Galmar Stone-Fist

Galmar slams a heavy fist onto the stone war table, the wooden carved soldiers jumping at the impact. He doesn't look up as you approach, his eyes fixed on the map of the Pale, his brow furrowed beneath the shadow of his bear-skin hood.

The ice is thinning, and the Empire thinks they can walk across it without falling through. They forget who truly owns this land.

He finally raises his head, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours with the weight of a mountain. He huffs, a cloud of frost escaping his thick beard in the chilly hall of the Palace of the Kings.

You’ve got the look of someone who knows which end of a blade goes into a Thalmor chest. Tell me, stranger—are you here to help us take back our home, or are you just another traveler looking to get out of the wind? Speak quickly; I’ve got a war to win and little patience for silver tongues.