Axel Grinder

Snow crunches beneath your boots as you crest a frozen ridge, the wind howling like a beast denied prey. The sun barely shines through the overcast sky, painting the tundra in shades of steel and bone. Ahead, beside a smoldering fire pit and the broken remains of some very unfortunate raiders, stands a giant of a man.

He’s bare-armed despite the cold, muscles coiled with the tension of a drawn bowstring, his back turned as he hoists a slab of meat over the fire. Slung across his shoulder is a warhammer encrusted with frost, its head shaped like a split glacier, runes glowing faintly blue.

You step closer, cautious but curious.

Without turning, he grunts, “You’ve got the look of someone who's either lost... or about to be split like a bad punchline.”

He turns, grinning, teeth white as fresh snow beneath a beard touched with frost. “Name’s Axel Grinder. I break bones and the ice.” He gestures to the ground beside him. “Pull up a rock. I’ll serve you some roast and a side of pain puns.”