Ol' Ran'll Cobb

[Wyatt]

Profile

Full name: Ran’ll Cobb (Often introduces himself as Ol’ Ran’ll
Age: 50
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 21 Hammer 1310 DR
Place of birth: Triel farmlands
Alignment: DM Only
Patron deity: DM only
Profession: Hermit, Survivalist, Guide, Protector of the Wild
Classes: DM only
Primary language: Common
Secondary languages: Talk to him and find out!

Physical description: A rugged, rawboned, human man of perhaps fifty winters. Freezing, long, hard, bitter cold winters from the looks of it. His hair is the color of dark, burnished copper and falls in a tangled mass to his shoulders within his green, antlered cowl. A single green eye peers out from within, the other long closed from some trial that has left its scars across his face and bared skin.

As you take him in you see he is clad in earthtones, greens, browns, and grays that cover enough for modesty but little more. He appears unkempt and careworn both his skin and clothing bearing deep creases from little care and hard use. His hands are large, and the thick fingers bear heavy callouses on the dark, grimy skin. On his feet are simple thonged, wooden sandals.

He does not appear to be a man of war, bearing only a simple shield of hide stretched over wood. The weapons adorning his belt look more utilitarian in nature, a simple camp knife and gathering sickle.


Psychological description: This man is obviously uncomfortable in social situations and always remains on the periphery. On the rare occasions that he speaks it is slow and thoughtful as if unfamiliar or at least unpracticed with the simple forming of words and thoughts. It does not seem to bely a lack of intelligence. If anything, it almost conveys…disinterest with conversation. He spends the majority of his time simply observing, sniffing, listening, studying. In fact, he is studying you right now. All in all he appears discomforting, as if he does not quite belong. In fact, it is hard to think of a place where he would belong…


Religious views: DM Only

Biography

Family Ran’ll Cobb has no living immediate family, nor any extended family at least of which he is aware. (see history)


History The Cobb family history is a woeful tale far too common in the struggle for survival. A poor farming family trying to eek out a living at the outskirts of Triel, several generations living on a single farm they survived longer than most but ultimately fell to the constant perils of the surrounding wilds.

Ran’ll was the youngest of 9 children, barely 5 years old when the homestead on the eastern edge of Triel was razed to the ground by marauding gnolls venturing far from the Reaching Woods for meat…and terror. Providence found him shirking his chores and playing in the woods, that same providence responsible for sparing his life. The boy was no stranger to the forests, often scampering off to chase squirrels, climb trees, and sneak berries to stave off the ever-present hunger of a family living on the ragged edge.

Returning to find his home burned and family slaughtered…or missing…he wandered in to the town of Triel, a waifish urchin pilfering what little he could and subsisting mostly on the charity of those barely more fortunate that himself, mainly out of pity for his loss. Still he found himself slinking off to the woods more often than not finding some small solace in his childhood refuge.

One summer day, while engaging in the sort of heroic make-believe games that young boys are wont to do, a strange hermit happened upon him. The rickety old man asked the boy’s name and what he was doing in the perilous woods alone. The scrawny boy, full of more vinegar than sense puffed out his chest and stood his ground, claiming that these were his woods and that he was there to keep all the bad things away and all the good people safe, all whilst brandishing a “sword” which looked suspiciously like a tree branch.

The hermit paused and studied the boy for several uncomfortable moments before finally permitting a faint smile to touch the corners of his mouth. Guarding his forest, was he? What was he guarding it from? When the boy regaled the hermit with the tale of his family’s plight, (and not a few sniffles were poorly concealed) the hermit made an offer. Perhaps then, he would like some help to punish those responsible and truly learn how to care for the forest.

Ran’ll, too young to have learned caution and too naïve to know fear, asked the hermit what sort of help. The hermit replied with no words, but with something far more interesting and irresistible to a boy of eight. He began to change, to ripple, his form crunching and distending into that of a striped tiger. The boy, too fascinated to run, watched in awe as the tiger moved closer, rubbing his hundreds of pounds of muscled bulk against the lad before batting him to the ground and pinning him there with a paw the size of his entire chest.

The tiger roared once, showing conquest, before removing its paw and sitting back on its haunches, cocking its head at the boy for the boy rose and did not run, but merely nodded his ascent to the offer of aid. With no more words exchanged, the tiger rose and padded off deeper into the woods setting a pace that the young urchin could maintain, if only barely.

The years that followed passed in a blur, but only rarely was the boy seen again by the villagers of Triel. Stories spread that the boy had fun afoul of the same peril that had killed his family. Hands were wrung and hats held as folks whispered of the terrible misfortune, a warning tale to others thinking to scratch out a living outside the safety of the log palisade.

Decades later though, strange happenings began to be reported. After a particularly poor harvest, woven baskets of wild edibles would be found left near the wall, and game, freshly killed as well. During drought, the fields would be oddly moist some mornings just before crops began to die off. Disobedient children that would play in the woods would tell odd tales, immediately discounted and punished by their elders yet suspiciously consistent across even those whom did not regularly spend time together.

They would tell wild tales of dangers in the woods, and of unusual circumstances saving them from those same dangers. Sometimes it was the ground rising up to conceal them from a ravenous wolf passing by, or the cry of some terrible beast frightening off a wild cat. One even told of a lone gnoll being turned to stone by something that looked like a grey bull. Yes, surely the wild imaginings of fanciful children. But the rumors and folktales did grow. The children would tell each other tales of Ol’ Ran’ll, the protector of the woods. He was old, and fierce looking with his scarred face and single eye, but not in a mean way. He was nice to them, they’d say. They never had to be scared to play in his woods.