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Few warriors in the Northlands had as bright and promising start as Prince Fergus Redrain. Wild, bold, and a natural born talent with a blade, the prince accompanied high lord Sherrod Redrain on his first campaigns against the shavs, letting the the young man win the acclaim of his uncle and liege in battle. At first, Fergus loved the wars, winning the renown for his talents and ferocity and delighting in the honors heaped upon him, even as he was named Sword of Farhaven and champion of House Redrain. Fergus always expected the first few victories against worthy foes would be the end of it, but there never was an end. Battles dragged on, he lost more and more friends, and started to see things he had turned a blind eye to or did things he deeply regrets. Then he served with Duke Vercyn in some of the most brutal and bloody campaigns, helping 'the hungry wolf' crush some of the worst enemies in the Northlands in ways few couldn't label atrocities. That was enough to get Fergus to swear off the blade, and talented champion or no, he wanted nothing more to do with it and turned his uncle down on an offer to come to Arx, preferring to live a quiet existence up in Farhaven. And now there's more guilt for Fergus to live with. The retired champion was in Farhaven during the King's Rest, when forces unknown slew Prince Sherrod Redrain and put the king of the entire Compact into a coma. Fergus was arguably the strongest warrior in the entire north, the Sword of Farhaven, and he wasn't there. He should have been, he hates that he wasn't, but now there's no helping it. He's taken the sword again, and headed south to help his cousin Prince Darren, the new Prince of Farhaven and high lord of House Redrain. He doesn't even know who is responsible yet or who he'll be fighting, but all he can hope is he gets a chance to make amends for what's gone before.

A hard man, with a heavy soul, Fergus Redrain takes to court like a fish to flying. His battle scarred countenance demands respect, if not fear, with a particularly nasty one in a straight line on the left side from temple to jaw. His black hair, peppered with silver, is often left on the longish side, and slightly beyond unkempt. His expressions range from dark fury to mild annoyance, with whatever positive emotions he endures well hidden beneath the dark brow. His build is massive; tall, strong, and broad-shouldered, with thick heavy hands that are ready made for violence. His walk is confident, even if his eyes are haunted and his voice is a rough growl.

On the surface, Fergus is an unhappy man, with a grim sense of humor and a black scowl. And further deep that's still true, but he's far from a simple, unthinking brute. He's actually quite smart, and it makes his humor worse. He knows how brutal the world is around him, and there's few things that are solvable through peaceful means however much he wishes that was the case. Joy is a thing to be taken away, but some part of him seeks it out, nonetheless. He tries to keep his distance from people, because if he doesn't, they get hurt, one way or another. That doesn't keep him from finding friends though. Some are well meaning, others seek to use his skill and ferocity. In the end, none of it matters, even if part of him wants it to, desperately, in the vain hope to become a better man.