Faolan's Backstory

Like so many stories, this man's story starts long before his birth. The course of Red Faolan's life is not set solely by his will. The aspirations, the failures, and the shed blood of generations past guides Faolan the Red as much as does his lust and ambition.

Maillach, Faolan's maternal grandfather, was born and raised in the hills of the rocky Eastern Coast. His early life was no different from that of most boys, and his village was far enough from the ocean that the raids by the Northmen, though always the subject of firelight tales, never touched Maillach's life.

Longing to see the great cities of the Inwardlands, Maillach ran off with a merchant, eventually crossing the East Wall and trading his muscle for board and passage with a caravan on the Great Western Road. Every few weeks Maillach saw a new and different "Great Northern City", with smaller towns in between. The magic he saw terrified and amazed him. For ten weeks he was as happy as a young man could be. One day into weel eleven he killed a nattily dressed thief, who turned out to be the scion of a minor noble. Compared to a caravan guard, no noble was "minor" in the eyes of the royal court, and, as you might imagine, he was convicted of murder, proclaimed a slave, and sentenced to fight in the arena until such time as he died.

For over eight years, Maillach fought in the "Eight-walled Ring" at Sawyerville, and in all that time he was not beaten. Some of this was because of his great strength, fast reflexes, and the disciplined cool-mindedness with which he fought. Another reason that he suceeded was the way in which his career was managed. From the beginning, the tall, blonde, handsome Maillach was a crowd favorite, so his owner, Don Rego, orchestrated his career to draw the maximum number of spectators without putting his prize at serious risk. Maillach was matched with older gladiators who'd been injured or past their peaks, young gladiators who hadn't been sufficiently seasoned, and notorious criminals, who, despite their infamy, were not top-quality fighters.

Maillach knew that this would not last forever, and that the day was not far away that he would be matched against a young gladiator to boost that man's career. He began making plans to escape. He did not have free run of Rego's compound, but he managed to seduce a serving girl who did. He persuaded her to set a series of fires, and during the confusion the two seized the opportunity to escape. They had arranged food and supplies, even using walnut essence to darken their hair. The escape succeeded.

While Maillach was never close to being Gladiator One, he knew that many thousands had seen him fight, and that he would eventually be recognized if he stayed in Tory Anglia. He had found himself feeling a responsibility to the girl who aided his escape, as she had sacrificed everything to save him. He did not love her, but, being a man of honor, he took her back to his home in the hills of the Easterlands, where he made her his wife and fathered three sons and a daughter on her. She was a good wife, and over time he came to cherish her. They had a small farm, and raised fat, wooly goats. They had a good life for many years, far from the power of the Anglican lords whose only claim to this land existed on paper.

In Maillach's forty-seventh year, the brigand Northman Marik the Half-mad started leading raiding parties further and further inland. One of these raids left Maillach's sons and wife dead, and his daughter, a beautiful lass of 16 years was taken. Maillach, who had been away leading a group of men against what had been a feint attack, lost himself in rage and grief.

While Maillach was no longer a young man, he knew the business of blood. Three nights later, he found Marik's camp, and leading his group farmers and shepherds, crept in and took the Northmen in their sleep, butchering thirty-seven of the uncouth bastards. Three of the Northmen, including Marik, made their escape, but the men were happy to have rescued the seven young women, though they were maids no longer.

Fleeing from the wrath of the Northmen, Maillach took his daughter and moved to another village, one further up in the hills. He did his best to set aside his grief in order to aid his daughter's healing, for she was all that he had.

Unfortunately, Maillach's daughter never truly recovered from her ordeal, and when she found that her rapists had left her with child, it was as if a shadow fell over her face that never again let in the Sun. She birthed a large, boisterous boy, with ginger hair and mismatched eyes--one green and one blue. His incessant howling prompted his grandfather to call him "the little red wolf". She showed little interest in her son, though she never protested when her father brought the babe to her breast. Her strength began to return gradually, and, by the time the boy was weaned, Maillach's daughter had resumed the chores that would be expected of her, though any could see that there was no joy in her life.

When Marik was captured the following year, the villagers who had caught him put him to fierce torture before he died. In his pains, Marik claimed that in return for sparing the lands farther north, he had been given license by the Anglian Crown to rape and reave in these parts. When Maillach heard of this, he made the toughest decision of his life: he forswore his thirst for vengeance against the Anglian Crown so that he might care for his daughter and grandson.

When the boy reached his second birthday, he was full of vigor, and all but impossible to contain. He was as spirited and energetic as a boy could be, and, despite the trouble he caused, he still seemed able to charm everybody--with the exception of his mother, who barely seemed to notice him.

As he'd survived the dying years, he was finally given a name. Maillach named him appropriately, calling him "Faolan", a word meaning "wolf" in the old language spoken by some of the mountain folk. Three months later, Faolan's mother leapt to her death from a bluff. Maillach, now grey and gouty, was left to raise the boy on his own, and he crossed the East Wall and headed South in search of a place devoid of painful memories.

Maillach had missed most of the build-up to the civil unrest that followed King John's re-assertion of his royal power over the Southrons, but once there was a chance to kill the Anglian King's minions, he set to with gusto. Maillach had settled in a middling town, working in, and eventually running a small inn (after he married the fat widow who owned it). During this time, he took every opportunity to pass information on to "the Greenback Rebels" regarding the Redlegs' movements, and he was not above serving a few tainted dishes to the Redlegs who frequented his inn. Maillach knew enough about the mages of the North to keep an eye out for Redlegs that wore bronze blades, and he was extra diligent about reporting their movements.

Throughout all of this, Faolan grew into a happy, boisterous, mischievous boy. He was taller and stronger than most of his playmates, but he was popular with kids and adults alike due to his quick wit, charm, and ready laugh. He was kind to the smaller kids, did not bully them, and challenged any other kid who did. Some of those challenges went well for him, others left him with bumps and bruises, but Faolan was always ready to brawl if he believed himself in the right.

The next breaking point in their happy story came one day when a pair of Redlegs overheard Faolan telling a story of "Coming Southron Glory" in one corner of the inn's common room. Faolan was twelve, large for his age, and with his wild red hair he looked a good deal older. He had attracted a small audience, and their failure to disperse under pressure of angry glares annoyed the Redlegs almost as much as the story itself. Finally, one of the Redlegs told Faolan to "Shut that mouth, before I give you something to fill it", to which Faolan replied "I said the same to your mother last night....and she told me I'd have to get in line, or else pay double!".

It was clear that Faolan had inherited his grandfather's hatred of the Anglian Crown and it's servants. It also appeared that he'd also inherited his unknown father's blood-lust. When the angry Redleg made a move to cuff him, Faolan dodged, pulled a small knife and stabbed the man in the arm. A chase broke out, which carried the three around the common room, while Faolan continued to shout insults at the Redlegs. The patrons cheered Faolan and jeered at his pursuers. The pursuit ended in a wild scuffle when the redlegs cornered the boy back near the kitchen. This scuffle ended abruptly when Maillach, like the Angel of Death, descended on the distracted soldiers. Striking with a large ladle and the mallet he used to hammer the bungs into kegs, Maillach leveled each of the soldiers with vicious blows that ceased to fall only after the Redlegs lie motionless. Both men bled from their mouths, noses and countless gashes on their scalps.

The room fell silent, as Maillach, though now an old man, was an impressive, blood-spattered sight. With his face expressionless, he pulled his grandson to his feet. Maillach's heart was cold, and his mind was racing. He found that he missed this feeling.

There were too many witnesses for this to stay quiet for long, but Maillach used the awe he'd just established to make everyone sit down and be quiet. The slowly growing pools of blood around the Redlegs seemed to have the men and boys hypnotized. Still possessing his ability to think clearly and calmly, Maillach had Faolan retrieve as much money, food, and clothing that could be packed on a mule, and then had him pack it. He walked over, barred the door, and nailed the bar in place. Once Faolan had brought the horses and mule around back, Maillach told the patrons to stay in place, to stay quiet, and not to try to leave until nightfall, if they wanted to live. Everybody was too stunned to notice how, for the first time, Faolan obeyed without hesitation or question.

Maillach made the most of the time that he had, and the two rode out way east of town to an area that Maillach knew to be frequented by the Greenback Rebels. He met with one of his contacts, and arranged a place for he and his wild-spirited grandson to lay low, in the hope that they would not be pursued by the occupying army. Faolan had rarely been out into the woods, and he found this whole enterprise terribly exciting.

The days stretched, and slowly turned into years. Maillach, despite being slowed somewhat by his years, turned to be a far superior swordsman than any of the rebels he met. He began training the militia's men in the weapons he knew so well--short sword, buckler, spear, and cestus. He taught them the small group mixed-weapon tactics that he had used in the Arena's team fights, as well as exercises to strengthen the hands, wrists, and shoulders. Maillach earned the respect of the militia leadership, and, in time, his voice was heard in their councils.

Faolan took part in these drills as well, though he preferred the longer swords used by the Redlegs. One of the militia's groups focused on moving silently, sneaking about, and killing or maiming Redleg officers, couriers, and sentries. Maillach did not approve of Faolan's admiration for these men, which is probably the reason that Faolan was so determined to learn their ways. Maillach had made a point of keeping Faolan out of the direct combat actions, so Faolan ended up seeking out many of the veterans, questioning them at every opportunity. He would take their stories, spice them up a bit, and before long, they'd be heard in every inn and grog-house in the surrounding counties. Faolan came to believe that his stories could help inspire the populace to unite against the Redlegs, as opposed to cowing and taking the path of least resistance.

Faolan was well-liked by most of the men, and the ones he'd anger with a prank would often end up his greatest friends and fiercest protectors. Faolan told great stories, and seemed to have a knack for turning almost any situation into a joke. When Faolan talked to someone, he always made a point to listen, filing away any fact that he could glean, and most folks, especially tired and bored soldiers, liked having someone listen. Faolan made a point of learning what the men liked in a leader, what they disliked, and what led to inspiring the greatest loyalty. Faolan seemed to have a natural, easy, charm, but he dreamt of becoming a great leader that would unite the South and throw off the chains of Anglian rule.

Against his grandfather's wishes, Faolan went on several small raids and twice went with "The Night Fighters" to kill Redleg officers who had snuck off to visit their Southron mistresses. Faolan thought that the mistresses should be killed too, but kept his opinion to himself.

When the boy turned 17, Maillach grudgingly allowed him to officially participate in militia activities, including marching off to battle. Faolan was excited, and was looking forward to his first "real" engagement. While he was eager for action, he believed that the militia should more closely emulate the Night Fighters, hitting, running, and avoiding a set-piece battle that the Greenbacks didn't win back in the war, and still couldn't win. The Anglian Army had better equipment, better training, better discipline, and, more importantly, all manner of mages. Faolan thought that the Greenbacks having the right of the moral question would do little more than lead the fools to die more gladly.

Much to the young man's dismay, the Greenbacks had more than a few wealthy young officers who fancied themselves the Southron equivalent of the Anglian nobility, and these fools longed for the glory of the field. Faolan shared Maillach's suspicion that, if the South were to gain it's freedom, this sort of leadership would try to set itself up as a new aristocracy---still overlords, just with different accents and titles. Unlike his grandfather, Faolan advocated the idea of killing them off, as they were a weak link in the quest for "real" freedom.

Maillach confided to his grandson that he suspected one of these aspiring nobleman was collaborating with the Redlegs, so Faolan stalked him, strangled him, and dumped his body in the swamp. He told no one, but the sad look that he saw in his grandfather's eyes told him that he did not have sole possession of that secret. Nothing was said, but his grandfather's disappointment hurt Faolan almost as much as it motivated him to continue on this path.

It was unfortunate for the Faolan and the other Greenbacks that Maillach's suspicions were accurate. The Redlegs had been apprised of the militia's plan, and a large Redleg force, with both fire and air mages, descended upon the camp that the Greenbacks had thought secret, well before the militia was prepared. The militia was routed, and all but wiped out. Many of the Night Fighters made their escape, though they scattered, realizing that, for now at least, the dream of revolution was ended. They all dreamed dreams of fire and lightning and death.

Faolan heard that his grandfather had made his escape, but other rumors told of his capture or death. Faolan searched for two months, but never was able to find more than rumors and contradicting stories. He moved from village to village, usually able to charm his way into a bed, or at least a barn, which was fortunate for him, as this city boy had no clue how to survive in the wild.

Now, essentially penniless, Faolan has taken a job, along with several other former Greenbacks, working as a caravan guard. He still tells his grand sagas as he travels around, and he's always collecting new stories, particularly ones about Southron heroes and Anglian scum. He can usually turn a few well-told tales into a hot meal, sometimes even a room for the night, all the while trying to instill a sense of pride and purpose in the Southrons. He's even trying to work on a few patriotic songs to sing around the inns, though he still needs quite a bit of work in the music department.

Faolan hates the Anglian government as much as he believes in the idea of independence; but above all he hates the idea of nobility. His grandfather, never forgetting or forgiving the Crown's betrayal instilled in him a hatred of the notion that one man can barter the fate of another, which leads him to hate the slavers as much as he hates the noblemen.

Faolan is always interested in stories about the Northmen. He doesn't speak much of his own Nordic blood, but his flame-red hair advertises that to all and sundry. Faolan doesn't hate the Northmen, for as his grandfather said, "They are what they are, like the wind or the rain. You might as well hate the wind for blowing, as hate the Northmen for their reaving.....but of course, you should kill them when you can."

Faolan owns a few poor weapons, a second-hand suit of leather armor, and a single set of travel-stained clothes. His wealth consists of two silver pennies and his smile. His prized possession is the well-used pair of cesti which his grandfather gave him for his eighteenth birthday, and he wears them most of the time, unless he's seeking female companionship, or otherwise trying to impress polite company.

Continuing Story of Faolan

While trying to earn a living telling tales to travellers in the small hamlet of Barrett's Crossroads Faolan was approached by Jake, a man of respect, known for his service to the Frontier Councils' Rebellion. Jake was heading to investigate the stories of the "bizarre creatures" that some had seen running amok in remote areas, and he hired Faolan (Red), Tanner Hawkwood, Zen Yuldar (the healer), Adhevan oc Tiren (the gent), Daren Fawley (hedge), and Mateo Adamante (the archer) to come with him.

Tags: Faolan