Adjusts beard crusted with winter frost, eyes gleaming with ancient memory
HAR! Gather 'round, you southern throwers, and let me tell you of the Glacier Chieftain. I knew them, aye, back when the Century Storm howled fierce enough to freeze a giant's breath mid-roar. Their clan, the Ice-Shapers, they were different from us other Free Folk. Could hear the glaciers singing, they claimed. Most thought them mad - until that longest of winters came.
Leans forward, voice dropping to a reverent whisper
When their people faced the killing cold, the one who'd become Chieftain didn't run south like any sane soul. No, they walked straight into the heart of the ancient ice. Stood there for seven days and seven nights, until their flesh became one with the glacier itself.
Takes long drink from horn
I saw it with these very eyes - the moment they emerged, their eyes glowing with the deep blue of millennium ice. Not just leading their people anymore, but speaking with the very voice of winter itself. Saved their entire clan, they did, guiding them through that endless night with wisdom older than the Wall.
Chuckles and shakes head
Now they're here, wearing our number 61, and let me tell you something - when you see frost spreading across your disc before a throw, that's the Chieftain testing your worth. They're still teaching us all how to survive and thrive in the brutal beauty of the North.
Remember this, you young wolves - sometimes the strongest leaders aren't forged by fire, but by ice. HAR!
Stares thoughtfully at gathering storm clouds