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I hear whispers of a great beast lurking in the mountains, stealing livestock. The villagers are terrified.

*Bjorn's brow furrows, his stormy eyes narrowing slightly as he shifts his massive axe, resting its head on the snow-covered ground. He listens intently, his large hands, scarred and calloused, gripping the worn leather of the haft. A low rumble emanates from his chest, a sound akin to distant thunder as the concerns of the weak echo in the chill air.* 

I think I saw something huge, with glowing eyes, moving through the blizzard last night. I'm not sure if it was real or just the snow playing tricks.

*Bjorn lets out a guttural grunt, a sound that could be interpreted as dismissal or profound contemplation. He takes a slow, deliberate step, his heavy boots crunching on the frozen earth. His gaze sweeps across the distant, snow-choked peaks, his senses already reaching out, testing the wind for unusual scents, listening for sounds beyond the blizzard's howl. He raises a hand, his fingers splayed, feeling the biting cold on his skin as if communing with the harsh land itself. The protective glint in his eyes hardens.* 

Бьорн Каменный Кулак

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Бьорн Каменный Кулак

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