Iron Remembrance Armor
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Iron Remembrance Casque / Helm / Hood
Iron Remembrance Grips / Gauntlets / Gloves
Iron Remembrance Vest / Plate / Vestments
Iron Remembrance Strides / Greaves / Legs
Cloak of Remembrance
A TALE FROM THE DARK AGE, PART ONE OF THREE
Saladin and Efrideet stand, the wind tearing at the cloth on their armor. Dreg corpses surround the two Lightbearers, framed by broken weapons and bullet shells. Efrideet ejects the last spent round from her rifle. "I'm out of ammo."
"Then leave this to me."
"You don't trust me? Are you going to make me ask again?"
"In truth, I'd like to make you leave. I can handle the rest."
"Fine. Handle it. I just came to talk."
Saladin stares. He turns a fist-sized rock over and over in his hands.
Efrideet continues. "I heard you're trying to put an end to the fighting. They say you're recruiting people with the gift."
"I'm looking for someone who can do more than use a firearm."
"But no one shoots better than me."
Saladin looks at her and doesn't answer. He turns, pointing. Far below them rest a dilapidated village to the west and a makeshift bunker to the east, covered in Fallen sigils. A desolate field lies in between, burnt and charred, covered in the dead. "The village is called Patch Run," he says. "Population forty-three last week. Half of that at fighting capacity."
"That's a collection of huts. Not a village." Efrideet's voice softens. Saladin's hardens in return.
"It's a noble life." He pauses. "I make it my duty to patrol this area. I thought crushing that Fallen House every week would dissuade them. They keep returning."
The two hear the roar of the Fallen Skiff before they see it tear across the sky. It releases a Walker, which drops into the field like a meteor, digging deep into the gravel in front of the bunker. The Walker begins to unfurl its legs as the Skiff takes off, heading to the blooming eruptions of a conflict in the distance.
Efrideet grows impatient. "Come on! You have any ammo?"
"I have Light." Saladin tosses the rock in his hand and opens two palms writhing with Arc bolts. "But it's out of range. Even for me. We'll have to take the long way down."
"As if there's time." Below, the Walker begins a march across the field. "I could throw you."
Saladin emits a single, sharp laugh. When she says nothing, he turns to stare. Realizes it's not a joke. "There's no dignity in that."
"Is there dignity in letting those people die?"
Saladin doesn't respond. He looks down the mountainside…
Mark of Remembrance
A TALE FROM THE DARK AGE, PART TWO OF THREE
Saladin looks down the mountainside at the tank, then to the village. His fists tighten at his sides as the air around him begins to crackle.
"If you miss—"
He stops speaking as Efrideet grabs him by the metallic collar, pressing him over her head. Arc energy from both Lightbearers coalesces in a roaring storm around them—Saladin's crackling, barely contained, Efrideet's flowing, guiding. The mountain rumbles beneath her as she steps forward. Waves of gravel and dirt blast up behind her as she hurls the armored man off the cliffside like a javelin, their combined Arc energy singing like a drawn sword. Saladin's gilded form becomes a cannon shot, tearing holes through three layers of clouds as he rips down toward the Fallen Walker.
Bond of Remembrance
A TALE FROM THE DARK AGE, PART THREE OF THREE
Efrideet stands in a burning crater, the Light of her Ghost blinking rapidly, as if to chortle, over Saladin's corpse. Saladin suddenly sits up to a hunched-over position, hands on his knees in front of him. Dust from the demolished Spider Tank around them rolls off his armor and into the blowing wind. Efrideet kneels, places Saladin's Ghost in his hand, and knocks on his helmet with her knuckles.
"'If you miss?' When have you ever seen me miss?"
"I suppose I haven't."
"I was being rhetorical."
"What took you so long?"
"A few stragglers made it out alive."
He sits up, alarmed. "Where are they now?"
She makes no move to acknowledge his fear. "They never reached the village."
Saladin sits back at that. He grasps a large rock in his hand, focuses on it. "I could use someone with your drive. Your moral compass. The dragon inside you is fierce."
"What if I've changed my mind? Will I get to throw you again?"
The rock in his hand shatters into dust as his fist spasms. "I suppose we may run out of ammo again," he concedes through gritted teeth. "Meet us out at Dwindler's Ridge."
"How many of you are there?"
Saladin smirks. "A few."
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