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.
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.
posted by Czar at 8:32 PM
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