My entire life, I've been trained for one purpose, to be a Templar. Not by choice, not by lordship, I was a child soldier, breed through generations of carefully selected gene-pool excellence.
DNA taken from the greatest minds, commanders and knights, all chosen to create a master warrior, a line of sophisticated hardened gentlemanly killers.
Men and woman that knows no fear, knights that fight and fight again and continue fighting for the Holy Kingdom of Dornoch. Warrior Monks that leave a wave of destruction in their aftermath, a sea of enemy blood that drowns the infidel.
I am a Templar Knight, a holy warrior monk, I know love, love for God, love for thy kingdom, love for the loyal God-fearing citizens of Holy Dornoch.
Pride was not something we consider, we Templars are viewed as a master race among our kin, but for us, we are simple soldiers. We thought not to consider ourselves finer, yet our purpose is higher (defence and aggression).
We are a close-knit brother and sisterhood, typically garrisoning to our selected and specialised training ground, a town within a city, within a kingdom.
Our nation, like those of the infidels and enemy, numbered roughly one-million citizens, yet our stalwart line breakers, the Templars, number one-hundred.
The finest blacksmiths, two-brothers, make our Templar steel swords, maces, lances, shields and bespoke armour.
Not the most agile of armour, it is heavy, and stiff, although it can withstand the force of a cannonball, for I have seen with my very eyes against the thunder cannons of the fearsome McLeod Clan. A clan many of my line respect, a kinship of faith if anything else mattered.
I have faced a thousand battles, riding upon my steed, a steed like us, specifically designed for war, a horse were science and biology intertwine, a cybernetic masterpiece.
Among having the toughest armour and strongest swords in the known continent, faith is our greatest shield. Blessed are our weapons, and sacred our texts, we carry the words of God in to battle.
Cybernetics, Faith and Steam are our Allie. Among our ranks are the Steam Engines, mighty tanks fitted with sacred battle cannons, able to drive through enemy lines while crushing foe and levelling walls.
Like us, they are few, carefully maintained in the holy mecanicus by the kingdoms greatest scientists and engineers.
We, the Templars are housed in Holy Abigail, a cathedral restricted to our ranks and special authorities.
Our army, the forces of the Kingdom of Dornoch are a front-line armoured wave. Pike, lance, bastard sword and mace are our nations forte. The steam-tank is our artillery and we are the cavalry and heavy infantry.
Our line had an unwritten rule of appearance and style, male heads are shaved, and either clean-shaven or shadowed stubble. Females typically tie their hair in braided-knots.
Dornoch is beautiful, a walled kingdom filled with church and tower.
Mountains sit to our rear, and fine grasslands as far as the eye can see surround us. Rivers are few, yet they are beautiful, with high waterfalls and steam tracks connecting the burrows by locomotive.
Many citizens live in two-storey townhouses and cottages. Libraries are popular, ballrooms are filled with couples dancing and restaurants are fine-dined.
But grimness fills the land, war is never-ending, raids are frequent by Vikings, walls are bombarded by Romans, and assassinations handed-out by Chinese.
Every cycle, during the moon dance or as many call it, the lunatic month, the Ravengers attack. Their demonic feral flesh-eating kind festers our realm, with their mind set on flesh and soul.
Harassed throughout the moon dance month, a period of darkness, diseased air and electro-storms, the horde are great, an ever ending tsunami of undead cannibals.
We know not what they were, except they are Hellspawn, for what else can they be?
Things changed though, the Ravengers make their appearance out of the moon dance, for the first time in known text, they are storming our high walls, decimating our villages and their numbers catalysed.
The overseers, omnipotent beings we called the Dark Lyguyison, send messages to our High Cardinals, messages that our noblemen take as commands. These messages are unknown even to us, only the cardinals can decrypter, then pass along to the generals.
We take them, these Lyguyison, as Angels, angels that are the voice of God.
Then one day, a spy, a ninsha, a shadow from the Celestial Dragons penetrated our grounds, this shadow stole encrypted messages. Weeks pasted; our cardinals having an internal battle, our inquisition searching high and low for the ninsha, but they too knew, it was long gone and in the network of the Dragons.
I was alone, in my chambers, a shadow by the stain-glass, I launched forward, sword in hand, but the shadow was behind me the entire time.
Flash, she was gone. The ninsha left a letter upon my cabinet, a time and set of coordinates. It wrote, "For the sake of yours' and Is' kingdom. A truce."
I was calm, but I was not, I was furious, yet I was controlled. My initial thoughts were how could she have slipped past my elite guard, and out-wit me, leading me aloof. Though as I regained my mind, I knew if she wanted me dead, I'd have never felt it.
My spirit was troubled for days on end, all I could think of was what did it mean, and could we trust the Celestial Dragons, they were the most cunning race, full of shadows, secrets and assassins.
Dornoch's known war for generations, long before my creation, perhaps, if so, then it was worth one mans life to find out, even if I, I, a ten-million pound invention, ceased to be.
The inquisition was close, always watching, only my ranks and the cardinals were overlooked, even so, we felt the eyes and mistrust of the kingdoms Special Branch, a line of detectives and executioners.
But how could I leave the kingdom without the say-so of the cardinals? I decided to trust my two closest comrades, Brother Templar, Harris, and Sister Templar, Celine.
I had to, otherwise, a sergeant major in the soldiers of God gone AWOL would arise serious suspicion.
I went to the cardinalship and met with Cardinal Quinlan, a man that was the closest thing to a father. I trust him with my life, he is reasonable. He informed us to keep this intel classified, and agreed to send us on this secret-mission.
He signed a Warrant of Magista Vatica, a special declaration mission, it included allowing us uninterrupted travel out of our lands. No one, not even the Inquisition could question my intentions, a perk of being a Templar.
The mission was of the up-most importance stated Cardinal Quinlan. He told us the High Cardinals are preparing to muster our forces, our entire army, to send to the Lands of Hausdroff, a murderous place, filled with Legions of Hell.
We have little time, if a truce is the Celestial Dragons intention, then a united force could end the hellish spawn for good and bring peace to the lands.
So begins my journey along with Harris and Celine to the Dominae Islands, an island that remains neutral in our war.
Once we leave the safe lands, we would then need to transverse through the Unforgiven Lands, a desolate wasteland filled with Ravengers, Bandits and elite mercenaries.
Our journey will be hard, and our faith, sanity, and steel will be tested.
We will move under guise, as a regimental force will arouse unwanted attention. Under cape and hood, our armour and steed will conceal our Templar status. Posing as mercenary knights, we will each have a squire, page and holy man. Unbeknown to others, our small cadre are carefully selected men-at-arms, each chosen from elite branches.
Sergeant Brother Harris is the brawler of our cadre, he's strong-willed, rough, yet kind, and stood by one's side when needed. He prevails with duel maces and prefers rushing the foe.
Celine is an intellect, she is highly technical and a smart fighter. Femininity, stern and humorous are her familiar traits.
I am the disciplinary and tactician, the sergeant major, the one soldiers fear and look too for confidence, and maneuverers.
So begins our long, hazardous journey.