Can I be a Rune Duck?

Dunlad Unhaire


Male


Fifty-one


Luigibaid the Tiller


Dunlad is a squat man, solidly built, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest which attest to his toilings, although he has attained the inevitable paunch of old age (and perhaps too many a tankard of ale). His hair, once an obsidian black, is now dulled by streaks of grey; a coarse beard hides an angular jaw and frames a face well lined marked by the sun’s lashings; eyes the color of moist straw preside above all, and have been described as perhaps betraying too much of the man’s thoughts. Despite his hardy look, Dunlad isn’t as fleet of foot as he used to be; a limp from an old injury ensures that his pace is shuffling at best.


Dunlad is a stubborn man, but well intentioned. He has the bearing of a man who, having come into their wealth as an accident, has not learned the “finer” manners of the affluent. He tends to say that the only blessing he ever got was a level head and a green thumb. Overall, he believes (or rather, knows) that the root of all the clan’s endeavors is the food of their hearths, and he intends, shouting over the protests of the gallocmen and the craftsfolk and the God-Talkers, to make sure even the smallest mouths get what they deserve.


Dunlad was born into a family of humble, but respectable kerns (and who had always been kerns, save for one generation of red glory long since elapsed) and lived a good part of his life that way too. He learned the rhythms of the earth, its smells, its sounds, its subtle vibrations, through years of toil. He never complained about it; indeed, he didn’t mind it one bit. But his father wanted something more for him, and begged their landsman to send the lad to work in King Harlaus’ stables. Fortunately he acquiesced, and Dunlad found that he had a way of sorts with animals---some would say more so than with men. He proved an able rider and stableboy, so much so that the stablemaster (although loath to part with him) petitioned him to be trained at arms so that he might show the king’s gallocmen how a true Urlandi warrior rides.

However, the horse man’s hopes were dashed when Dunlad’s sword arm was not wrought of as stern a stuff as his farmer’s shoulders. Nonplussed, though perhaps a little relieved, he returned to the stables and was able to eke out a living for a time. But when his father passed on, after Dunlad had weathered twenty-five Moon Seasons, he returned to the old landsman’s, and worked as his stablemaster in between lending a helping hand during sowing and harvesting time. He kept his head low, and his lip tight (though that is not to say that he didn't’ have his opinions, especially when lubricated with beer and with a few trusted comrades around the fire) and he managed to find himself a wife that said she loved him (how he she could feel that way for a man like him he never understood); he never much bothered with saber-rattling, God-Talking (save for the requisite adoration of his own patron, Luigibaid, and Aire, and Urak too), and clan magic himself. But he watched, and he listened, and he worked.

That is, until Harlaus thrust Clan Aonghus out into the cold, off their ancestral lands, like they were cattle thieves who had stolen into his camp in Pale Season. Dunlad never tasted bitterness like that before, not even when he drank from that cask of brew that Yuri’s grandfather had forgot about twenty seasons ago. With the old landsman, almost an octogenarian, he departed to the Hidden Valley. He couldn’t make the journey. With no children to speak of, the landsman left what remained of his estate---heirlooms, horses, cattle, and all---to Dunlad.

He walked into the Valley a rich man; and although woebegone to have left behind so much, he knew that here, he could begin afresh. Fields must needs be plowed, pastures allotted, seeds sown. Dunlad was given his own kerns to work with, and his egalitarian demeanor quickly won him their favor. After a time, he was chosen to join the Council by popular consensus, representing the interests of the landmen and the kerns---although not all of his fellow landsmen are too keen on that.


Dunlad has always been content with his lot in life. His greatest desire has always been to work for his family, see the wheat ripened and reaped, the animals watered and fed, the clan prosperous. For this he might seem a perfect fit for the Council---a selfless servant of the greater good. However, the exodus to Hidden Valley has spawned within him hitherto unfangled ambitions, particularly for his sons, whom he’s endeavored to raise as the gallocmen he never could be.


Dunlad’s goal is the survival and prosperity of the clan and its farmers. Although he recognizes the critical importance of the other clan groups, he tries his best to ensure that the field laborers are given their place of proper importance alongside the more bellicose.


Dunlad’s estate is relatively spartan, a form of living to which he is well accustomed, and much to the chagrin of his sons and wife. His fields, however, are spacious, and ample heads of cattle roam his pastures along with a herd of fine horses. The treasures given to him by his former master, including a variety of well honed weapons, are given the place of honor, in sparse contrast to their surroundings.

• Thick-Skinned - You can withstand inclement and unpleasant weather. +1
• Farmer - You know a lot about crops, and that makes you a vital part of the community. +1
• Rider - You are of above-average skill at horse riding, and are able to make use of a horse in combat. +1
• Affluent - You belong to the (very thin) upper crust of society, and have the wealth to prove it. +3
• Reputable - You have a spotless and respected reputation. +2
• Animal Whisperer - You form natural bonds with wild animals. At least, the tamer ones. +2
• Lame - You have a limp. -1
• Heavy Eater - You have a big belly. -1
• Drunkard - You have an alcohol dependency, and a tendency to get drunk obnoxiously and often.-2
• Slow - You cannot move quickly.-2