Drokgul the Gaunt Champion Lore
Drokgul the Gaunt appears in legends spanning almost all of Teleria, renowned as a lonely Ogryn who wanders the wilderness. Most believe that in his quest for enlightenment he has become part of the landscape itself, as natural a phenomenon as the sunrise over the mountains, snows in winter, or the crash of the waves against Aravia’s craggy coast. Less known is that his wanderings were born out of rage.
Like many Ogryn during the Gray Age, Drokgul was restless and quick to anger. After one clash too many with his kin, he was exiled from his home in the Redspike Mountains. In his rage he stormed away with no clear destination in mind, and simply kept going. On Drokgul walked, driven by his prodigious Ogryn stamina, encountering many peoples and places he had known nothing of before. He trekked with the Orcs in Kaerok, through the blistering sands of the Krokhan with the desert Nomads, and even reached the far-off Mistwood, where he lived for a while with the Sylvan, traveling from treetop to treetop.
Step by step, the rage that had once defined him drained away. How could there be a place for thoughtless anger in a world as vast and varied as the one he now wandered? Over the years, Drokgul witnessed kindness and happiness and the desire of other communities to live peacefully. His travels brought him an inner stillness, and a new enlightenment that he slowly but surely explored. As his appreciation for the nature of Teleria itself grew, he felt a response from the magics of the land, from the rock and soil, and wind and rain. The energies of the elements filled him with fresh vigor, allowing him to continue what was now a quest for deeper understanding. Age and weariness became as unknown to him as they were to the great stones of the earth. For many years he walked, and life was good, though always he sought a keener knowledge of the meaning of his existence.
Eventually, Drokgul returned to the Redspike Mountains, to the great rock that was the seat of his tribe. He hoped to find the descendants of his people there, to express his regret at his past rage and share what he had learned, perhaps setting them upon their own path to enlightenment. To his dismay, however, he discovered that they were gone, their fate unclear, perhaps driven away or dispersed. Filled with sorrow, Drokgul settled upon the outcrop he had once played atop as a child, his back against a stony pinnacle, and reached into the earth with his elemental powers. He sought to be subsumed by Teleria itself, to become truly one with its nature, and so pass over into the magics of the land beneath him.
Drokgul’s efforts were only partially successful. He awoke after centuries to find that his body and mind remained separate from the natural forces around him, though he was more connected to them than ever before. His skin was now rugged and rock-like, and his mind sang with the wind, cognizant of every blade of grass, every bird call.
Drokgul was also aware of great pain. His spirit now bound so thoroughly to Teleria, he felt not only its untamable and wild soul but also its agony. Discord was growing across the land, as forces led by Siroth conspired to rip apart the world Drokgul knew and cherished. He realized he could not remain in the Redspike Mountains forever. If he was to ensure that Teleria was not destroyed, he would have to leave his home once more and fight.
When Drokgul broke his stony bonds and dragged himself to his feet, it took time for him to fully awaken his own senses and overcome his shared agony. When he eventually did, he discovered that a new people had sprung into being around him. These people bore a striking resemblance to the roving Norr Drokgul had met on his ancient wanderings, and they had settled around his rock, not realizing that he was anything other than an extension of the stone beneath. At first they were terrified, but Drokgul convinced them that he meant no harm. Drokgul set about teaching them the ways of Teleria, seeing in them a kindred, wandering spirit, but he knew he could not remain for long. Bidding his new friends farewell, Drokgul recommenced his great trek. He took with him a boulder from the pinnacle he had rested against and chained it to his back as a symbol of his link to Teleria, determined to carry it with him always. His purpose now he believes is to preserve the sanctity and existence of Teleria, in defiance of the forces that would wreak destruction upon it.
Drokgul the Gaunt Storyline
Long before the first humans set foot to the vast tundras of Telerian north, it was an untamed land of spirits and mysteries. Trollfolk dwelled amid the craggy mountains and grassy hills, their rule unchallenged for many centuries. For most of them, it was a simple existence unburdened by the calamities of change or naive dreams of progress. But even among such simple creatures, a spark of genius can be found. Drokgul had seen much strife in his youth, for his temperamental nature led him to fight his kindred over hunting grounds, spoils, even minor insults. No clan, no matter how small or desperate, would accept him, and his rivals soon banded together to defend themselves. So it came to pass that Drokgul was driven from his home and forced into exile. For many winters he roved alone, resentful and full of anger. Yet in this solitude, Drokgul had time enough to brood over his fate as he scraped a living in the northmost wastelands where the chilly breath of winter was his constant companion. Eventually, he came to a startling realization. All his grief and hardship were the result of his own failings, no one else’s. Struck by this truth, Drokgul vowed to find enlightenment and break free from the vicious cycle of violence he had created. So began his long path to wisdom. Many roads did Drokgul travel. He went as far as the arctic wastes of Teleria, where he learned as much as one could of Jotuns and their rune scripture. Then to the south, where he first encountered the primitive humans and studied their customs. It was far past a century before Drokgul returned home, a wisened and weary elder. He made his dwelling on a tall rocky hill, where he practiced what magic he learned from the northern giants and sought unity with nature. His very skin turned to rock in time, and his life lasted far beyond even that of a troll. Empowered by arcane energies, Drokgul became akin to a spirit of nature himself, tending to his domain and bringing his wrath on those who would threaten it. Then, the humans came. These were simple folk, blood-bound clans that fled northwards from some unnamed terror. To them, the ancient and powerful creature was like a god – a misunderstanding that amused Drokgul greatly. Yet he struck a pact with the barbarians, letting them settle the valley ‘neath his home in exchange for sacrifices of game and cattle. Over generations, Drokgul remained a mystical guardian whose knowledge of runes and magic inspired many young shamans and led the clans living under his protection to prosperity. But alas, evil does not rest. When the tainted servants of Siroth swept across the land, not even Drokgul’s strength was enough to defend his human allies. Many were slaughtered, others were forced to flee. And the noble troll found himself wounded and enraged at such iniquity. It was then he swore another oath – to find vengeance for those he could not protect. One final time did Drokgul set out from ravaged homeland, his gaze turned to the south. Where he walks now, few can say. But any enemy of Siroth would be blessed to recruit this venerable Champion’s strength to their cause.