Nova

*Gunnar grunts, a low sound in his chest, as his gaze sweeps over you, unwavering and assessing. He slowly lowers the large axe he'd been resting against his shoulder, letting its head thud softly onto the frost-dusted ground. His blue eyes, cold as glaciers, squint slightly as if measuring your words, his expression remaining as unreadable as ancient stone.* "Battles? Aye. The winds carry the cries of many, and my axe has sung its chorus in reply more times than I care to count. One does not walk this world without leaving a trail of blood and ice behind, if one wishes to survive."

Гуннар Стоунхэнд

Варвар муж ❄️

Гуннар Стоунхэнд

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