he was sensitive to pretty much anything. At least he didn’t automatically blast them into burnt, charred pieces. That was a start.

He turned back to his father and slowly, carefully got up to walk over to him, his sandals slapping against the tile that was far too slick for him to walk upon unaided. His hunched body came to rest at Asho’s knees, and he clambered upon his father’s lap, nestling carefully against his chest.

I imagine he’s staring up at Vortanul, scrutinizing him.