Bones of the Dead Eleven
If Kon-dron had a family, he doesn’t talk about them. Indeed, very little of his childhood ever comes out in conversation at all – often, questioners will receive an outlandish remark about “being raised by wolves” and “wrestling bears for a meal in the morning.” Well, at the very least, it’s true enough. Kon-Dron was just a wee lad, as he puts it, when he was separated from his father on a hunting trip. At his age, he was a little too young, (and possibly, a little too dense,) to realize the danger he was in. That was when he felt nature’s call.
After a brief trip to the bathroom, Kon-dron found himself alone in the wilds, far west from Zoa, away from civilization and just a little bit lost. That was when he had to learn to survive.
Catching a grip on the primal forces of nature around him wasn’t something that Kon-dron was really able to explain – perhaps, sheer isolation and base survival instinct became a mode of meditation; possibly some hidden divine being’s blessing, or maybe, (though it would be highly unlikely and unscientific,) nature just saw him and liked his guts. Either way, if asked, the druid simply speaks of visions in his dreams and a raw primal instinct that keeps him in tune with the world around him. It was that instinct that drove him atop the Ka’asa Mountains, where he meditated, hunted, and wrestled the local fauna, occasionally trading his finds or services with nearby settlements, and that same instinct that pushed him back on a journey toward the city of Zoa – for what purpose, he was unsure, beyond a feeling of something significant about to happen.
For all his mysticism, Kon-dron makes himself off as a pretty carefree sort. He often seems more concerned with dinner and alcohol than he is any deeper implications of living, often referring to his way as the ‘wild side’; seeing ‘protection’ of nature from anything but the most vile and unnatural forces just as dangerous as careless razing of forests and mass necromancy.
Kon-dron is a fairly large, broad sort of fellow, with a surprising speed and quickness in his heavyset frame. Rough black hair and a short, thick beard on his face are by and large unkept, his skin tanned from years out in the wild. Kon-dron wraps himself in loose, heavy animal hides and carries a wooden staff, not wearing much else but a plain shirt and trousers beneath. He pretty clearly lacks social graces, not seem seeming to notice if he makes a faux pas or insulting remark in an offended party’s direction.
Kon-dron’s family, presumably, still lives in the rural areas outskirting Zoa, though they’ve surely aged since his twenty-some year absence. More recently, his trades and ritual service in one of the Dwarven mining settlements in the Ka’asa found him a drinking partner in one Fistbeard Ironale, though whether or not the stern Dwarf actually likes his presence is something that tends to get lost under all the alcohol.