Asghan is a man of large stature; he stands 7 foot 7 inches tall and weighs 316 pounds. His body is heavily muscled, favouring brute strength above mobility. His hair is short and black/brown, unkept and never combed. His skin is a dusky hue, marred with scars of varying kinds. Hair grows on his chest and arms as well as on his legs.
His face is roughly featured with a nose that has been broken twice. He is generally unshaved and a strand or two of his uncombed hair may hang down over his forehead. The feature that stands out most in his face is his eyes, who are a striking dark colour of blue. They are deeply seated in their sockets and framed by shadowy skin come from lack of sleep.
He wears a a brown coat of cured hide, the cut being simple and a brown pair of leather pants that he has obviously used for a very long time. His laced boots of leather are black and fitted with hardened and patterned soles for a firm grip on their footing.
His torso is covered by a black leather jerkin under the coat, kept tight to his midsection by a dark brown belt, broad like a girdle and triple buckled, to which many pouches and small belt bags have been attached.
On his hands he wears fingerless gloves, going back to his elbows. They are black and torn along the edges. Around his neck a gray hood rests, sown of strong waterproof cloth.
Over his back a pack is hung from a strap that travels over his shoulder, torso and back up from his waist. It contains the many items needed for travel and survival.
Strapped along the pack is a half-scabbard of hard brown leather. It holds a 7 foot long greatsword of peculiar design: Its hilt is more than long enough for two hands and the guard is a circle of steel, each side adorned with an intertwining pattern that orbits the central hole. Most notably, is the fact that while the hilt is attached to one end of the circle, the blade is attached to the opposing side: In between there is an empty hole, separating the two parts, leaving the circle itself to hold them together. The blade itself is thick and heavy, stretching straight from the hilt till its end where it stops without a point: Instead there is a point on each edge, jutting out horisontally at the end corners of the blade. Thus the sword forms a long sleek rectangle.

Background:

Asghan's history takes its beginning in the western parts of the Rawlinswood; in the east of what would later be known as Damara. It was in a cave in the the foothills of the Giantspire Mountains that the young Damaran woman Idun gave birth to a little son in the heart of winter. The birth was a prolonged and extremely strenuous, but the little woman, hardly more than a girl, was made from tough material and pulled through. She named him Asghan, after the dragonslayer of the far South, and sang softly to calm him down. The newborn opened his two eyes, just enough for her to make out their ocean blue colour, and looked at her during the song, and when she was done he yawned greatly and fell asleep.
Asghan spent his first seven years in life in that cave, learning from his surroundings and his mother about life and all there was to it. He was a small child, though strong for his size and agile like few. He was also very silent, but concidering that there was only one other person to speak to, this was perhaps no surprise. What Idun did find surprising was the blue colour of her son’s eyes, since the pre-Damarans were a swarthy bunch, but she figured that he had got it from his father.
When her son had reached the age of seven, Idun told him that they were going south, along the closest river to settle with other people. They packed and set out on their journey which brought them south along the Sidewinder River, until they came to a path that led into the forest. This they followed upstreams, after asking a journeyman who had recently been in the area, and thus came to the small village Illhem.
The villagers greeted the young girl, who introduced herself as Idun Ylvasdottr, with the courtesy hospitality called for. But they eyed the quiet boy that followed her closely like a shadow with inquiring looks on their faces, however. He didn’t say a word, but just looked darkly at all the strange people and his mood was calm, almost sleepy, as if his mind had been dulled by some drug.
“That boy’s not right,” they spoke when the two had established themselves an hour’s journey away from the settlement. People didn't like him, but it mattered little, since Asghan mostly stayed at home, in the cabin, while his mother went into the village. He didn’t seem as eager to meet the other children as his mother had hoped. This was one of the reasons for their moving; to introduce Asghan to other people than just herself.
When Asghan came into contact with the children the meeting was a nervous one, like dogs trying to find out each others' intentions. Asghan was still smaller than the other youths and when he proved so strange and silent they decided that he was no fun and treated him just as such. Bitter, he stayed away from them for a long time. But as Fate would have it, Asghan's small size was like a small ball of snow tumbling down the mountainside to grow into a great boulder of monstrous force. As he became ten he started growing rapidly, and by his seventeenth birthday he stood seven feet tall, broad of shoulders and great in strength. By now it was the other youngsters who steered clear of Asghan whenever he visited the village, which he did more often now.
But his size did not make him any more likable, and his visits were spent in silence, as if he was unsure of what to say to people. He soon grew tired of the eventless visits, though, and resigned to stay home with his mother, or out in the forest, plucking berries or some such.
And it was so; Asghan and Idun had grown very close in their isolation and in the teen years of Asghan that closeness would grow stronger. They spent most of their time together, talking (when Asghan felt like it) and making small items of use or adornment. Asghan had to learn to write using Thorass letters and to speak the Common Tongue; the trade language that was spoken among different cultures and races. Languages were never his gift, and he never learned to write in the Tongue, but settled with the Damaran writing. His mother also taught him to play the pan-flute and in the cold winter evenings the music of the two flutes would sound through the woods around the cabin as they practiced and entertained themselves.
The dark forest of spruce and pines that ruled the western Rawlinswood made good material for many eerie stories that Idun told her son; stories about trolls, giants, harpies and dwarves. But the woods were also stunningly beautiful in the weak light that forced its way through the gloomy blanket of clouds that would cover the skies during the chilly half of the year. The forest floor was covered in soft, but old, moss, as was the ancient boulders that lay scattered here and there. Idun said that it was great giants that had thrown the boulders to where they were, and Asghan believed her as he always did. How could he not? She was his mother, his world - his everything. The forest air was thick and warm during the summer, and the silence was only pierced by the singing of birds, or sometimes by the cawing of ravens. And the small stream that ran through Illhem and joined up with the Sidewinder River was beautiful by the twilight, when the mist rose from the moss and waters of the forest and lay thick. By this stream Idun and Asghan used to walk upstreams, away from Illhem, following it to the marshlands from which it sprung.
It was in Asghan seventeenth year that his relationship with his mother grew closer and more intimate than any society would accept. They fell in love with each other in their solitude and for a month they spent all their time in blissful closeness out in their cabin. But one day, one of the women, a friend of Idun, came out to visit. But when she came up to the cabin she found mother and son in bed with each other. Horrified, she hurried back to the village to let the people know of the ungodly act. Soon after, a small group of men arrived at Idun's doorstep to aprehend the two. Asghan flew at them with and axe and fought them. He killed two and refused to listen to the others' attempts to have him drop his weapon. They were forced to flee back home. Idun was devastated, not only because her incestous relationship with her son had been revealed, but also because Asghan was now a murderer.
The hour grew late, yet no sign of the villagers was seen. Idun asked Asghan to go to sleep; she would stay up a little while longer to make sure none snuck up on their house. Asghan, ever willing to do his mother's bidding and also very tired, did so and did not wake up until morning.
Upon awakening Asghan found that Idun had disappeared. He searched for her, but found no trace of her: It was as if the ground had swallowed her. Then, as the sun rose, he saw them; all of the able bodied men of Illhem were approaching, armed with spears, axes and bows. Seeing no chance of victory, should he fight them, Asghan turned and fled into the woods, chased and hounded by the men. It took him days to finally escape them.

Many years have gone since then, years that have seen Asghan traveling far and wide. He quickly turned to the sword in the absence of his mother and drifted from battlefield to battlefield, never asking why one side fought the other, never caring for a cause other than the fighting itself. His emotions dulled to less than smoldering embers deep within and thus he grew cold at heart; cold and uncaring.