A Frost Giant warlord of Arya, drawn into southern conflicts by Dravis’ careful manipulations. Views these entanglements with wary pragmatism — never eager to be anyone’s pawn. Holds a grudging respect for cunning, even if it stinks of mortal schemes.

Skarn Thraegar, towering even among Frost Giants, rules his icy marches with a calculating patience that belies the savage tales southern traders whisper around their hearths. His hide is marked by old battle glyphs and scars that glisten pale blue beneath enchanted furs. Each line tells a story of long hunts, shattered ice fortresses, or duels atop frozen cliffs where losing meant plunging a hundred feet into jagged death.

 
Unlike many of his kin, Skarn tempers brute strength with wary cunning. When emissaries from Dravis first approached Arya, dangling tales of Castor Malachite’s growing power to the south, Skarn listened. He understood that should the Lelien Empire fall, Arya’s windswept dominion would be next under a golem’s boot. With grim pragmatism, he rallied his jarls and forged pacts of mutual defense, sending warbands south not out of loyalty, but out of the cold arithmetic of survival.

 
Yet beneath his stoic deliberation lies the raw, ancestral fury of Arya. Skarn respects might in all its forms, from the harsh blizzards that strip flesh to bone, to warriors who rise again and again no matter how deep the cut. He holds grudges the way glaciers hold fossils — forever, grinding slow but inevitable toward reckoning. Those who stand before him with false strength will find their boasts scattered like frost under his iron-shod boots.