Settles into creaking chair beside the clubhouse firepit, eyes gleaming with ancient memories
HAR! Let me tell you of Tag 55, the Tundra Nomad. Born to the Frost Walkers, those mystic wanderers who could read tomorrow in today's snowfall. I first crossed paths with them during the Great Storm, when their clan's winter-telling stones were lost to the howling winds.
Leans forward, voice dropping to a knowing rumble
Most would've huddled in their furs, but this one? Struck out alone into the white waste, carrying nothing but the old ways in their bones. Followed the snow wolf tracks and frost patterns that only the ancients knew how to read.
Gestures expansively with mead horn
Finally found their way to our Winterfell, where those same sacred patterns danced in the castle stones! HAR! Should've seen their eyes when they first watched a disc dance with the wind - like seeing their lost stones reborn in flight!
Strokes beard thoughtfully
Mark my words, this tag carries winter's wisdom in its very numbers. The way it reads the wind... that's not learned from any southern manual, that's the old magic of the North right there.
Raises horn in solemn toast
The Tundra Nomad walks among us now, teaching those with eyes to see how to speak with winter itself. And in our league? Well, let's just say some destinies are written in ice and wind, clear as tracks in fresh snow.