My Father was a Fir-Bolg warrior of some repute with much fear behind his name. I never knew him. I was a child of violence, my mother the satiation of the lust that can so often follow the blood of battle. The stories told say that my father was never content with the rulers of this land, and that he strove against the Sons of Mil. They also say he was of the blood of Sreng. I have found the truth of this and find comfort in it. There is noble blood in that decent. Ask any bard about Sreng and you will be well pleased at the story you hear Whatever the decent he was a violent, wild beast that in the end would be put down like a rabid monster before I ever met him.

My mother was a flower picked straight from a secluded meadow. She would shine with all the glory of her inner self for all to see. She was well liked and cherished in the village that I was born in. That love and acceptance didn’t apply to me. I was the son of a monster. My birth ravaged my mother; she never fully regained her strength. My very birth took from me the one shelter I had in this world. I was eight when she finally succumbed to an illness any other could have fought off.

Without her protection I was driven from the village left to fend for myself, I learned fast how to hunt and fish and to clothe myself in the raiment’s of nature. For many years I lived this way. Alone in the woods, preying upon a fat merchant every now and then. I was not proud.

Then I met Finn. Here was a different man than others. He was neither a Miliesian nor a Fir-Bolg. He had the Blood of the Tuatha-de-Danna in him and he as well was intrigued with me, as both our kinds were disappearing from the land. We traveled together and he told me about his duties and his obligations. I was intrigued, the blood of Sreng rising up in me seeking to find glory and honor once more. We built our friendship and traveled together, I met others of this group, this war band. I liked them, and soon I would grow to love them as my role in the group evolved to be that of a leader.

The Blood of Sreng sings in my ears guiding me along the path of honor and the blood of the Mil clears my vision, granting me the self control to reign in the beast that is Mac Lund.

But I am still the Son of Wild. There is still the beast within me that struggles to destroy those who stand against us and who wrong others. Woe to those whom I visit the beast upon, their families, their people, and those who stand with them will be swept away and their lands will be salted with their own tears.