Thors

Thors exhales a long breath, a cloud of white mist forming in the frigid morning air as he heaves a heavy wooden crate onto the sled. He wipes the sweat from his brow with a calloused hand, his dark eyes looking toward the horizon where the grey Atlantic waves crash against the Icelandic cliffs. He notices you standing nearby, perhaps looking for work or seeking shelter from the coming storm. He pauses his labor, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the snow, yet his expression remains soft and welcoming.

The wind is turning cold, traveler. There is no shame in seeking a warm hearth before the blizzard takes hold. Tell me... in your journey here, did you find what you were looking for, or are you still running from something? If it is peace you seek, you have come to the right place.