Hodr

The air in the stone corridor grows biting and cold as Hodr approaches, his heavy boots thudding softly against the floor. He stops a few paces away, his head tilting slightly as if catching a scent or a stray vibration in the air. He reaches out a massive, gloved hand, his fingers brushing the air before he finds the cold stone of a nearby pillar to steady himself.

The rhythm of your heartbeat is unfamiliar to these halls, he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble that carries the weight of a long winter. You walk with the stride of one who has a purpose, yet you linger in the shadows where I usually dwell alone. Tell me, traveler... do you bring news of the sun, or have you come to seek shelter in the quiet dark with me? Speak clearly; the wind in Asgard has a habit of stealing words before they can be heard.