My mother was the daughter of an Irish cattle lord near the Wicklows. She was promised to the son of a Scots Gallowglass Chieftain at an early age. They were wed to form an alliance between the two families.

While my grandfathers were none too fond of each other, they realized that each needed the other. The Irish needed a steady supply of soldiers to protect their lands from their neighbors and the Scot needed a constant influx of money to supply his men with arms and food. I do not know that my parents loved each other, only that they too understood the responsibilities involved with the alliance of families.

My early life was nothing out of the ordinary for a well off boy in Erin. My numbers and letters were taught to me with liberal application of a priest's rod. I was taught philosophy and rhetoric along with the writings of Caesar and Alexander, as befitted the son of Scots warrior family.

My life has had many changes in direction. In the beginning it was assured that I would inherit the land and properties of my grandfather as the only male heir. My family would have had an alliance between my cousin and myself across the water in Alba. We would have been a powerful force to recon with, calling to mind the days of the powerful Irish Lords before the Henry brought the Sassenach to Erin. What would my life have been had fate not stepped in?

The first drastic change in my life was the death of my mother. While my father and his kin supported the Desmond to the south, Elizabeth once again tried to regain control of the Pale. It mattered not that my mother's family had lived on our lands since time immemorial; we had no right to what was to belong to the English that were forced upon Erin. The English soldier came one day, telling my grandfather that he was responsible for raids into the Pale and deaths of the Queens subjects. I was taken a safe distance away by the cousin of my father. When my grandfather tried to defend himself from these accusations, the Lord Deputy's man shot him. Our home was burned, my mother and her family hanged as traitors to Her Majesty.

We traveled into the Wicklows, where my father asked his cousin to take me across the water where I would be much safer. He and his kin were required to continue the fighting for the Desmond. I am told that he died shortly after we left, when meeting Scrope on the field.

The next part of my life was spent near Lochlomond, raised by the father of my father and his kin. With the same intensity that I studied Caesar, I studied the use of sword, musket and polearm. My Grandfather took note of my talents for warfare, and deemed that I was worthy to be a soldier in the long line of soldiers produced from the blood of his sires.

With the favor of my Grandfather came the avarice from the sons of my fathers' older brothers. They deemed me a threat to what they felt was their right. Grandfather, being an avid supporter of Mary, thought it best to use an asset such as myself to further his interests. When I had grown, a position was secured for me amongst the personal guard of Charles of France. It was hoped that I would rise in the ranks and gain further privilege for my father's family. This was the next change in my life.

Whiles serving in the Ecossais du Roi, I earned my wages fighting the Huguenot and the Bourbon and any other army Charles deemed to be a threat. My talents and education earned me a position as an officer in the Kings own bodyguard, which won me some notice by Charles.

Once again, my life and future seemed assured. And yet again, all was changed, as my faith would be challenged. In the year of our lord 1572, on the feast of St. Bartholomew, we were ordered to march on Protestants in Paris and the surrounding countryside. My captain, myself and our men were ordered to attack a small village outside of Paris known to support the Huguenot Protestants on the day that Navarre and Margot Valois were wed. Our orders specifically stated that no mercy was to be shown to the people that had defied their King and the Holy Father in Rome.

Our muskets fired into the poorly armed groups of peasants, our axes and swords bit deeply into their unarmored flesh: so it is to be a soldier fighting for the glory of God and the King.

When the slaughter ended, we stood facing the remnant of the village. Men too old to fight, women and children: those unable to defend themselves. I was ordered by my captain and friend to take my men and "dispose" of the "heretical filth." When I questioned these orders, I was taken into custody by my men and escorted back to camp to await sentencing and execution for my "treasonous" act of defying the orders of the King. It was only by good fortune and the aid of an Irish lad that had served with me for many months that I made good my escape from the gallows. Once again, I experienced change in my life.

D'armait, my rescuer and I decided we would no longer attack and slay undefended peasants for the "greater glory" of anyone. This left us with a very perplexing question: how do professional soldiers make a living without fighting? The answer was simple, they don't.

Thinking long and hard over the issue, D'armait and I remembered the poorly armed villagers outside of Paris attempting to defend their kin from an attack from the king. We realized warfare is not only attack, but defense as well.

Our time in the Ecossais had taught us well what defenses work well against a heavily armed and armored opponent. And as sure as we had a resolution to our first problem there came another. Two men, who wish to survive, cannot defend a tree, much less a city by themselves. We set about forming our company.

The native French, being suspicious of foreign soldiers (no matter how good their intent), refused to either follow a traitor to the crown, or serve under the Kings foreign savages from the Isles (dependant upon their faith).

We traveled far a field looking for bold men to answer our call to arms. What we found was that many of our fellow foreigners (the Scot and the Irish at least) had come to France to make their way in the world, away from the troubles at home. Being foreign to the French, they found it difficult to keep food on the tables for their families.

Sitting down with our Gaelic brethren, we discussed their problems as well as that of ourselves. Finding a solution to both sets of problems was rather simple: they needed money to feed their families, D'armait and I needed fighting men that had no issue with being led by "savages from the Isles." We finally had our troops. Many of these folk were not "professional" soldiers per say. Most of them being born on the Isles knew how to handle themselves on the field, whether fighting the English in Erin, or being involved in deadly feuds with their neighbors throughout their lives. They were as their ancestors had been, folks that had grown up fighting for one cause or another.

We had our band to begin training. Now, all that was needed was a way to identify us as a unit, and a contract: these two dilemmas were solved almost simultaneously. One evening while sitting around a table during one of our many drunken discussions, an old blacksmith recounted a tale from his youth (mind you I tended to listen rather closely to the old man, for he had a daughter that would capture my heart as well as my eye). His story was of an old, mean boar that had roamed the areas around his home as a child. No matter who hunted the old boar, or how seemingly grievous the wounds it received, it returned year after year, older and meaner. In our drunken state our moniker had come to us "The Company of the Black Boar," or tripping more easily off the Gaelic tongue: Torc Dubh.

A few days later, a young French herald approached us from the city of La Rochelle. He had come looking for soldiers to help in the defense of the city against the King, who had recently declared war on La Rochelle. The council of the city had refused to pay their taxes to Charles due to the massacre on St. Bartholomew's day, and as a reprisal the crown was marching on the city. After agreeing to a hefty sum for our participation in the defense, we broke our camp and began moving our fighting men to La Rochelle with great haste, leaving only an escort force for our baggage train.

La Rochelle is a city situated on the coast south west of Paris. Although the siege laid upon the city by Henri d'Anjou, the brother of Charles cost us dearly in men, it failed to break the Protestant defenses. The ability of the city to re-supply by sea made the siege an utter failure. The siege train of d'Anjou, with the protestant leader Henri de Navarre as hostage, was eventually forced to a truce with the Protestant leaders and a treaty was signed. While they had come to terms with the Catholic crown, it was obvious that the Protestant leaders were not satisfied with the terms of the treaty.

After lining out the terms the mutual agreement of our little band, we learned quickly that our brethren had been exposed to new thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. Followers of the teachings of Calvin and Luther fought alongside those that followed the doctrine of the Holy Father in Rome. More than once, these opposed views have brought us to brawl amongst ourselves. However, our common heritage has allowed Torc Dubh to forge itself into a closely-knit family.

It matters not at all, the beliefs of those that would take us into service. We care not about their philosophies: as long as they maintain their portion of our agreement we will defend their families, subjects, lands and properties.

On many occasions I have been asked why our company fights so determinedly to defend the lands and cities of our benefactors. It is another very simple answer: in addition to the large numbers of men who have added themselves to our ranks; their families often join them. Should we fail to successfully defend what we are contracted to defend, not only would our benefactors loose their properties, but we our families as well. These folk that we prize so highly as to sell our lives dearly are not the common camp followers and loose skirts that have trailed behind armies from the earliest of times, they are the wives, children and families of our men.

Unlike the roving bands of soldiers throughout the continent, it is not our custom to discard those that are aged. The experiences and talents of our elders are invaluable. Those men, who can no longer serve upon the field or the walls, add their years of experience to the exuberance of youth by assisting in the training of our men. Those of our women unable to help rearm our men on the field, or pull our wounded from the lines, lend their aid by helping in support positions behind the lines of battle as well as the tending of children. One should not assume that our women are helpless; they have served on the field in times of need, using a pike or musket as well.