The son and heir of a major warlord of the Flag. As such, raised largely by his mother and legions of servants while his father was away serving the Flag's rapacious appetite for other lands. As a child, he cared for his father largely because his mother obviously did.
It was inevitable that he would follow in his father's footsteps as the lord of the Mark, and therefore be a warlord. In this regard, he could ride as soon as he grew large enough that could stay in a saddle by himself. He learned the arts both academic and warlike from the best tutors available, scholars his father had met at court and veterans from his armies.
He exhibited a preference for the academic arts as a young child, but after the first time his father came home and Felix saw his how his mother loved the battle-worn general, he put his effort into becoming more like that, to please her. Nevertheless, he never stopped devouring books, even if more of them were treatises on war, and he showed a marked preference for the pistol over the sword.
Upon reaching his majority at 16, Felix joined his father's current campaign, given command of a scout section. The next two years he spent learning about war in a more personal manner, distinguishing his unit several times with dangerous scounting movments and showing a vicious but well-placed tendency to hard-hitting first strikes.
Felix was working closely with his father during the years of his first campaign, the first time he had ever seen him for more than a week or two at a time. He quickly developed respect, and more slowly affection for the general.
Sometime in his 18th year, leading several sections of scout cavalry in a lightning raid to scout a potential battlefield for the next major push on the front, Felix found his command blocked from all possible paths, seemingly by the same group of men, moving impossibly fast to get in his way no matter how hard he pushed his own men. His unit was large enough and the raid important enough to rate a mage; the man was picked off in the first clash.
As the raid was thrown back repeatedly over the next several sleepless days, Felix grew more and more distant, snapping at his men and seeming generally unlike himself. However, just as the men are starting to wonder if, just this once, they should head back, he seems to snap out of it, and extorts the men to one more try, no matter how hopeless it might seem. The scouts smile among themselves, knowing Felix has a pretty good record on hopeless victories. He leads them along a twisting and well-hidden trail, with no indication as to how he discovered it; however, the resulting charge through the morning mist takes the enemy apparently by surprise for once.
Felix himself rode directly through the centre of the enemy camp without spilling blood, drew a pistol and put a shot straight into the face of the mage.. who grins as the lead ball slows to a halt and drops to the ground, inches away from him. Felix sighed, put away the pistol and proclaimed, "You're dead." He turned his horse and rode away, drawing his sabre to strike at a man pulling himself from the wreckage of a tent, ignoring the mage behind him as the man's grin fixed itself on his face and he keeled over.
A week later, Felix's father's army rolled over the opposing force in the valley Felix had finally scouted. Felix isn't there, sent home to Eskenmark with the general's most trusted mage the hour after he delivers his report. His unit was given significant honors; more than half of them recieve them posthumously.
(You'll get this later; I need to work out some things about Valdy first)
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