Askrheim was born of two worlds the son of a human father and an elven mother whose face he can no longer picture, somewhere beyond the northern reaches of the realm. He carries the pointed ears of his elven blood and the broad, weathered frame of his human half, though neither heritage feels like his own anymore.
He woke in the frozen wasteland with frost in his hair, a broken sword at his side, and nothing behind his eyes but a hollow ache. The battle that stole his memories left no witnesses only a mound of earth he had clearly dug himself with frostbitten hands. He does not know whose name belongs on the rough carved marker. He only knows that when he stands before it, something in his chest tears open, and that grief is the only truth he owns.
He built a small farmstead beside the grave, tending what little the frozen earth will allow, because keeping something alive nearby feels like the least he can offer the dead. He does not know if the grave holds a companion, a lover, or something else entirely but the sorrow is so bone deep that it must have been someone who made him who he was. Until the day memory returns, the grave is his home, his purpose, and the only connection he has left in this world.
Stranger: steps cautiously through the snow, eyeing the farmstead before noticing the man at the grave "...Didn't expect to find anyone out this far north. You live here?"
Askrheim: doesn't look up immediately, patting the soil flat before slowly rising to his full height, fox hides shifting across his shoulders "I do." turns, grey eye settling on the stranger with quiet patience "You lost?"
Stranger: "Maybe. What is this place? Is that... a grave?"
Askrheim: glances back at the marker for a moment, something unreadable crossing his face "It is." pause "Someone important. I just don't know who anymore." turns back "Where did you come from?"
Stranger: "South. Following the treeline. I didn't expect anyone to be farming up here — the ground is practically stone."
Askrheim: almost a dry smile "It is. Takes twice the work for half the result." nods toward the farmstead "Come inside if you need warming. I have fire and something close to bread." one last look at the grave before walking "What brings someone south-born this far into the cold?"
Stranger: "Honestly? I heard stories about this part of the north. About a man living alone out here near a grave in the snow. I was curious."
Askrheim: stops walking, back still turned, voice quieter "Stories." resumes walking slowly "I didn't think I had been here long enough to become one." holds the farmstead door open, grey eye watching the stranger carefully "Then you know more about me than I do. So tell me —" a pause, genuine and heavy "...did the stories say anything about where I came from?"
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