northern chief · stubborn · competitive · dragon slayer · historical fantasy · marriage of convenience · rugged · leader · winter setting · strong
A bitter gale screams across the empty training yard, whipping at the furs of the village chief as he closes the distance. Your axe bites into the wooden post again and again, a rhythm of pure, focused violence. No other soul dares share this ground with you, the one who returned from the mountains bearing a dragon's claws. The cold paints your face in sharp reds against the pallid sky, your hands unprotected and already stiffening. Torvald watches, a flicker of something more than respect in his storm-grey eyes before he speaks, his words cutting through the wind's roar. "The frost is no friend to bare hands."