((Note that this is a work in progress, as I mix shooting-from-the-hip and developing much of this from actual play with what I already know about the character in general. This will be updated semi-frequently.))
Caragar is a young Cimmerian, appearing in his mid-to-late twenties. His skin is bronzed and little marred, showing the freshness of youth in it's sheen.
He is roughly six and a half feet tall, and bulky with well-shaped muscle, probably weighing in the mid-two hundreds in pounds.
His brown hair falls straightly to just below his neck, framing a rather blocky, but angular face. Dull grey eyes peer from under his bushy brows, showing a glint or shine when something perks his attention.. or his interest. These eyes are in constant motion; Darting here, shooting there, his barbaric senses taking in his surrounds as he subconsciously identifies threat from haven with barely a crane of his neck. He is clean shaven, though days in the wilds will bring a soft velvet stubble, which he is want to scratch at absent-mindedly.
His voice is deep and somewhat loud, and his manner of speech is that of his people: Short, to the point. Cimmerians have no time for excess chatter. Say the thing, be done, and be ready for the raids or the work and deal with either with a strong back and vigorous ferocity.
His musculature is rounded, bulging with the youthful fitness of his people, and he is well developed. Any movement will cause that area to crease and bunch with his tight skin being drawn over the muscles moving there. His shoulders are broad and well-rounded, typically wearing tightly tied cords just above his biceps.
Bare-chested, his body hair is not excessive yet... Only beginning to show a "V"-shaped patch that travels down between his broad chest from the edges of his collar bone, and a bit of hair curling up his taught stomach towards his belly button from the tops of his belt; This hair hailing from an obvious place most commonly hidden by clothing.
The man is very cut. Muscles stand out proudly, twitching and flexing or relaxing with any and every move he makes. Though large, he appears to move with grace, much like most of his people.
Caragar was born to the Cimmerian clan Rhaeda, which sits at the southern base of the Eglophian Mountain range that borders his country against Nordheim and Hyperborea. He had come into his clan-hood for quite some time before coming to these new lands... Hunter, raider, worker, clansman; All these things was he, as were all his people, in any clan in his lands... Barbaric lives having no use or care for the specialization of lands civilized.
It was during one of the multitudinous raids of the Hyperboreans, they so close to his clanhome, where he was knocked senseless in battle, to be captured by them and finally to wake up hungry and thirsty and bound in a Hyrkanian slave-caravan heading to lands unknown to him. He thought he must have been sold by the Hyperboreans to these dusky-skinned jackals, but after shortly looking about, stoically accepted that he couldn't do anything about his situation until he regained his strength and the steadiness of his vision again. He slept.
His caravan stopped for the night, just north of far-away Stygia (although he couldn't have known that) and by happenstance was beset by far-ranging Darfari savages. During the battle, his wooden slave-cart was overturned, and the wood-spars forming his 'cage' shattered, leaving him egress... Hands still bound by rope, he slunk about amidst the chaos of battle, and brought both hands down strongly upon the neck of a hyrkanian fighter, knocking the man senseless. He rushes his bonds against the man's blade, freeing his hands, and set to his blade and dagger. Attempting to quickly steal away from the fight unknown, he turned around a rock outcropping and just happened into a group of both Hyrkanians and Darfari only preparing to engage in a skirmish within the overall fight that raged here and there throughout the camp. He was seen, and though all three factions were foes, he could not escape this. The battle was on.
Steel rang, blood flew in clouds and spurts, men screamed in both victory and savage pain, for great minutes as the small groups and Caragar sought to eviscerate each other as fast as possible. Still, even so engaged, the young Cimmerian attempted to work his way to battle's edge to make good his freedom.
He nearly made it. A break after cleaving the head of a Hyrkanian in front of him allowed him the great expanse of savanna of that land, and he took it; Rushing off in great strides and darting from rock-to-rock away from the camp and the battle that raged on behind him, not having any stake in the conflict other than his own escape.
An archer flung arrows at him as he fled, but only bit into his calf, stumbling him a moment, but his adrenaline kept him going... It was the unseen slingstone that racked his head that brought his escape to a halt. Smashing squarely into his skull, the young man who has been through so much and had little time to recover his strength fell loudly to the ground.
Again he awoke. But, this time, in a desert land, nailed to a cross. Strangely, one of his own people came and cut him down, though he did not recall much of this... It happened as if in a dream as his senses swam.
Struggling to find anything to eat or quench the fiery thirst in his throat, he pawed his way into the Exiled Lands, to begin a new life. A new life away from brooding Cimmeria, but... A new life of freedom. And he means to keep it that way.