When Angles Cry; Part One

Freman was not your normal Filda.

He had striking yellow eyes, puples larger than normal... almost preditory in their intensity. His face was sharp and thin, and a smile seemed out of place in it. His hair was a brown that was so full and rich it almost looked painted that way. His wide feathered wings were the same hue, though near the tip of each, as wide and round as a diner plate, was a yellow patch as bold as his eyes, black spots inside the yellow circles. It was where he got his Filda name... Freman Hawkeyes.

He wasn't overly tall for one of his kind, standing about five and one half feet tall, his wings spreading nearly fifteen feet from tip to tip, but he was a gaint in myth. Stories of Freman Hawkeyes are the stuff of Filda lore, and to understand them, you must understand him. He embodied their soul, their spirit, their nature, their hardships... They tell his story, but not as elves talk of Ranger Theed, or men of King David, or even as the lost Hylians once spoke of the Hero of Truth... no, the story of Freman Hawkeyes iswhispered in the dark, over dying coles and smouldering embers. Like the tales of Draq, Captain Admul, Lord Garath, or Mistress Impa; Freman's is not a tale to be spoken lightly... and now, that you will become one of those chosen few who will hear it, remember that it is not just a story, but the very heart of an entire people.

Freman was born four years after the death of Mathais, and the fall of his once mighty empire. It was a era of chaos and confusion. Prince pretenders from all cornors of the vast empire vied for power and control of the fractured provinces of the land. As strangers from unknown origens began to bleed into the world, escaping the death that drove them from their homeland, the warlords began to learn of magic and its use for conquest. It was a time when much was learned, and much was abused... it was the dawning of the Second Age, the Tales of Icirus.

The Filda were just as scatered and leaderless as the Hylians fleaing into the fallen empire. However, this was the Filda way. They were a people without a land, a nation without country. And into this world of shifting rules, migration and uncertinty Freman was thrust.

When Angels Cry, Prelude

Some find the Filda to be a beautiful people.

Their lean, powerful, frames... Their striking features... Their clear, sharp, eyes and fair skin... Even as normal men, the race as a whole would a comely one. But, naturally, their strong, colored wings are the first feature most notice about the Filda.

Which is why some find them frightening.

After all, a man or woman with wings that, when outspread, are normally twice as long from tip to tip as the barer is tall, can be slightly intimidating. Even more frightening is the power those colorful, feathered wings possess. A normal Filda can fly for two days without even a break in rhythm. Perhaps some of the fear and nervousness most people feel over the Filda comes from their own tendency to shy away from close dealings with anyone, Filda or otherwise. Few have held friendships with the elusive flying race, and even fewer have held close relations.

Yet, it is best not to think of the Filda as proud, or arrogant... Neither are they mean-spirited, or selfish. Rather, the Filda are a race that values freedom so hightly, they would even sacrifice normal dealings to preserve liberty in its highest form. They say that is why the Maker gave them wings... To give them the opportunity to be completely free, to leave no land, mountain top, or sea out of their journey.

For every Filda is a king, and his kingdom streches as wide as the sky.

When Angels Cry

Story One in the Tales of the Filda