Appearance

Mentality

Personal history

Born under the aurora-lit skies of the Polar Wastes, Thoron Frostmane was heir to a legacy of glacial might. His father, Grand Admiral Borum Frostmane, commanded a relentless army that carved order into the tundra’s chaos. Thoron’s brother, General Vargus, was a strategist who won battles with cold precision. Yet Thoron’s heart beat with a different rhythm: the roar of the blizzard, not the measured march of boots. His ursine strength was unmatched, but his fury often eclipsed his discipline, earning his father’s scorn and his brother’s wary respect.

During a raid on frost giant raiders, he pursued fleeing foes into a glacial crevasse, slaughtering them as they begged for mercy. His father’s rebuke was public: “You are a storm without direction. Control it, or be consumed.” Humiliation festered in Thoron’s chest, a tempest waiting to break.

Fate’s pivot came in the form of a human outsider, Evan Frostthorn, a sharpshooter hired to be one of the army's scouts. During a tavern game, his errant dart struck a sergeant’s eye. The enraged sergeant dragged the human from the barracks, shoving past Thoron in the narrow hall. A shoulder brushed Thoron’s—a spark in a powder keg.

Memories of his father’s disdain, the giants’ screams, the weakness of the sergeant’s stumble—it erupted. Thoron seized the sergeant, hurling him into a stone wall with a crack of bone. The human stared, frozen, as Thoron’s claws painted the corridor crimson. When the tribunal exiled them both, Borum’s verdict was final: “You are no son of mine.”

Evan, pragmatic and quick-witted, saw opportunity in exile. “You’re a weapon, Frostmane. Point me at the target, and let’s get rich.” Thoron grunted agreement. The human’s irreverence grated him, but Evan’s loyalty in battle was unwavering. Together, they became sellswords—Thoron’s aura of dread and Evan’s arrows piercing the hearts of warlords and wyrms alike.

Now, Thoron marches, a glacier in motion. He seeks to prove that his conquest is not mindless savagery, but the will of winter itself. Yet in quiet moments, he wonders: Does he crave his father’s approval… or to see Borum kneel before his throne of ice?

Personality

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