Delving in Konrarakas
A tall, stocky half-orc draped in pelts and the usual wild ornaments of a druid - torc, bracelets, and armbands, weird fetishes of hide, ivory, and bone - animal and humanoid, - adorning his arms and legs, and an immense brown brown at his heel.
Str – 15 Dex – 13 Con – 17 Int – 12 Wis – 19 Cha – 8
Fort +8, Ref +3, Will +9
AC 16 (+1 leather, MW heavy wooden shield) Atk +8 Battleaxe, +7 throwing axes/sling
Animal companion – Garg, brown bear
Cylgar was born into a noble household. Festivities were prepared, toasts proposed, and songs sung to praise to birth of a new lordling – that is, until the midwife got a good look at the creature she had just helped birth. Unbeknownst to all but his mother, Cylgar was not the son of a lord, but of a series of trysts between his lady-mother and a roughneck barkeep. Quick words were exchanged between those attending the lady’s chambers, and a still-birth was announced and mourned, and the child buddled up and dropped on the father’s doorstep along with a small purse and a promised stipend. But knowing nothing of children, the surly bartender arranged to hand the child off to the first band of gypsies he found, claiming the parents had run afoul of the fey-creatures and been left with a hideous changeling.
So, Cylgar spent his earliest years with the traveling wayfarers, until, in his adolescence, he began to show signs of having “the Sight”. Fearful of having a curse-hurler in their midst, the gypsies handed the boy off yet a third-time to a wandering holy man. The shaman, a druid, began to teach the boy the secrets of the Grove, the ways of the Verdant Father, and the harnessing of his abilities. Then one crisp autumn night, while wandering through the woods, the young mabinog (now called Cylgar – “gathered-in” in his foster’s secret tongue), heard a strange weird howl tear through the night air, stirring a long-forgotten hunger in his soul. The cries grew louder and louder until he saw, breaking into a moonlit clearing, a legendary stag, the moon’s beams sparkling on his silvered antlers. Then, suddenly there burst into the clearing four massive hounds, silvered and skeletal, with a strange witch-light burning in their eyes and spiraled runes adorning their bodies. The hind, in all its matchless splendor, made to bolt from the glen, but the beasts were too fast. The great beast was cornered and lowered its immense head to fight.
Then suddenly a silver shaft of light tore through the night air, and transfixed the great stag through its chest. It pawed at the fey-hounds feebly, but quickly fell to the ground. At this, Cylgar turned to see an immense phantom steed, tredding upon flaming hooves, glide over the forest tree-tops. Seated upon this black charger, a huge silver bow in hand, sat a giant, clad in the silver arms of a great warchief. Upon his shoulders rested a helm crested by an immense set of silvered antlers. The great hunter climbed down from his mount, shouldered his trophy, and returned to place it upon the great stallion, when Cylgar stepped on a dry branch, and its loud crack echoed through the night. The hounds turned to watch the young mabinog, as their master set his trophy down on the ground, and drew a single arrow from his quiver. Drawing a bead at the now frozen boy, he prepared to loose his shaft, when a glint of sunlight fell across the treetops. The giant relaxed his bow, turning to the sunrise then back to the boy. He nodded to the child, then gathered his kill, mounted his charger, and leapt over the western treetops and vanished into the retreating night.
Cylgar never truly recovered from this experience. He began asking questions and researching, and came to understand the nature of the Horned Lord and the legends of the Wild Hunt, but the image of the perfect hunter, the embodiment of the autumn, the reaper, never left Cylgar. As cylgar was initiated into the mysteries of the Grove, and grew in his abilities as a druid, the path of the reaper opened itself to him. He knew and loved green things and saw the beauty of the spring and the dawn. But his feet followed another path – the path of dust, the cold wind, the worm, the beetle, the spider and the carrion-crow. He saw the moon, but he was bewitched by the darkness between the stars. Such is it always for the Autumn-men, the Wild Reapers.
And so he follows the paths of the world, following the dust and the wind, searching for spent souls to fill up the graves, and restless souls to quiet.