Hugo Farlance
Hugo is a soldier and officer by trade, drafted into the Anirian Guard at an early age, where he ended up serving under a regiment of siege engineers and artillerymen as a lieutenant. Through blood and toil, he managed to claw his way up from the rank of an infantryman to an officer of the 13th Engineer Company, thanks in part to being a builder's son.
But a fatal mistake cost him many lives of his company, and after his superior shifted the blame on his head, his rank was also taken. Demoted and sent back into the vanguard on a suicide assault against Castle Bast, Hugo fled and was branded by the mark of a deserter. Now he survives the only way he knows how, seeking to support the widows and families of his fallen comrades. All the while, the Anirian Guard hunts him as a deserter, worthy only of the gallows. But that doesn't stop him from attempting to extract his long-desired revenge against the commander who betrayed him and his company.
Appearance
A man in his mid- late thirties, his body and gear alike looking haggard and worn with use. Between the folds of his old officer's coat, a generous ensemble of equipment bulges - belts crossing his waist and chest, strapped with a spare blade, pouches, vials and the odd potion. His boots, rider's pantaloons and the ends of his coat are bleached with travel, usually covered in dirt, with most of the golden buttons of his former uniform missing. His unkempt beard and hair mirror this presentation. The only part of him that seems pristine and well-maintained is his black beret - that and his swords once drawn from their musty old scabbards. This hat he will wield with a smouldering ember of pride, admist his doused spirits.
He moves with slow purpose, as if conserving every bit of energy for when it matters. His gaze is pointed and wary, expecting treachery, though the odd grin can crack through his features - rarely reaching his eyes, though.
He moves with slow purpose, as if conserving every bit of energy for when it matters. His gaze is pointed and wary, expecting treachery, though the odd grin can crack through his features - rarely reaching his eyes, though.
Skills and Abilities
- Swordsmanship and close-quarters combat
- Military tactics (infantry- and siege units)
- Carpentry and smithing
- Strength, prowess and ferocity
- Leadership and maintenance of morale in smaller groups
- Army culture
- Basic geometry and arithmetic
- Tunnellng, digging and sapping
- Military tactics (infantry- and siege units)
- Carpentry and smithing
- Strength, prowess and ferocity
- Leadership and maintenance of morale in smaller groups
- Army culture
- Basic geometry and arithmetic
- Tunnellng, digging and sapping
Personality
Hugo is an experienced and jaded mercenary. Few things manage to surprise him at this point, barring the use of magic, which is still a cause of concern for him. He is conscientious and organised of key things, such as the maintenance of his most important equipment and knowing every bit of space in his pack and pouches, while being apathetic in other areas (grooming and avoiding alchohol, to name a few).
Biography & Lore
A Letter Home
A letter intercepted by the Anirian Guard, crumpled within a courier's saddle bag
Father,
When I left you to join the Anirian Guard, I couldn't have been more ecstatic. I know you didn't wish for me to be drafted. I even remember you attempting to hide me inside your closet of tools. But when I heard the trumpets and the drums outside, my curiousity and sense of loyalty to our nation go the better of me. I hope you can forgive me for that - for now I see that I was a young fool, and should have stayed in your apprenticeship.
I write to you now, with the aid of an enemy scribe, nearly a decade since that day. I am a child no longer, though I've not had a chance to visit you since. I must be brief, father, since there is only so much ink I could confiscate and only so many hours before the dawn strikes our camp. If my superiors were to discover me sending letters outside the siege, I would dread to think of the punishment.
Life in the Guard is hard, but not unjust. Except, that is, when you rub others the wrong way. I was not considered old enough to manage my own salary when I first joined. So I had another - a certain Ubert Loxley - handling those funds for me. His governance of my hard-earned coin mostly went to wet his own throat with ale and fill his belly with sausages and bread. I saw only crumbs for my labour.
Finally, I had enough. I challenged him to a duel. It was my first fight.
I have rarely been beaten so badly. I scarce think you would have recognisd the bloody pulp I was for your son.
But I didn't let that deter me, despite his insults and the jeers of other Company men. For months, I scraped by what coin Ubert let slip my way, and I finally managed to persuade the best swordsman among the infantry to tutor me in the way of the blade. After weeks of training, I faced Ubert again.
I lost, again. But this time, I had managed to inflict some injury of my own. Ubert was older - much older - and healed more slowly.. Me, well, I could break a wrist or ankle and it would heal within weeks at times. The vigour and stupidity of the young can be astounding.
Third time' is the charm, or so they say. I made sure to fight him as soon as I had healed, and he was still limping.
I write this not to horrify you, father, but to show you what the Guard managed to teach me. I am not the same boy who left your threshold.
***
We were fighting the Cortosi on the western front, pushing back those sea-crabs as far and as fast as we could. Many forts, castles, towns and villages fell before our might. But so did ours to their banner. Through years of service, I was finally raised to the rank of a sergeant. I believe this was around the time of the conspiracy against the Royal Family, what would lead to the rise of the Republic. I know not what happened on the homefront - my body and mind were both anchored in the Anirian Reach.
It was in this role that I learned more of the Engineer Companies Through my early experiecne with you, I began to make acquaintances around camp fires with the artillerymen and siege engineers who often helped tip the scales of battle, at least when it came to a hard-pressed siege. Most of the time, our leaders could negotiate for the enemy to surrender, but on those occaisions they couldn't. that's when the engineers,, sappers and other craftsmen stepped in.
It was together with them I had the plan of building a ladder that couldn't be knocked down so easily. We called it "Fortium Surgerium" - Strong Rise. In the battle of Spara Keep, pushing into Cortos territory, it turned the tide for us.
After this, I was recognised for my efforts by commander Sir Runer Basilicus. He raised me from the rank of a sergeant to lieutenant, affording me his former officer's hat and coat. I have never been so proud in my life.
The ink is running dry and the pages dwindle. We are now sitting in a long siege against Castle Bast. Eleven castles to date have fallen before us. But these walls have defied our army for six months. This has led Countess Pelrand, who has assumed supreme command of both her own vassals and the Anirian Guard, to offer a magnanimous reward. The commander who manages to first breach the castle's defences shall gain custody over it as a retainer. Runer claims that he will rename it Basilicus Keep, after his own family name, once he claims it. He seems very certain of his claim. If news reach you of this and his portent proves true, know that I played a hand in it.
My scouts have found an old tunnel network that may lead below the castle. Certainly, it would explain their seemingly endless supplies, as we have failed to starve them out thus far. Tomorrow, we shall either sap their walls or open their gates from within.
After this is done, my commission will end. Then it is time I returned home.
Gods protect you,
H.
Report of Lord Basilicus to the Council
363 AC
It is with no small degree of satisfaction I can report that Castle Bast has fallen before our might. It shall henceforth be named Basilicus Keep, to the honour of our great house, by leave of her Ladyship Countess of Pelrand.The cockatrice shall fly rampant over the black walls of the Cortosi - if you will forgive the prosaics.
However, it was not without sacrifice that we claimed this critical point. My men located a complex system of caverns, whereupon they could sap the outer walls of the keep. They dug there for weeks on end, replacing the natural supports of the earth with wooden, flammable pillars, as set by the example of countless previous victories. At last, we had found a weakness of the enemy, a chink in their armour of stone.
But alas, something else found us in turn.
Unspeakable horrors rose to attack our sappers, no doubt attracted by the noise of their work. This of course happened moments before we were to light our fires and burn away the wooden supports. I never saw these creatures myself, but my reports tell me that they seemed to spring from the strange, underground foliage itself, emerging from fungi, moss and vine. Some of them bore semblance to human bones, moving with the aid of some hidden power. I do not know how the Cortosi managed to smuggle in supplies for months without attracting the attention of these creatures.
One of my lieutenants, a certain Hugo Farlance, was meant to lead this task. He had clawed his way out of the monstrous melee to our position, yelling for us to light the fires and collapse the tunnel before it was too late. My wish lay in saving our brave sappers first and bring them out before this, perhaps calling for reinforcements to drive back the monsters.
However, this is where the melancholy sets in to my memory. My young lieutenant had lost his nerve and usurped my command, and before I could rebuke the order, the fires had already been lit. It had been too late.
As you well know, part of the wall collapsed and our army could overtake two of the castle's bridges, leading to the eventual capture of the inner citadel. In the end, we won - but the wall buried more than stone in its fall. The officer in question was stripped of his rank and sent in with the vanguard, to make amends for his cowardice by one final act of redemption. We did not locate his body among the fallen, and neither did he stand among the living, so we have to assume that he has deserted, finally showing his true colours. I can only express my deepest sorrows for the scores of widowed families his actions have left behind, and the many souls that he has sent too early to the divine embrace.
You may hear rumours spread that this occurred otherwise, that it was he who wished to call for reinforcements and save our sappers, and that I gave the order to prematurely breach the wall. Do not be fooled. I suspect this hearsay to be of his design. Even in the Guard, he was known as a cunning gossipmonger, often stirring uncouth words among the rank and file. I have no doubt that he is still out there, a revenant that should have died twice, festering the good honour and name of the Anirian Guard by his very existence. I have even heard it said that banners and marks dedicated to his cause have emerged, a horizontal sword dripping three drops of blood - a blood-soaked and illegitimate heraldry worthy of a bandit king, indeed. I do not know what this signifies, but I shudder to consider its meaning. It is clearly the design of a common brute, a simplistic symbol meant to contrast the glory of the Basilicus banner, the sword clearly on a point to behead our cockatrice.
I would urge anyone of a stout heart to bring this renegade to justice. I would also be pleased to have him branded as an outlaw, and allow for any citizen to hunt him as legally as any game. I especially urge the Anirian Guard to redouble their efforts in apprehending any deserter who has left them before their allotted time. Each rebel that goes free without retribution further tarnishes the good name of the Guard, and as we all know, senators, the Guard is the first and strongest bulwark for our glorious Republic. Maintaining its integrity is as vital as generating upkeep for Vel Anir's mighty walls. Reputation, after all, was what determined the fate of the Royal Family. We would be wise to learn from their past.
Your Faithful Servant
Lord Runer Basilic
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