- TMK -

From Fort Gol’s rampart, Farsald watched an amber morning cross the divide. Smoke carried west on long Cian winds. A pink hue brushed the clouds. The odor of wood ash and caliche dust anointed the fort. Such was the perfume from Marschal Abardol’s siege.

           

However, Farsald and the Crusaders of Fort Gol had a much more mundane charge than the siege to the east. They were here to pacify the nomads of the Divide.

           

Since Farsald was a boy, taking his first rite among the Faithful, he heard tales of the nomads. Fur-skinned devils riding vicious war birds across the Divide. Raiders and reavers come to lay waste to the Green Hills. Reality though, painted a far different picture. The nomads that came to trade at Fort Gol were ragged, penniless herders eking out existence in the scrub. Often, they bartered solely for food, forgoing Crusader silver for little more than larder biscuits. Such was life in the Divide. If there were reavers among them, they hid far better than the best shadowlark ever could.

           

No matter. Reavers or not, the word of the one true God would come to these nomads in one form or another, despite their enemies’ best efforts. 

           

The Union and the Empire sought to tarnish the Crusade. They filled many an ear with tales of horror wrought by the Crusaders. Nothing could be farther from the truth. If a nomad, any pagan for that matter, ever touched the scripture, they would know salvation’s path. A path to bring all peoples together under the light of faith.

           

As a boy, Farsald knew this. Born a Human, a Gepid no less, Farsald had the fortune to walk the verdant fields between the Green Hills. There he felt the connectedness of all things. How insects aided the grasses. How meadow blooms fed the insects in return. How they all came together to nourish the soil that made wheatfields sprout gold. Solely by touching the grass, laying under the stars in early morning dew, could Farsald see what the Angel of Ire needed him to see.

           

All things came from God and it was the Crusade’s goal to reunite them. Only then, would the Deus forgive his second-born for their crimes. Their Crusade was not a war by any conventional means.

           

Not at its soul.

           

They came to correct the wrongs of their forefathers, the invoker kings. The Crusaders came to restore the balance of this world, heaven’s garden. At the same time, Farsald knew it would have been impossible for an impoverished herder to hear the voice of the Deus. Not when every day was a struggle.

           

As Farsald readied himself for the coming mission, a skyskiffs’ signal horn carried over parched air.

             

“I am penance’s voice. Bear witness to my song and receive thy Deus’ mercy,” Farsald recited scripture.

           

He inhaled, donning his steel helm. The rising sun cast the helmet’s jagged feathers like demonic horns in Farsald’s shadow. Such images, though, were there to test him. To the pagan, the talbrüder’s feathers struck fear and doubt.

           

But Farsald had given his freedom to Athraiél for the privilege of this talbrüder’s helm. In exchange, the angel blessed him with iron-hard bone, incredible stature, and a strength even Vampires could not hope to match. To the faithful, the talbrüders were a beacon of Athraiél, the Angel of Ire–the Crusade’s ultimate guide and the last hope this world had of salvation.

           

The black falcon of God.

           

That signal horn of the skyskiff marked his first assignment as a fully-fledged talbrüder. Yet despite his uncertainty, the dread of war, and all that came with it, Farsald knew God would see him through.

           

Because Farsald was chosen for a reason.

           

So, his heavy steps billowing dust down Fort Gol’s wooden stairs, Farsald practiced his talbrüder oath. “By might of the Deus, I brace sacred light. A shield of thy father...”

           

He crossed the courtyard and prepared for what trials would come.

​