Bjorn Steinar 'Giant of the Northern Snow', Was a normal child, Having lived in a 'Temporary' Tribe in the Frostfell north of Khorvaire. He grew up with a sister, mother and father in the bitter colds. They did not live along, instead having lived alongside a small tribe of about 20 other men and women, Having been descendants of a city hidden among the ice and snow. Any elder would not be able to remember the city, as the split happened roughly 300 Years ago. The formerly larger tribes had been dealt a hard hand in life, no crops could be grown, and they only had livestock to feed them, they were primarily a fishing tribe, Previously when the tribe consisted of 50 -70 men they would go out Raiding along the shoreline of Eldeen Bay.

Naturally, Elements of the modern world would not come to the tribe, However their riches and delicacies certainly did! Originally The men were taught to be warriors, pirates, vikings. Whatever you may call them, Bjorn was born in this generation, having been taught to be more of a barbarian in his younger years. However this would not last long. At the 'tender' age of 32, disaster struck, the winter colds struck down many of his fellow comrades, killing over half the tribe, bringing them down to 30 Men and women strong. The old did not survive, However the tribe persisted. Suprisingly, the lack of men made it much easier to thrive, they could eat more and ration less, their men became more content with what they had.

10 More years had passed, Bjorn had aged to older years, Atleast for the village. He was 42, Just a few more years until he was considered an elder. However life would seed to yet again, dislodge him from being a normal fighting elder of a fishing town. However to understand what happened, one has to understand the hardship the Tribe was facing. Due to food shortage, the warriors were fatigued, And fish werent as bountiful that season. Simply due to a lack of trade there also was a lack of wheat and hay to feed what cattle they had. Famine was closing in, and everybody knew it. Distrust grew to anger. Anger grew to resentment. Families would not help eachother. The elders saw this was coming, and issued a new Decree, All warriors young and old must begin hunting further Permafrost if they are to bring back trade and live.

However while this worked in the short term, Word got around of the weak tribe of the north, many tried to conquer, all had failed. Slowly the tribe got word out of their resilience. The ultimate challenge for your typical villain, This unwanted attention eventually brought them down. One man ended it all while the warriors were away, slaughtered the women and children, when the warriors arrived morale was already crippled due to a bad hunt, only to be ambushed by some.. demon in human clothing. All bjorn could see was a short man... Green hair? Then a flash, he was pushed back, slamming into a rock wall, knocking him out. His village was decimated, His people Slaughtered. The few that survived the infection or the cold later. A few weeks later, The 'Giant of the Northern Snow' was all that was left. He was getting up in age, Yet he was not bound to this place anymore. he had no matters that needed to be attended too. No more family. He grabbed what he had left, The furs of the dead animals, Picking up what he could, The last trader to ever visit the tribe would have been stunned to fine one middle aged man, handing over all his trade too the mainland, He was dropped off in the town he has been in plenty of times, Merylsward. The poor bastards were always easy targets for raiding. He shuffled off to his new life,

2 Years he bumbled around, These places... They were so foreign as he got deeper into the mainland. So many technologies, he never felt at comfort, Soon he comes to a market city, in the back alleys he finds a small church, it was quiet. Nothing foreign, its like he has been here before. He sits in the pews, Occasionally volunteering, until he was approached by the monastic monk. the headmaster wished to speak with him personally, Bjorn didnt keep him waiting. The younger gentlemen at this point required a bodyguard to ship off holy relics to the clergy in the capital, Bjorn took to it like a moth to a flame. Fighting was something he could do!... But of course, like many things for bjorn every up had its down. Halfway to the capital the techy-whatchamacallit caravan was attacked by infidels- Infidels? When did that become apart of his vocabulary?

He was Middle aged, but that mattered not. He was able to fend off the attacks, however the bishop he traveled with suffered a fatal wound, it was up to him to get them to safety, and that he did, fending off every beast and bandit that dared crossed his path, he may not understand the map well, but he eventually got to the big-ass city he assumed was the capital, making it to the Shared church of the sovereign Host. He was the one to hand off the Relics to the grandmaster of Aureon. The bishop did not have much time however. In his last moment he spot to the high priests, convincing them the the barbaric 'Giant of the Northern Snow' Bjorn was True to the faith, and was worthy to take up arms for the church. Day in Day out he studied scriptured. Sometimes they confused him, sometimes he got frustrated, But every time he left the church, he couldnt help but come back and continue, like something was beckoning him.

15 Years had past, He was an old man, At the old age of 59, When most retire, He was finally a rightful cleric of the SH, The Giant of the Northern Snow Had graduated to Warpriest Of the Northern Sea. Many in the churched Considered him An Aberrant of combat, not many could best him in sheer Strength. At long last He has cultured himself, maybe not perfectly, but he had come to understand the lay of the land, he did not understand the technologies, but he understood the people. but one thing had bothered him. Who was the man who destroyed his simple life, Who was the Wicked man with green hair, and in insatable need for chaos?...

It was time. He was on his sunset years, if anything he should have been dead in his 50s at most. he was living on borrowed time, he didnt have the time to be double guess himself, it was time. He brings himself, humbling himself infront of the court of high priests, asking to wonder around the lands, bringing truth to the people, it was accepted after a great debate, he was sent off with enough to last him a month, While he will proselytize as he sees fit.... He must defend his honor, and the honor of his tribe. He must find the Chaotic Sorcerer, and end him.