Personality

Gruff and unlikeable to most, Falke is a particular character- he's crass and rude, but also knowledgeable and skilled when it comes to the arts of hunting and fighting. Loyal to a fault, he's protective of his family and friends and vengeful when wronged. He may not have magic, but he is strong in his own way, and stubborn to boot. Mages had better fear him- for once you've been assigned as his quarry, he perseveres until he has caught his game.

Honesty is a strength- perhaps too much of one. He doesn't know how to bend the truth or soften his gaze. Falke will be brutal in his honesty and his fighting, and struggles when authority orders him to do something against his morals. He is tough, but has a soft side for children- so long as they're not mages.

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History

In another life, Falke would have been content to hunt in the Sunless Jungle, chasing after creatures that harmed the common folk- bears, wolves, hell, even a cougar or two. Mages didn't often venture to Foxglen, the sleepy town south of Namarast where he had been born, as well as his mother and his mother's mother, going all the way back to the founding of Foxglen. The town stuck together- Falke's family had earned their last name for their skills in hunting, both for protecting the town and for bringing furs to the tanners- the Gerbers, another proud bovine family. Falke had been raised with his nose to the ground and his eyes to the woods, eager to uphold the family tradition. 

Learning in Foxglen wasn't much- reading, writing, basic arithmetic, and house skills- for the rest of the children's learning came in the fields, in the tanneries, in the bakeries and forests. They were self-sufficient, and didn't need no stinking magic- they were doing just as well without it, thank you very much. When attending school, Falke met his first friend that wasn't a brother, sister, or cousin- Jakob Müller, an equine, and a miller's son to boot. Whenever they weren't needed by their families as apprentices, the two would be causing chaos as only young ones could. Frogs would appear in enemies' beds, sheets hanging to dry would go missing, and the sound of sticks hitting each other as they sparred were prominent. 

Their friendship was solid, even into their late teens, as matches were made and their futures molded into their final forms. Jakob would marry the Melsbach's eldest daughter, Iris, someone he'd long been smitten with. Falke, who had long found both men and women attractive, found himself head over hooves for Eike Adler, a falconer. They were the handsomest sight on their wedding day, bedecked in green and gold, their hawk riding on their antlers. 

As Jakob and Falke grew older and even closer, so too did their spouses. They were a strange group- two hunters, and two millers- and yet they were family. They moved into little cottages on their family's estates, and dreamed of more. Jakob was the first to grow his family, with the little twins Ansel and Estel, two beautiful young equines. Bertram was born not long after- a lovely raven-colored cervine, a son that Eike and Falke could teach their ways. The two brothers-who-were-not-brothers watched their children play, and grow, and loved them with all their hearts. 

And then that love was stolen from them. 

A wandering mage stumbled into town one day, searching for food and drink. He helped himself to the baker's wares, the brewer's barrels, leaving a pittance of coin in return. Angry- and rightfully so- Falke and Jakob were called in by the people of Foxglen as muscle, to convince the mage to pay for what he stole. The mage resisted, and in doing so must have torn his soul to shreds, for the suid was no more, stretching and growing into a creature of bone and earth and shadow, eyes glowing a bright, sickly hue of orange. 

Falke picked up whatever he could find, throwing it at the creature, trying to lead it away from the town. Perhaps, if he moved quickly, he could hold it off for long enough for the mages to come in and clean up the mess one of their own had started. Jakob knew what his friend was doing, and so began to move the bystanders to a building, strong and sturdy, the safest place in town- the schoolhouse. 

With a mighty roar, Falke stood his ground-

Only to see the lumbering beast head after Jakob instead. Falke moved into gear, trying in vain to get the beast to turn around, to leave his best friend alone. It was no use. The thing, knowing how many lives were in that little schoolhouse, lumbered closer. 

Then the mages came- their magic flashing all sorts of dazzling colors, doing all sorts of wondrous things. They fought the beast, and Falke could only watch as it began to crumble.

He saw where it would fall- onto the schoolhouse, where his best friend was, where their children were, their partners. He ran, tried to get closer to the damned building- if he could not save them, then he could die with them-

The beast croaked one final time before falling onto the building, sending dust and debris everywhere. As Falke screamed, a piece of glass shattered outwards, slicing the side of his face. 

The silence after the crash was what he heard the most- the absence of those terrified screams, the stillness of the dust slowly settling to the ground. Unbelieving, he watched as the mages went off, to fight another day, and he was left alone to dig in the rubble. His horns were covered in dust and gore and broken things as he uncovered the bodies of Foxglen. Eike, their falcon beside them, shielding little Bertram. Iris, her equine body crushed. Ansel and Estel, practically unrecognizable. The Müllers, Jakob's parents and brother. The Böttchers. Too many of his own family, their weapons crushed and useless. Everyone in Foxglen- dead. Destroyed by uncaring mages cleaning up after a thieving, uncaring mage. 

Falke wept. Oh, would that he have been in the building, to be with his family again-

A moan, from deep within the rubble. 

No- there couldn't have been any survivors. Not with a mess like this. 

But- there it was again, a soft whimper of pain. 

Falke dug, frantically trying to save whoever was left alive in the rubble, throwing wood and plaster and tile away with worn-down horns. Gods, he prayed, let that person last, let them be-

He threw a beam off of a body, and there he was- Jakob. He was alive, just barely alive- but his legs, oh, his legs...

They were crushed and twisted, bleeding onto the stone foundation. Bleeding enough that he would surely be dead soon. Falke spun, screaming for anyone to help him, please help him- and someone did. 

A healer- not with magic but with plants, with herbs and knowledge- had been nearby. She came running, her pack filled with sutures and saws and whatever else healers carried. Together, they worked through the growing dark to save Jakob, the last one alive in Foxglen, other than Falke himself. 

And Jakob lived. He lost his hind legs, amputated due to the incredible damage they had sustained when the roof caved in on him. They were replaced with clockwork limbs, able and willing to carry a miller throughout his day. The two mourned- over Jakob's legs, yes, but also for their children, their partners, their town. It was no more, the people that had made it up all dead beneath the rubble of what was supposed to be the safest building in town. They left it to rot, to be overtaken by nature, for they had a better, more important mission now.

When Jakob had recovered, they immediately fled that graveyard of a town, heading straight for Miriam- the figure who was as anti-mage as they were. They told her their story, of the mages who had caused the deaths of so many, and were accepted into her ranks of Witchfinders. 

There would never be another incident like Foxglen- not under their damn watch.

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