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Until just a few years ago Hamish Farmer was, as his name might indicate, a farmer. There was nothing interesting about his origins. Hailing from a village in the Telmarch protected region of the Oathlands, a hamlet on a river whose founders creatively named it Rivlet, Hamish had an uninteresting childhood on his father's farm, taking over the farm when his father died, supporting himself and his mother until she died, then supporting himself and his wife and daughter until the first died in a shav raid and the second ran off to be anywhere but Rivlet.. He was neither especially kind, nor especially disliked. He helped out the village in the winter, but benefited from others in turn. As devoted to the gods as any Oathlander farmer must be, making his prayers to Petrichor and acknowledging the rest. All in all a very boring, very ordinary peasant. Then he was crushed while changing a wagon wheel. Rivlet didn't have any Mercies or Physicians, so they made do with good old fashioned farm wisdom. Though the accident looked horrifying, Hamish was less injured than expected. Within a few days he was good as new, except for one thing. He'd found religion, becoming a devotee of the Queen of Endings in one scant moment. Abandoning his farm and the village, Hamish Farmer went to Sanctum to swear himself to the gods before the Seraph there as a disciple of Death. For three years he preached the good word of the Queen from settlement to settlemen across the Oathlands and into the North. On a return to Sanctum he was told that he was wanted in Arx. So to Arx he went.

Hamish is a big man, though not the big of a knight or a champion. Rather, he's the big of someone gifted with height and bredth who then put it to use in the field. Tall, with broad shoulders and the rough musculature of a laborer. Lank brown hair is kept long, generally tied back with a loose knot to keep it out of his face. Crow's feet at the corners of his eyes betray his age, though if anything the dark blue eyes themselves make him look significantly older. The backs of his hands and arms have the usual nicks and scars of someone who spent a lifetime rarely at rest.

Hamish is a man prone to biding his time, listening silently, then making his point using as many damn words as he feels like. He's not one for idle chatter, but he's also not one to sit by and keep his thoughts to himself. He is also not shy about letting people know when he's done with a conversation or when he's disinterested in a topic or opinion. He can occasionally be abrupt and sometimes demonstrates a point of view that makes it a little difficult to tell where he's coming from. One might call him eccentric, except he's generally comes across as too grounded for such a description.