Fferrir was born to the noble house of Eissenvis, a house of famous warriors and commanders. His father was Tarvost Vitrus, a man lacking in fame but undoubtably honorable, who held a position as the head of the city watch for fourteen years. Unfortunately, Fferrir was less interested in following his fathers example than he was in abusing the freedom his connections to the city watch gave him. From when he was twelve to his twentieth year, Fferrir lived in decadence, callously disobeying the law whenever it pleased him.
That ended. Fast. Upon his twentieth birthday his father forced him into the military, with the belief it would teach him the value of honor and glory. It did, in a way. After going too far in his disrespect for a superior officer, Fferrir was beaten, kept in isolation, starved, deprived of sleep and tortured in every other way short of thumbscrews for three months, the army's way of dealing with those who didn't follow orders. When a war broke out with the nearby kingdom of Destal he was finally freed from his punishment, and rejoined the corps.
His first skirmish was hardly his last, nor was it any place for a new recruit. The army was forced to march up a mountain, as the enemy rained down arrows, catapulted stones, and poured troops upon them. It was one of the bloodiest battles in his world's histories, with thousands of casualties on his side, and less than a hundred on the side of the Destalis. Eventually however, they managed to storm the fortress, forcing the foe to retreat or be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Fferrir survived only due to the rigorous training he had received since birth, and even then it was luck his life was not ended by a stray arrow.
Between sudden exposure to the various and sundry horrors or war, including the loss of his right pinky finger, the brutal torture, and severe psychological issues, Fferrir emerged from his first battle a significantly different man. A war hero, to be precise, due to leading the charge that finally broke the gates of the fortress. He was promoted to sergeant, and in the many battles against the Destalis that followed, he proved himself again and again in his ruthlessness and sheer determination to win. Nothing but complete inability to continue would force him to turn back, and amazingly, it worked.
When the war was over, he was a general, known as a butcher, both of his own men and of the enemy. Despite the losses the army sustained under his leadership, he was also an excellent tacticians, and the enemy's losses were far greater, earning him the king's favor. It was by his hand that the peace treaty was signed, and in return he was offered the hand of a Destalis princess in marriage. Against his better judgement, Fferrir allowed the king to persuade him to marry her, despite his reluctance, in order to ensure the peace remained.
When he returned to his home city, a conquering hero married to a foreign princess, he was a legend, and his first act was to challenge his own father to a duel for the house of Eissenvis. There was no "duel". The campaign against the Destalis had lasted twenty years, and his father was an old man. It was a slaughter. Fferrir took possession of an ancient artifact that had long been handed down his family line, a bracer that gave the wearer impenetrable armor. Eagerly donning it, he discovered immediately why his father never wore it. Although indeed, the armor it granted was all but indestructible, it also attached itself to him like a second skin, one he could never remove.
At that point though, he was beyond caring. Battle, honor and glory were his life, his reason for being, his only reason for being. And with the peace, he was left purposeless. He went a little mad, more so than before, left alone in his mansion with only his wife, who's touch he could no longer feel. Soon the king grow weary of Fferrir's endless refusal to attend ceremonies, formal parties, and other such affairs, an annoyance matched only by Fferrir's poor manners when he did see fit to attend.
What's more, relations with Destal where steadily growing worse, and in the end, the king decided to grant Fferrir his wish of a war to fight. By sending an assassin to kill Fferrir's wife. It worked. She was killed, her pretty throat slit, and war erupted over her murder, as she was royalty. However, the king had overestimated Fferrir's desire for battle weighed against his growing obsession with honor. He did not love his wife, he did not enjoy her company, nor even regret her loss. But he could not abide what the king had done, in murdering her in such a way, in Fferrir's own house. Fferrir cursed the king in public, revealing all he had done in the king's name, a thousand brutal war crimes, before swearing an oath to leave and never return. And that's exactly what he did, unable to bear the stain of dishonor that now tainted his entire world.