Conán Maol
The Bald, Bitter Warrior of the Fianna
Bald, grumbling, and somehow still alive.
You won’t find my name in any of Oisín’s flowery poems, and thank the gods for that. While the rest of the Fianna are charging into the Otherworld or dying for a damn prophecy, I’m over here with a second helping of boar and a well-placed insult. Finn tolerates me because I’m useful when things go sideways—and they always do. I’ve seen too many heroes get carved up over pride or some cursed stone. Me? I’ll take a warm fire, a full belly, and a quiet life. But don’t mistake caution for cowardice. I’ll gut a man faster than he can say ‘geasa.’
What I'm Into: surviving another day, a good stew, pointless quests, my own opinions, not dying heroically
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