I was born into a family of barristers of Norman descent. My father, Sir James Fairmont, fought with King Henry VII at the Battle of Bosworth, and my mother was the daughter of a respectable cloth merchant.

The formative years of my life were spent at the family's country home in Chelsea, a few miles west of London. My father, being a Justice of the King's Bench, spent much of his time in Westminster.

From an early age I was consumed by the desire to leave the slow paced life that I found country living to be and take up the life of an adventurer. My father would have none of it and expected me to follow him into the legal profession. Giving into my fathers will I attended Oxford and obtained a degree in law. While there I made many friends and acquaintances, many of whom were able to wield some degree of influence, which suited me nicely. Upon my departure I was able to procure a commission as an officer of foote, and was promptly sent to Calais, one of the few remaining vestiges of English power in France.

I learned my art on the battlefields of France, having served in King Henry VIII's various French campaigns. The greatest honor of my life came when I was knighted for bravery on the field of battle by the King himself.

In 1534 I was ordered to raise a company of men, and was subsequently sent to Ireland to help put down the rebellion of the Earl of Kildare. The manner of warfare fought in Ireland was at first totally alien to me, but soon I embraced the hit and run tactics of my enemies. The campaign climaxed at the siege of Maynooth Castle, the last stronghold of Kildare. My superior, Sir William Skeffington, the Lord Deputy of Ireland had the foresight to bring heavy  cannon from England, and we made short work of the castle's defenses.  Every man defending the castle  was put to the sword, a  task  entrusted to  my company of men. As distasteful as it was, we followed orders to the letter, and I was subsequently rewarded with command of the Garrison of Dublin. It is also from this event that my enemies have named me "the butcher of Dublin". This is not necessarily bad, for in my line of work it is better to be feared than loved.

Over the years my men and I have fought numerous petty rebellions with the brutal efficiency displayed at Maynooth, and the honors and rewards bestowed upon us are many.

When I think back to my boyhood in Chelsea, and my desire for adventure, I can't help but think that I got exactly what I wanted from life, and I wouldn't have it any other way.