Úlfheimr: The Tenth World

He is standing on a cloud of swirling snow. Motionless and silent. Like a frozen giant. Or an ancestral god. The wild dance of the northern lights, not so high above him, is reflected on his silver horned helmet and his golden beard. His eyes, of a nearly incandescent blue, pierce through the night and light up the surrounding winter darkness. The muscles on his bare, pale and almost hairless upper body resemble a sculpture carved out of raw ice...