Roland Emanach

Past:

Born October 24, 477 AG to a his father, a farrier and his mother, the avener of the Baroness Caerdach, Roland Emanach was in many respects born to the horse. Despite the close pine forests in the area around Cliffrun, his native home, Roland enjoyed a childhood of purpose. From the time he was old enough to engage in useful labor, he was involved in caring for horses.

This led, of course, to him learning to ride them in addition to caring for them. Though obviously not born to nobility, his family was well-enough off, given their positions, that he benefited from a fairly decent education. Alas, he was a poor student. Numbers, spelling, and most other basic education tasks were a bore to him. His mind was typically far away, thinking of the young gelding his father had gifted him with at the age of eight.

Though he suffered lashings and punishment like any rough-and-tumble lad, Roland led a fairly idyllic childhood. Not rich, not poor, he had a true love of the family business, and though he was the only child of his mother and father, he enjoyed a close relationship with his family.

It wasn't until he hit his early teens that he actually found something of interest (besides girls, of course) outside of Rook, his gelding, and work in the stables. On Tel Girade in the year 490AG, Roland chanced upon a legionary cohort on parade before the beginning of a javelin hurling tournament. The splendor of their arms and armor drew him in a way that nothing else had.

After that day, Roland began down a road that would forever dominate his destiny. Where he used to be lazy student at best, he now found a new love: history. Specifically military history. He threw himself into that particular field with a zeal that impressed his teachers and concerned his mother.

It was no surprise to his father that at the age of 17, Roland elected to become a legionnaire. His skills with a horse were a natural fit for the cavalry, but in typical military fashion, Roland ended up as a marine, of all things.

He joined as a career soldier, fully intending to serve out his 15 years, or die as the heroes of old did. Visions of battle and honor and glory filled the young man's head.

The first years of training, of course, beat the child right out of Roland. The bloody, hard discipline required of a legionnaire was something he adapted though -- though, he always did wish he were a cavalryman.

Roland thought he had found his place. As a soldier, he excelled. He became optio of his decuria, and then, in 495, decurio, after Emaon, the previous one, died in action against pirates in 496AG. He was exceptional at his job.

In 497AG, he was twice cited for exceptional bravery during an assault on a small pirate stronghold off the coast of Guardian. The fighting was bloody, and in the end, Roland rallied 3 cut-off and decimated decuriae, personally killing the so-called Pirate Duke of Sepapul.

His reward was a promotion to Centurion Secundus, a rank he never expected or wanted to achieve. In this time, his ability as a tactician was whispered by some to nearly Demonic. He seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense about battle.

It was not until November 23, 502AG that his faith and ability were truly tested. Given orders to engage the strange, hard-hided water beasts called 'weresharks', he led his men into battle...and the losses for his century were staggering. Unprepared for the viciousness and sheer power of this opponent, Roland's century suffered in excess of 70 percent casualties -- almost all of them died.

Still, the action was regarded as a victory. Roland, though, began to question his own judgment during that battle. So many were dead, all of them men he knew, men he had led into battle. Though never one to publicly mourn, the ghosts of the dead haunted his private thoughts and dreams.

When he was ordered to assist in repelling the weresharks again in January 503AG, this time from Gateway, he faced the proposition with an odd mix of apprehension and excitement. Here, he thought, was a chance at redemption. He led his men ashore in a brilliantly executed ambush, and laid low many of the foul creatures.

History books rarely mention the minor players in any major battle. This time was no different. The plan and the execution of his part of the fighting on Gateway were, of course, attributed to the Centurion primus of his century, and, ultimately, to the general of the army. Roland cared little about getting credit, however. He felt that he had assuaged his sense of honor and made amends to all those that died the first time around.

He did not expect to see major action again for the remainder of his time in service, but it was only a few months later, during the civil war against the Barcas in 503-504, that he was again called to war. Transferred to the infantry, he learned a new sub-trade in profession of warfare. During the first major engagement of that war, his century had the honor of being the tip of the spear, the center of the great army rushing to meet the would-be usupers.

Due to the hubris and overconfidence of his legionary commander, Roland's century was sent too far ahead, with little support in the forests south of Cliffrun. Trapped in the close confines of the pine forests, His men were ambushed, and faced ten times their number.

The centurion primus was killed in the first few seconds of the fighting. Seeing that there was no victory to be had there, he managed to disperse his men and disengage from a situation that should have resulted in the complete, utter annihilation of every man of that century.

But he didn't flee. The enemy likely assumed Roland's men fled into the woods, leaving the flank of the Barcas loyalists open to a terrible ambush that might have changed the course of that conflict. Roland elected to begin a series of hit-and-run attacks on the edges of the enemy legion, using the forest as cover.

His tactics were devilish. After two weeks of fighting, Roland's men had killed some 400 of the enemy legion, picking them off in the middle of the night with quick raids, destroying supplies, and harrying them to the point of complete distraction. The cost, though, was terrible.

After two weeks, only five of the original 100 men remained. The cost, in purely military terms, was a bargain. An entire legion had been tied up for a lengthy period of time, and bled of supplies and experienced men.

Roland was personally congratulated by the legate of the legion, his name inscribed in the rolls of honor. But the task had taken its toll. His brothers-in-arms, almost to the man, were gone. The question truly began loom in his mind: why am I fighting?

A civil war, in the service of a duke. Though he recognized that he did his duty, and did it very well indeed, he found no sense of fulfillment. He began to question the whole of his career. How many men had he killed? How many men had died at his command? For what?

He left military service in 505AG, a veteran and, though no triumphs were thrown in his honor, a hero. Those few men who knew what he accomplished hailed him as one, though to this day he only believes he did his duty. A duty that, in retrospect, seems little more than a convenient excuse for the butchery of men.

Present and Future:

Where does a soldier go when he's no longer a soldier? Roland has been out of service for a year, and in the meantime has done little more than guard shipments of weapons and other valuables across the Isle of Guardian. Exceptionally skilled with a sword, a dagger, and a pilum, he has the skills of a warrior, honed by years of use.

But to what end? He seeks a purpose. Killing men, while sometimes necessary, is a thing he no longer wishes to do, and certainly not because one nobleman seeks to injure another nobleman. He seeks a nobler purpose. The question really is...will he find one?