The Tome of Iron

[xXCrystal_Rose]

[This ironbound book thick of pages bears no words upon its cover or its spine. It wears only a tentacus upon its front and blood splattered upon it from battle. Within the tome are segmented books of various authors in thin pressed paper. Hundreds of pages of holy text recovered from throughout the ages remain preserved in metal, always expanding with the next recovered addition.]

The Blood Doctrine

Capitulus I: Ars Armamenta

The war forger is an almost holy duty. It is one deserving of great respect and also great pity, for while blessed with tremendous strength they are also cursed to seldom use it in battle. It is they who forge the instruments of war that bloodshed may be wrought through and it is they that make an army able to bring sacrifice to the Reaver.

The weaponry of a warrior tells of their personality. More can be learned by the way a person fights and the tools they use than is possible in a year of conversation. A warrior cannot be restricted to only their favorite but must be trained in all arms. This is the principle that sets us aside from the weaker Tempus dogs. To be master of all weapons is to be the master of war. Every weapon has its place and its different means of drawing blood. The warrior should aim to stock their personal armory with trophies of weaponry and maintain a complete stock of every variety. Weapon care is a priority and every tool must be tended on a daily basis. The slightest imperfection or speck of dust must be punished by the loss of a hand. Any slave that dishonors a warriors weapon by oiling it improperly or polishing against the grain must be slain outright.

The hands of slaves may not touch the warriors suit of armor. The armor is holy and personal to each warrior. It is the pride and status. It shines and gleams in virginity and dulls in pride with age. It bears marks of battle and displays upon its face the victories wrought by its wearer. To scavenge the armor of a warrior is the most cowardly offense. It is steel that we live by and steel that we die by and the warrior owes their armor the debt of their lives. Each new set of armor must be blessed and bloodied before it is recognized with the spirit of Garagos. Armor without scratches or wear of combat is shameful and speaks of the inexperience of the wearer- a wearer who must be put at the front of battles to earn his scars. Only through constant bloodshed and endless battle does the spirit of the warrior grow and the spirit of their armor strengthen the bond between them. Armor is as part a person as their skin. The spirit of the holy steel, if fed consistently, will protect the warrior and bring them slaughter and glory. If mistreated it will let the warrior fall and give their blood and life to Garagos in stead.


Capitulus II: Celestia Divina/ Malleus Daemonum

Mankind was not meant for war - a pouch of soft, vulnerable tissue encased in pain receptive skin, all reinforced by a skeletal structure no more durable than pottery ceramic. Mankind is too mortal for war. When the Titans forged us they had never expected that the passion for battle would burn so strongly within our blood and in our violence we earned freedom.

Mythic figures are tantamount to the faith of Garagos. Beings more than mere human fill our legends and histories. The Titans who forged the world in steel and blood are the eldest of these and form the foundation of all chapters of the faith. It is the unquestioning origin of mankind shaped in the forge of flesh to serve as servants in their battles. The 'hounds of vengeance', another common theme, are multi-headed canines that scour the world, released from the heavens with a scent for cowardice. They hunt down deserters and bring them to Garagos' judgement. One of the most vividly prominent legends is that of the Astarte Femina, the Valkyrie.

The Valkyries of Garagos were once mortals. These angels of war serve as an image to inspire men in combat and lift women from common-ranks to teach them to battle. It is sometimes spoken that particularly favored warbands who spill enough blood in offering may be visited by a Valkyrie to save them from defeat. They are the harbringers of death for all warriors. Those who die in battle are visited by them and taken upon their wings to Battle Garde where they will serve in the endless wars of heaven in the day and feast and drink through the nights.

Bloodreaver is a title for the blessed priests of Garagos. These figures are common but brief as war claims all. They command the righteous power of heaven and turn the tide of war by their mere presence upon the battlefield. Above all other clergy the bloodreaver is praised almost as much as Garagos himself for they are the truly best and greatest of warriors.

There are two sides to the faith that all warriors know in their heart even if they do not express the belief openly. Most everyone of our band are victims of defeat. We are warriors or captive children from those who have been obliterated by the many names and many banners that we have become. Those few survivors, bathed in the blood of all we knew, who watched our worlds crumble and were taught of war and Garagos and savagery and bloodlust. We still cling to remnants of our past. It is most common in the names we issue things. The decadence of language is a lingering link to what we once were and it is a comfort to many.

The truth that burns in our hearts is that we all know we are damned. We speak of heaven, but our heaven cannot be more than a glorious hell. The longer one lives and stronger they become the more apparent this principle is. Slaughter and murder is a corrupting force which both hardens the soul to battle but also blackens it. We know deep within that we are damned, and we accept it, revel in it even if we don't admit it. It is this duality of faith that all that is made shall become unmade as the force of chaos and destruction that is war sweeps over all the lands of mankind to usher an age of hell upon the earth. We are the true path of the warrior. A path of glory and power, but of inevitable damnation. As we feed the beast of fury within us upon the blood of friend and foe alike the demon grows stronger until we are no longer men at all but bloodthirsty fiends. Gods of war in our own right. Heroes. Legends. Blessed.


Capitulus III: Magika

Onward into the heart of the battle fought the sons of Garagos. Outnumbered scores to one they fought on with bravery. Their blood soaked the earth into mud of sanguine ichor. The vultures circled the sky in anticipation of the fallen, but only the god of war would choose the day they die, and in their moment of need he sent forth unto them the berserker rage. No longer mortals they rose from the ground, gods of men and terrible in battle, screaming like wild animals. Such is the gift of Garagos that no blade can harm them. No steel can stop them. They kill all men and beast in their path and all who stand before them die.

Long ago the berserker rage was gifted to man by Garagos to give the deserving warriors the strength needed to overcome defeat and bring more death before they fall. It was once considered a great magical feat of supernatural power. Long has man warred and it has become diluted as our blood thins. The chosen of Garagos still hold this power of fury greater than any man, but while still terrible, the rage we know now is a shadow of what once was.

Mystic magics and supernatural feats are a shadowy past from days of old. Sorcerers had filled an important temple role in the old days working dark magic with priestly ritual. It is not known why some are corrupted by the god of war but the magic they wield is both terrible and untrustworthy. It turns the tide of battle causing fire to rain from the sky and demons to rise from the earth. Entire enemy battalions gaze upon the sorcerer and turn swords upon eachother. While the sorcerers rituals are a deeply ingrained part of temple duties it bears repeating that they cannot be trusted. They are the epitome of spite and malice and their dark powers can be stopped by no steel. Be wary and show them respect as earned, but keep your hand at your hilt always.

Capitulus IV:  Heirarchia

Because of our nature we are always at war either external or internal. War is the binding fiber that keeps us faithful and without it we grow stagnant, lazy and weak. We are a martial people born from the ruins of our homes and the blood of our parents, forced to fight or to die. The majority of captives we take become slaves though, which are in greater number than warriors. The slaves know their duty and come to embrace it quickly. Theirs is a life of service and death with the greatest honor being to die at the whim of the warrior they serve.

We have only a loose chain of command and it changes often. We are broken into regiments with its leaders and from there the high ranking officers. Atop that is only the clergy and its advisorate. Military tradition and martial law is all consuming. We are quickly hardened and maintain discipline even between battles.

If the current leader shows fear they die. If they show cowardice they die. If they cannot bring enough battle they die. Part of the role of the second in command, a position of varying names for each war band, is to learn from the warleader. The other part of their role is to replace him when he is capable of doing so.

In war we are loyal brothers and sisters, but there must always be war. If we do not have war then we must fight eachother to prove ourselves and give Garagos his feast. There is no obligation, ever, to obey your superior. Yet we do so anyway out of respect and out of fear for consequence. To usurp an officer is a crime of death, if you can be defeated. The greater responsibility puts only a larger target on your back though.


Capitulus V: Rules of Engagement


The fairy tails of noble battle fed by heretics are lies. It is an idealized vision that two armies meet in open battle to resolve their conflict. A vision meant to bring peace to the servile commoners so they need not to learn the true nature of war. In war there are only two absolutes: you are either alive at the end of it or you are dead.

Personal honor and battlefield honor are two different things. The lies of Tempus and his strategist servant would whisper poison into the ears of many, and those who listen to it are the easiest to slay. In war you do everything possible to survive. There are no rules. The only thing that matters is if you survive with victory or fail with death. Ambush, distraction and surprise attacks are valid and powerful strategies. Let none question this. To only the living is honor gained and all who choose a side in conflict are responsible.

Villages without warriors equally aid an enemy force. It is they that feed your foes and keep them strong. It is they that give moral suppourt and allow supply lines to stretch to the battlefield. Sever them and let the army bleed its lifeblood out onto the field. Garagos teaches us the true nature of battle. It is not pretty and it is not noble. War is two great beasts savagely tearing at eachother where only one survives. You do what you must to survive and defeat your enemy.

Personal honor differs from that of the battlefield. The individual must meet combat head on and not hide from their duty. Without pride you are nothing. Challenge your enemies and defeat them in single combat or taking a small force head on. Challenge yourself always and defeat foes greater than you. Show no fear and bear your strength upon your enemy until they are nothing. The army gains honor through victory. The self gains honor in how you participate in the individual battles staged to attain it.

 





Battledaughter Isabeau Prima Akeldema

[xXCrystal_Rose]

Hymnal Verses and Battle Songs

[hide= The King of Ymph will rise]

High above in the mountains of mist
Where the eagles and wyverns still fly
A scream of death and cheer of glory
Targus hear my cry!

Throw open the Gates of Blood and the King will be delivered!
Sound the war horn and praise our mighty lord.
God of fury and slaughter upon his throne of skulls
Deliver us from this curse and crush the foes of man!

Ages of myth and ages of dreams
Prisoners in our own fantasy.
Locked in the mist and shrouded in gloom
King come set us free.

Lord in wait, my blood for thee!
Death has not forgotten me!
Lord in wait, my blood for thee!
Death has not forgotten me!

All gods are dead
And blood rains from the sky
Fire and death
The battle horns cry

The face of the Maiden, a visage of terror
Cull the boys from the men.
Champion of blood, King of the warriors
It is for you that we fight.

Ages of myth and ages of dreams
Prisoners in our own fantasy.
Locked in the mist and shrouded in gloom
King come set us free.

Lord in wait, my blood for thee!
Death has not forgotten me!
Lord in wait, my blood for thee!
Death has not forgotten me!

Back to the mist beaten and broken
Retreat the victims of strife.
Valkyries weep on the corpse of the fallen
None worthy of the crowns might.

Continue we fight, continue we die
Blood fills the rivers and skies.
Born of our courage, born of our lives
The King of Ymph will rise!

[/hide]



[hide= Valkyrie]

I am one of Targus' Shield Maidens
I carry his mark of the blood and steel.
I am what drives men in battle and
Makes them quake with fear.

I am the shade who knocks and taps
But each look you see no-one there.
I am simply trying your courage
Seeing if fear is too much for your to bare.

I am the Death Bringer both terrible and glorious.
I choose the strongest and bravest and best.
I am a Valkyrie of Targus' might. If you are gazing upon me,
Then it is time for you to join us at Warrior's Rest.

[/hide]




[hide= Exacerbated Awakening]

Blood falls from the clouds of a misty haze
Upon the endless din of the fields of slaughter.
The story of humanity as bleak as the hue of steel
Is drawn by the skalds of blood and bone;
The Valkyries tread it as a crimson blur.

With sword and shield they weave forth to the front,
Glory and chaos, blood and victory; the calls to advance.
Shields turn to shards of wood and splinters, swords of twisted lumps.
Spears shattered and broken, weapons growl and shriek
Of the rage of the warriors, crashing to armor as a pack of wolves.

Fight and learn of the story of man, the story of war;
The history of battles our King once did wage.
Push through to the front, cast aside the fallen
Join brothers and sisters in valor and death
Where friends and enemies share everlasting glory.

Fight and learn of the story of man, the story of war;
And follow your leaders to battle. Follow the King,
Risen and true, see the conquest and victory he spreads.
Faces of red and shields pricked of arrows, the massacre
of damned. The bloody cascade that guards the true King.

Fight and learn of the story of man, the story of war;
The banners fly high as we march to our deaths.
His life can't be taken, guarded with flesh, with bone and with steel.
We live and we die, we bleed and we fight, for glory and pride and life
For the King to free us from the undeath blight, with Valkyries at his left and right.

[/hide]



[hide= Skalds Battlemarch]

Sword and spear be raised this day
'Gainst battle far and wide

Thy strength and courage see you through
While weaklings cower and hide

Side by side with brothers of blood
We will not die alone

Some will live and others will die
And Valkyries take them home

Battle Garde waits for its fallen warriors
Heroes, berserkers and skalds

Beyond the gates of blood we wait
Come join us in our halls

Glory and fame and war await
So take now one last ride

Choose thy end and join the ranks
For all men eventually die.

[/hide]

[hide= Immortal through valor, forever Divine!]

When their sights fall to us they'll fall back and hide,
Down to the last they will pay with their lives.
Butchered and broken, our swords sing of glory!

Once more a battle rises to light,
Gathered we crush and conquer the fight.
Butchered and broken, our swords sing of glory!

We fight and kill with hearts made of steel,
Leave no survivors; their blood is our shield.
War 'till the last is bleeding and dying!

Come to the battle and send forth as one,
We came for their blood and stayed for the fun.
War 'till the last is bleeding and dying!

The visage of terror we see in your eyes;
We are bringers of death; let the Valkyries fly.
Immortal through valor, forever divine!

When the battle is done only we will still stand,
Our stories of might shall spread through the lands.
Immortal through valor, forever divine!

Within our chests burn the fire of strife,
Fueled by our hatred to snuff our foes lives.
With Targus within, spilling through our veins
We fight and we drink and we fight all again.
We men are gods of war!

[/hide]