Ormarr is a broad-shouldered young Goliath of about twenty winters, still growing into his full strength. His skin is pale stone-grey, streaked with darker marbling along his arms and jawline. He keeps his hair cropped short and rough, often flecked with ash from the smokehouses. His apron is always stained, and his heavy hands carry the smell of salt and blood wherever he goes.
Born in Hjarnheim, Midgard’s butcher’s ward, Ormarr grew up in the reek of slaughterhouses and the shouts of fishmongers. He is ambitious, eager to prove himself, and has more pride than his experience justifies. Though not cruel, he is blunt to the point of offense, often speaking without thought of consequence. His recent petition to the Council about harvesting Pufflins has caused whispers in the streets — some see him as a reckless fool, others as a practical voice for Midgard’s hungry.