Faolan Quinn - Character history

Name- Faolan Quinn

Age- 25

Nickname- Fenris Redmane, Werewolf.

Personality- A stoic young man, Faolan has a quick wit and a smart tongue, making him a clever and sharp person. Very disciplined, from the years spent in service in the military branch of the Organization, "Sanctum", he would often be found either, alone repairing his arms and armor, practicing his swordsmanship, or at his residence reading his many tomes or writing. A quiet and observant person, he is not loud nor foolish and carries himself with a self assured confidence. Many a loud braggart has mistaken his silent demeanor to think he a submissive or easily scared person. Attentive of others, usually those who are kind or defenseless, Faolan might be inclined to give a helping hand. He is however, not a morally upstanding person and will, without hesitation cut down someone if it means that they are in between him and his goal. He minimizes suffering as it is the easiest way to get to his goals, usually. A solitary person as general principal, Faolan has good relations with one Leroy Ravensdale, a traveling Necromancer investigating the death of his father and the disappearance or death of his sister.
Already considered unstable, Faolan is prone to violent "attacks" where he will lose control over himself. These "attacks" are nothing more than what a berserk rage would be to a barbarian warrior in a blood-lust, except for a few differences. A Barbarian blood-lust is characterized as the warrior channeling his rage to aid his strength, increase his stamina, dull his senses from pain and effectively nearly kill himself to be able to defeat his opponent. These "attacks" take all of these attributes as well as a bestial rage and intuition. During these attacks, Faolan is not even conscious of what he is doing, nor can he control himself. He has often, because of his name, been likened to a werewolf for his ferocity and blood-thirst.  The "attacks" are triggered by a variety of different things, but usually from a lack of sleep, a common occurrence as he is a constant insomniac. At best, it is his self discipline and his mental control that at times, prevents his attacks from happening. For a short time at least, until such a time as he can knock himself out with a sleeping draft, or get a sleeping spell cast upon him. It is because of his "attacks" that he gets very reserved and sorrowful. He is a man that carries a great weight upon his shoulders, and while he doesn't let it show with his cool and calm demeanor, it shows in his movements and his eyes.

History- Faolan started out as an orphan, at least, that was the youngest memory he could recall. Living on the streets, fighting for scraps of food, stealing both food and money, and shivering under the docks where he would get some cover from the elements. Neither able to find any family for help he was forced into a hard life of a beggar, and when he was able the life of a thief. It was only a matter of time that a red haired, young, boy of eight years old, dirty and disheveled would grab the attention of the Captain of the Guard when he caused a ruckus after stealing several items of food from the marketplace. Alerting the guard as he escaped from the huge hands of a butcher and the marketplace, Faolan would then lead the squad of soldiers on a merry chase across and through the many alleyways of the town before he was cornered. After a brief but painful scuffle, resulting for a few nasty cuts and bruises for both parties, the guard brought him to the Captain. Instead of tossing him into the prison where he would receive a heavy punishment, the Captain offered the boy a chance at a better life. Wary the boy accepted and before he knew it, he was living as the adopted son of the Captain. After a good bath, one that consisted being told to strip and scrub himself raw once inside a tub of absolutely freezing water and cleaned until his skin glowed slightly pink. Afterward he was dressed, fed, and put to bed, a real bed. Thus began Faolan's life as the adopted son of the Captain of the Guard.
Life under the Captain was a strict one, and one without many room for error, and for a long time he would often be found constantly doing chores, polishing the Captains armor and arms, or if he really messed up. Polishing the arms and armor of an entire squad as well as helping to clean the barracks. Once he was thought to be mature enough as well as responsible enough, he was schooled somewhat roughly in the intellectual studies, as well as the art of swordsmanship and the strengthening of his body. He had a knack for learning, both for swordplay as well as his intellectual studies and he pursued them with a passion. By the age of seventeen, he could regularly spar with the soldiers and hold his ground, occasionally he was able to defeat them. It was then at that time that he enlisted in the guard and became a soldier for the military branch of the organization, Sanctum. Having been schooled for so long by the Captain; now a man reaching his early forties, a muscled and worn man from years of service, a cropped salt and peppered haircut and mustache, a weathered and worn face from years under the sun, Faolan was already one step ahead of any other new recruit and soon proved to be an adept soldier, gaining even more merit where all other recruits failed. Three years passed and about a month after his 20 day of birth, he was invited to join a division of swordsmen, and a few women, and a few magi *magick users*, and he eagerly accepted. They were called the Executioners, a division of highly talented individual that had garnered enough attention from those higher in rank within the military branch of the Sanctum, otherwise known as the Verdict Orden. The sole duty of the Executioners were to purge any traitors, public enemy's of the Sanctum, or those who spoke against it. A grim job, but being a merited, and highly able soldier, Faolan was proud. By this time he was considered a deadly swordsman, as his skill with the blade, and the mastery of his body only further continued to grow. Occasionally he would do a solitary mission, or take a squad of normal soldiers to aid him when ferreting out traitors, but often the Executioners would move en-mass to publicly execute whole groups that spoke out. It was after the razing and slaughter of an entire village, that Faolan finally realized exactly what he had become, and what the Executioners really were. After all their name said it all, they were the assassins, the butchers, and the Executioners. They killed those the Orden, ordered them to kill. Men and women, would fall beneath the bloody blades never to rise. It was a small mercy that the children would not be slaughtered, but after the horrific imagery, Faolan would only be able to think that this would only sow the seeds of discent for years to come. Sickened by this, Faolan would continue to distance himself from other people as he sought escape, sometimes from the inside of a bottle, but mostly from his books and his writings that he would, temporarily forget or dull his anger and revulsion. Then, a year later, after being stationed at a barracks in the middle of nowhere, just shy of the northern border and south many a league on the eastern coastline. He was promoted temporarily to the rank of Captain, a tentative promotion that if he did a good job, he would keep. There he served as acting Captain, the only Executioner with only a barracks of men at his command. It was not even a month later, that an exhausted elven maiden was captured just off of the perimeter of the barracks. It was only later that the reason why she wouldn't speak was because she had her tongue removed. An old wound that often bespoke the fact that she had been a slave, or rather still was, as all races that were not human, were considered slaves. Those who were lucky not to be, managed through some act of daring, or impressing some nobleman, would be granted freedom as an indentured servant. They would be free, but still less in class than the meanest human beggar. As she had no master around, it was figured that she was a runaway, and by protocol when it came to this type of event, she became the property of highest ranking official there. Or in Faolans case, she became his property. Thus began the most interesting set of experiences he had yet to experience, which ended up leading to an eventual courtship of sorts. It was hard to keep hidden, and even harder not to acknowledge his feelings for her publicly, but one did not consort with slaves. Additionally, one definitely did not court one as he was, it was unthinkable. He knew it, the elf knew it, and his men knew it. Thankfully they kept their mouths shut, if only because Faolan was easy on them and allowed them to have their vices. It wasn't until nearly six months after his twenty-second day of birth, that the truth came out, and at the worst possible moment. Orders came in that the rest of the Executioner Division would be mobilized and would arrive there in no more than two days time. They were there for two reasons, to apprehend a high profile target, an escaped slave, thought to be coordinating a haven for escaped slaves, where they could be smuggled offshore to distant lands that the Sanctum had no control over, and where they would be free. Then to erradicate the village where the smuggling operation was located.
Exactly as predicted the Executioner Division arrived, and the day after they left again. With Faolan in tow, as well as a squad of soldiers that were under his command they all rode for the village suspected in this "underground" group. Finding the village was not a problem, but the Orden's members arrival was somehow expected and they were at high alert. All those that remained outside in the village were naught but the men folk that lived there, the women and children having  decided it was prudent to remove themselves from the open. After a short and terse confrontation, they were admitted inside the village. In a short time every village member was assembled in the village square to be questioned about the "underground". After the entire situation was under control, Faolan's soldiers, by order of one of the Division members were dispatched to return to the barracks and return with more soldiers. After they had left, two Interrogators of the Division turned on Faolan, started asking him the questions. Questions that pertained to the identity of the high profile target, as well as the details of smuggling operation. Confused, he stated of no knowledge what they sought, apart from what the dispatch entailed when he had received three days prior. His answers were met with amusement and outright scorn as the two women motioned for something to be brought forth. In moments, a figure was dragged forward with a rough cloth sack pulled over their head. With a quick motion the bag was ripped off by one of the Interrogators, and showed the beaten face of the Elven slave he had been courting. A collective gasp rippled through the assembled men, women and children, that while clearly was a sign of shock, was muted as they tried to hide it. In short crisp words the two women exposed his courtship with the slave, and then exposed the true identity of the slave as that of the high profile target they were seeking. The entire time that she had been under the ownership of Faolan she had been copying any relevant information she could find out about, learn or happen to overhear. She was discovered by the two Interrogators when they had seen her slip away in the dead of night after the Division had arrived, and suspicious had followed only to see her stash a parcel in a tree before slipping away back to the barracks. Once they had gotten their hands on the parcel they figured out how the target was, then replaced the parcel, after altering a few documents. Once they returned to the barracks, they waited for the next day when the Division would leave for the village. They however stayed behind and apprehended the slave, before taking her towards the village in the Division's footsteps. Faolan's reactions to their words, as well as the sudden appearance of the slave, seemed to answer some of the questions the two Interrogators still had.

"If you're loyal to the Orden, and to the Sanctum, you'll kill the sub-human, knife eared, traitorous, whore."
"Your resolve to the Sanctum is not in question, only your loyalty to the Orden, if you don't cut her down."
"Kill the traitorous slave, for thinking that she could dare to think herself better that us."

These were the words that were emanated from the two Interrogators of the Executioner Division, and as anger at the slave washed over him, the anger, revulsion and hate that had continued to grow within him flared to just a hair under the surface of searing his mind away and drawing his blade with a will that would sever the woman's head from her body. Just as he gripped his swords hilt and started to drawing, something gave him to pause, as all the eyes of the villagers, the blank and hardened stares of other members of his division, the slightly maddened and bloodthirsty gazes of the two Interrogators, and her eyes, fell upon him. It was her eyes, the slave's eyes that gave his hand pause from action, her eyes were full of emotions. Fear was the chief among them, but there was sadness and guilt, anger, and love. Behind all that, behind all the turbulent emotions that emanated from her eyes, it was a fierceness that shone through her eyes. A fierceness, a strong will that bespoke of hardships, of a life as a slave, of not knowing freedom or peace. That was what stayed his hand, in that one true moment he understood, and he made his choice. Drawing his blade completely he tossed it in front of him, the polished and gleaming metal shining in the days light as it clattered onto the ground raising a small could of dust.

_{( RENGE-CHAN, please, please, please forgive me for what I am about to do, try to remember that request I did for you using that one character of yours, and that one song from Within Temptation.)}

* You would have me torn between my honor, and the love of my life? I've oft prayed for both, but now, I'll be denied? Demons take you, I won't take her life.* These thoughts flashed through his head before he opened his mouth to answer the surprised expressions; OF, EVERY, FUCKING, ONE.
"No."
With that simple phrase, he bore the shocked expressions of the Interrogators equally with a level gaze before a series of contorted the two women's faces, each worse, more infuriated and uglier than the last. Until one of the women,  a young woman around the same age as Faolan, clad in form fitting black leathers that left only her arms bare, with only the minimal of armor worn over it, wrenched the slave girls head back suddenly exposing her neck to the sky and swept her hand towards it, a bright and shining blade held in her fist. Before Faolan could yet react, scarlet blood sprayed in an arc around the woman's body as it fell limply at the feet of her executioner. Theeeen, he went ape shit, and this is where all that anger, revulsion, and hate exploded out of him as he rushed forward in a fury, greater than wild drake, greater than a fire spirit, greater than a barbarians blood rage. A bestial roar started from the base of his toes and came screaming up out of him as he grabbed his blade and dove into such a suicidal attack, that not even a legion of soldiers would get consider getting near. It was here that his "attacks" started to plague his life, and it was here that a single swordsman held off the entire Division of Executioners until they were forced to fall back because of heavy losses, and because that single swordsman was too bat-shit insane and dangerous, that is until they had the reinforcements to throw at him to slow him down enough to kill him. When they withdrew, the beast that consumed Faolan's mind saw the opportunity and fled into the surrounding forests. Covered in life threatening wounds, blood both his and that of others, it was here that a legend, at least for the village began of the Redmaned Werewolf, a man that managed to for the Executioner's Division, a division of men and women of highly talented individual to retreat. Then to lead them on a merry chase through the forests in the immediate vicinity of the surrounding countryside. For Faolan, once his rage subsided and once he lost his pursuers, all the while still loosing copious amounts of blood and exhausting all his stamina, he fell unconscious. Still bleeding heavily. Has it been mentioned that he was bleeding badly?
He fell unconscious, just barely within the borders of the northern reaches of the Arctic Jungle. A jungle that covered much of the land within the north, mountains, and the lands controlled by the fabled Witches of Northwood. Which, in fact was where Faolan had fallen, in the ruins of a province that at one time, when the human kingdom had existed years and years before the Sanctum had been very prosperous and highly populated. Now after the death of the Northwood Mistress, the owner of the lands, and after the fall of the human kingdom to the Sanctum, the lands were abandoned and left to fall into ruin and become overgrown.
He survived, but that, is a tale for another time. Suffice to say to say, that since then, he set up residence a few miles away from the Sanctums Gladiatorial Arena, a giant arena built in the middle of a giant crater further to north and west of the Necropolis. Using the ample money he makes from the fights, betting, and the like he has made both a name for himself and a lucrative side business as an information broker, which in fact began his friendly relationship with one, Leroy Ravensdale.