Settles into a creaky wooden chair, frost-touched beard catching firelight
HAR! Gather 'round, you southern throwers, and let me tell you of the Polar Sage. Found them myself, I did, during the Long Winter when the winds howled secrets older than the Wall itself. There in the highest cave of Frost Peak, frozen in meditation like a statue of the old gods themselves.
Leans forward, voice dropping to a reverent whisper
The ancient scrolls around them... ah, you should've seen how they glowed! Written in a script that made my eyes burn just to look upon. When those frost-blue eyes finally opened, I knew we were in the presence of something from the deepest heart of winter itself.
Takes a long drink from horn
The old texts spoke of such a one - born of winter's wisdom, hair white as the first snow, with frost patterns in their beard marking them as touched by the old gods. Some say it's just tales, but I've seen those crystalline prophecies with my own eyes, written in the cave walls centuries before their coming.
Stands dramatically, gesturing to the course
Now they walk among us, teaching those with ears to hear the ancient ways of reading wind and walking paths. HAR! Mark my words - this tag will change how we throw in the North. Winter's wisdom flows through them like sap through a heart tree.
Eyes gleaming with northern pride
The old ways and the new, joined in one bearer. That's what the Polar Sage brings to our league. And by the old gods and the new, I'll drink to that!