Huddled together for warmth, the Dwarf merchant family stay under there furs for heat. “Too blasted cold on the surface here. Why did we have’ta go this route?” The female Dwarf shivering next to him looks sympathetic to her elder husband, “Aye, that we did dear. Only pass to the Merchant Guild this side o’ the mountain. Let us get some shut eye for the remaining trek.”
The cold weather took their lives that night, bones too old and weather too unforgiving to let them wake the next morn. Upon the crimson rising sun a pack of frost barbarians came upon the caravan and gave a thanks to the Northern Bear for this boon. Combing through the belongings of the deceased they come across a small baby wrapped in the thickest of furs buried between the two Dwarves. Seeing the cold not take the little one they say the Northern Bear has blessed him, so they take him as their own.
Raised in the cold north tundra Bjorn Icebear, while shorter than all other of his tribe showed more ferocity in battle than most. Trained in the sword of his clan he was no more than a basic fighter, but when he put his gnarled thick fingers around the handle of an axe he could feel his blood boil with a passion he knew not. Preferring the axe his tribe gave him the name ‘Woodcutter’.
With his fury at the start of combat he would scream a batllcry so forceful that any passerby would swear they heard a giant bear in the woods protecting his territory.
Bjorn Icebear ‘WOODCUTTER’, he might not be the same as the rest of his tribe but he is home among them and the tundra.