Name: Faelan O'Tuama
Current Rank: Brother
Dominant Activities: Heavy fighter, Singer, Brewer
Known For: His bardic ability
Location: Varghala

Faelan O'Tuama was born in a small fishing village on the southern shoreline of County Cork in Ireland. As a young boy, Faelan quickly picked up the folk songs and sea shanties, and joined in singing them with his father, Ruarc, and their friends. Some of the villagers also possessed great skill when it came to brewing mead. Faelan was quick to pick up on this trait, as well as a love for home brewed refreshments, including beer, ale, and stout. As the son of a poor fisherman, Faelan learned how to sail, but he knew little of battle as a boy.

As time passed, the English began to raid Ireland more and more frequently. On one such occasion, Cork itself was threatened, and the local lord called for all able-bodied men to come to the defence of their homeland. Faelan and his father answered the call, and travelled to join the others. In the ensuing battle, Faelan caught his first glimpse of the emerald clad Knights of St. Patrick, a holy order of warrior monks, like the Templars, but established to preserve not only Irish Catholicism, but also Ireland herself. Up to this point in his life, Faelan had never been in a battle; however, his father's advice enabled him to survive. Faelan's father was not so lucky. In trying to keep his son from being killed, Ruarc O'Tuama was not paying enough attention to his own plight, and received a killing blow from behind from an Anglo-Norman axe. Faelan was able to avenge his father, by killing the warrior that killed him, but for a long time following the battle's conclusion, Faelan blamed himself for his father's death.

Faelan returned to his village, where he became serious and distant from those around him, including his mother and his siblings. One night, Faelan simply left home. He could not stand to look at his family without thinking about how he had robbed his mother a husband, and his brothers and sisters of a father. Faelan was unsure of what he would do. For several days he simply wandered about the paths and narrow roads throughout the Irish countryside. One night, while sleeping among some bushes near the roadside, Faelan's dreams began to take the form of a religious vision. In this vision, Jesus spoke to him, and told him that he had nothing to be ashamed of. His father's death was not his fault. The Saviour told Faelan that if he truly felt guilt, he should devote his life to doing God's work.

The following day, young Faelan began travelling to Dublin. Soon after, he arrived at St. Patrick's Monastery, the home of the Holy and Righteous Order of the Knights of St. Patrick. Faelan told the Patriarch of the Order, an elderly knight by the name of Sir Lonan, that he wanted to join the Order. Sir Lonan listened to Faelan's tale, and accepted Faelan into the Order.

Faelan would train for hours on the arts of swordsmanship and horsemanship. He would study the Bible, as well as various prayers and religious ceremonies; various languages, including Latin, French, English, Hebrew, and Arabic; and reading, writing, spelling, and grammar. For two years, Faelan would live and train among the Knights of St. Patrick. His guilt would disappear, and he would visit his mother and siblings on any occasions. Faelan was eighteen years old, at this point.

His life would soon change drastically, however. In 1147, a Second Crusade had been called for by the Pope. As good Christian knights, the Knights of St. Patrick would be among the first to answer the call. Being relatively small in number, the knights of St. Patrick would send their entire compliment of warriors, which numbered just under a hundred men. Compared with the Templars, the Teutons, and the Hospitallers, a hundred men was nothing. Even so, God's Irish soldiers rode proudly atop their steeds, their emerald tabards flapping majestically in the breeze and the sun glinting off of their great-helms. They would make the long journey to the Holy Lands, to rescue them from the Infidel.

For Faelan, the trip to Constantinople was a memorable one. He would see new things, meet new peoples, eat new foods; Faelan was simply amazed by all of these things. Before this, Faelan had never been off of the Emerald Isle. The Christian armies of Europe gathered and became larger and larger, until several thousand Christian warriors waited anxiously in Constantinople for the order to march on the Holy Lands. Soon, the order was given, and the massive army made its way eastward, across the desert. The heat and dryness was too intense for many of these Christians, especially those from more moderate climes. The extreme weather, along with the fact that most men were wearing armour, helmets, and carrying heavy weaponry, led many men to perish along the way from heatstroke and dehydration. Things would only get worse.

When the Christians finally came into contact with the Muslim armies, many were too tired to fight, and simply fled at the sight of waves upon waves of Turkish cavalrymen, and an even greater number of Islamic foot soldiers. The Christian army was far smaller now than it had been to begin with. Unlike many of the Christians from other parts of Europe, not one single member of the Knights of St. Patrick had died or turned back along the way. That was more than one could say about the Templars and other so-called Holy Orders, Faelan would recall bitterly in later years.

The ensuing battle was a slaughter. Indeed, the Christians fought very bravely, but they were no match for the Muslim horde. Not only did the Muslims outnumber the Christians greatly, but many of Christians were tired, thirsty, hungry, and very ill. Some men were even delirious; they had been stricken so harshly by the desert sun. On top of that, the Muslims were very much accustomed to fighting on loose, sandy ground, and were far more mobile in their light chain and leather armour. Faelan watched with grim acceptance, as his fellow Irishmen fell around him. Early in the battle, Faelan had fallen from his horse when a barbed Turkish arrow embedded itself deep in his shoulder. Faelan fought in desperation, hoping for a miracle, but God was not on the Christians' side that day. Suddenly, all was darkness, as a scimitar cleaved Faelan's helmet open, and he fell unconscious in the sand.

Faelan awoke several hours later with a splitting headache, finding himself locked inside of a tiny cell. He was a prisoner of war. For two years, Faelan would languish in this Turkish prison. However, Faelan was not one to give up. Faelan's faith in the Almighty had certainly been shaken, as he wondered why God had not aided his warriors in their time of need. As the months passed, Faelan would be whipped, tortured, and beaten on numerous occasions, but the scars would heal. Eventually, as his Muslim captors realized that no one was going to pay ransom for a poor Irish crusader, they released him. Faelan was alone, he was hungry, and he was weak, dirty, and ragged. Only the emerald tabard of the Knights of St. Patrick still looked somewhat presentable.

Thus began his long journey back to Ireland. On his way through Europe, however, Faelan became lost. He had no map, and road signs were not what they are today. Faelan ended up in the cold north, in a place known by the natives as Cold Keep. Faelan was just heading west toward Ireland, when he came across a band of mercenaries and brigands who called themselves simply "The Wolfpack." This group of people was incredibly diverse, including people from a host of different cultures and countries. Faelan quickly befriended the Wolfpack, and was given food, shelter, and a new armour and weaponry. For nearly a year, Faelan fought alongside the members of the Wolfpack, and entertained them, as one half of the bardic duo, the BBB (Brewing Bashing Bards), along with another fellow Celt, a Cornish warrior by the name of Lanyon Ash. Despite the camaraderie, something was still missing in Faelan's life. He felt an emptiness inside of him. Thus, after the year was up, and spring had set once again upon the world, Faelan said goodbye to his newfound friends, and went home to Ireland.

His family was overjoyed that he had returned. They thought he had been killed. He explained his adventures to them, and settled back into the simple life of an Irish fisherman for a few months. However, having seen so much adventure, so much tragedy, and so much of the world outside of Ireland, Faelan was no longer satisfied with the simple life. He set off on another adventure, this time to the eastern lands and the great Fortress of Louisburg. Along his way, Faelan's faith returned to him. He was once again proud to have the white cross emblazoned on his broad chest. With his faith came his happiness. Faelan once again felt whole. He returned to Ireland for another brief visit, and then set off to join his friends in the Wolfpack, once again. Along the way, he met with a young Saxon by the name of Godric. Godric was in need of a mentor, to teach him the art of swordsmanship, as well as someone he could drink with. Indeed, Godric proved to be a worthy drinking companion for Faelan, as both men enjoyed the dark Irish brew. Upon his return, the brothers and sisters of the Wolfpack were so overjoyed by Faelan's return, after over a year's absence, that they raised Faelan to brotherhood status. However, it was not long after returning, with his newfound apprentice, that one of the elders of the Wolfpack, Argyle MacMillan, was so impressed with Godric, that he ransomed him from Faelan for a new sword.

But, the epic of Faelan O'Tuama does not end here...