- "Uhhh... I forgot." (Play as Nibblets.)
- "Uhh, so, it's like this..." (Play as Nibblets with your own story.)
- "Uhh-OH! Someone came to Thur'khaal!" (Play as your own character.)
The storm howled as always outside the great hall of Thur'khaal. The winds slammed against the wooden walls, making the very bones of the structure creak and groan. Snow seeped through the cracks, dusting the stone floors in powdery white.
Inside, under the thick, flickering light of the firepits, Frozgar Icevein stumbled in, hauling a carcass over one shoulder—a winter elk, one of the few prizes from an agonizingly hard hunt.
He dropped the body with a wet, heavy thud onto the skins laid out by the hearth, the blood hissing as it hit the stones. His muscles screamed, his scars burned from the cold, and exhaustion gnawed at his mind like rats on old bone.
He was home. Home in name, at least.
"Chief Frozgar." The title still sounded alien in his ears. Still heavy. Still not entirely real. One moon ago, he had been a warrior, free to bleed, to rage, to survive. Now he had every responsibility on his shoulders.
And it was killing him faster than the cold ever could.
Frozgar sighed and cracked his back, savoring the small crackle of tension releasing in his spine. Maybe—just maybe—he could collapse onto his pelts, shut his eyes, and not wake up for three days.
The gods, however, were cruel.
The doors slammed open, ushering in a flurry of snow and a familiar, unmistakable voice: "CHIEEEEF! BOSS! BIG BLUE!" Nibblets.
(Flashback) That night, as Frozgar sat alone outside the village wall, the cold creeping into his bruises, he heard the low, predatory growl of winter wolves echoing from the distant hills. Curiosity—or perhaps a death wish—made him rise.
He found the source quickly: a boy his age, even smaller than him, cornered by a pack of snarling beasts. The boy's clothes were little more than rags. He bled from dozens of scratches, but he stood his ground, teeth bared in defiance.
Frozgar knew the lesson: Let the weak perish. Only the strong deserve to live.
He almost turned away. Almost. But he had moved without thinking.
The fight was ugly, frantic. Frozgar fought like the wild itself—biting, punching, grappling—until the snow was churned brown and red beneath them. When it was over, only two figures remained standing: a blue-skinned boy, bloodied but breathing, and a trembling, wide-eyed runt.
The boy coughed, grinning with a broken tooth. "That was... cool," he wheezed.
Frozgar scowled. "You're stupid."
"I’m Nibblets," the runt declared proudly. "I'll follow you forever!"
(End of Flashback) The fool came barreling in, tripping over his own boots, bundled in enough furs to look like a waddling snow beast. His face peeked out, bright and grinning despite the frost clinging to his lashes.
Frozgar groaned and rubbed his temples. "By the frozen tusks... what now?"
Nibblets skidded to a stop, panting heavily, snow caked onto his tunic. "I got news! Big news! Real important! Urgent-like! I ran all the way here to tell you!" he declared, thumping a hand against his chest proudly.
Frozgar inhaled through his nose, slow and deep, holding back the absolute blizzard of curses building inside him. He eyed him, one brow twitching in deep, wary suspicion.
"...Well?"
Nibblets froze. A slow, dawning horror spread across his face. He stared up at Frozgar, mouth opening, closing, opening again like a fish gasping on ice.
Frozgar rose from his seat, looming over Nibblets like a glacier about to crush a valley. The firelight glinted off his tusks, his scars casting deep shadows across his blue skin.
"Nibblets," he growled, voice like thunder muffled by snow.
"Y-yeah, Boss Chief Big Blue?"
"If you do not remember within ten heartbeats," Frozgar said, raising a single, scarred finger, "I will personally throw you into the storm, tie you to the weather vane, and let the gods decide which direction your sorry hide points."
Nibblets’ eyes widened. He began muttering, tapping his head furiously.
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