#7 Crusade of the Foolish Martyrs
An order of militant monks waged cruel and pointless religious war in the name of the Sanguine Rose, and were first to battle during the Society’s final oppression at the hands of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer. With death came awareness of their delusion and these once-proud knights are now wracked with un-atoneable guilt for the lives they took.
They were led by The Zealot, a crusading general who won many victories but failed in his final task of defending the Society of the Sanguine Rose from the persecution of the Gravewalkers. In undeath, Nagash’s cruel wisdom is to make him subservient to his former squires, The Pardoner and The Confessor, who had always made great show of their humility. Nonetheless, despite Lady Olynder appointing The Confessor as the Procession’s general, both squires are still cursed to seek the approval of their former commander.
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| The Pardoner, Zealot and Confessor (Dreadblade Harrows and Knight of Shrouds) |
Now I must make a rousing speech. It is what generals do.
For it has been granted to me to be general of the Crusade of the Foolish Martyrs. I must always remind myself of this because I, the humble Confessor, am not worthy of this honour. I know this, for my subalterns are wont ever to remind me. In life, I was but squire to the mighty general we call The Zealot. He led the crusades of the Society of the Sanguine Rose, but he led them to defeat at the hands of the accursed Gravewalkers. So now this knight of shrouds must obey my orders, though I know him to be a better soldier, and one I must always seek to impress. My fellow squire in life – and fellow dreadblade in death – The Pardoner, is ever seeking to usurp my rank, consumed with jealously at my promotion. I am not worthy, and all know it, but it is Nagash’s will and that is all.
So, I shall send my forces against the hated living. My hexwraiths, forever wracked with guilt over innocent blood they spilled in life, will spill yet more. The death we bring about this day will stir the embers of The Apostle’s blighted soul. Like a bellow, his Black Coach will fan the flame of his spirit and he will rise again.
That would make a good speech.
But when I open my mouth, no words will come.
They never do.
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| Crusaders of the Sanguine Rose (Hexwraiths) |
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