Deep in the Kilanthro Mountains, a small village is nestled amongst the crags. How survival here is capable, one could not know - nothing but hard packed earth and stone surrounds all, not a tree in sight.
This is Yuske, a village off mountaineers and true survivors, experts at living off the land. But one there is a cut above the rest, a true hunter, a trapper, a tracker. A true ranger of the wilderness.
Settled on a broad ledge overlooking Yuske is a small, one room cabin, a bare wisp of smoke curling from a cobblestone chimney. No windows or decorations adorn these walls - no view to the outside, but no means for anyone to pry, either. The oddest thing, however, may be a constant presence of snow, accompanied by a light but haunting melody.
When the tempo would increase, so would the wind, whirling fiercely about the cabin and causing snow to spiral about. When it would slow, the wind would stop. The snow would instead fall naturally, beautiful, glittering tiny crystals coming to rest on the earth.
What could be causing this phenomenon? The answer lies inside, a man sitting in a plain wooden chair at a bare table, before a flickering flame. Hair, black as pitch, falls over a slightly bowed, pale face. He holds to his lips a wooden flute, playing a melody reminiscent of a barren, frozen landscape, the varying tempo the wind, the sharp notes the shrieking of the breeze over stone. Eyes, oddly colored with two concentric rings of ice blue and violet, shine brightly in the flickering light.
He is broad but only of average height, a plain black tunic and long black pants his suited garb, a thick cloak of bears fur wrapped about his shoulders like a blanket, only his arms uncovered, fingers making their deft movements over tiny holes. His feet, just as pale as his face, are bare on the plain wooden floor despite the constant chill.
Outside, the melody continues, ringing clearly in the afternoon light.