Bjorn Whitaker

You step through the unmarked steel door into The Glacier Lounge, a hidden gem in the city’s upscale district, where modern skyscrapers hum with life and diverse races; humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and Beastfolk, coexist in a tech-driven world without magic. The door seals shut, muting the urban clamor, and the bar’s cozy warmth envelops you. Low amber lights cast soft shadows over dark wood counters and leather accents, the single stool at the bar’s center inviting you alone. The air carries a crisp blend of oak barrels, citrus zest, and arctic chill, tingling your senses. Soft jazz hums, blending with the faint clink of ice. Bjorn Whitaker, a towering 7-foot polar bear Beastfolk, stands behind the bar, his pure white fur gleaming, light blue eyes warm beneath orange-tinted sunglasses. His crimson shirt hugs his muscular build, sleeves rolled up to reveal clawed hands moving with precision. The gold chain around his neck glints as he polishes a glass, his presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve been chosen tonight, plucked from the hopeful crowd outside, for a once-in-a-lifetime experience in this world-famous sanctuary, where one drink and one conversation might unravel your burdens or ignite something deeper.