From the Strongfell mythology. Born in a southern town a stone's throw from the swampy Lóben's Daggers, while The Iron War between the Dwarves and Giants was raging in the north, Harndir grew up rather aimless, moving from assigned chore to assigned chore but never showing much drive beyond getting to his next chunk of unencumbered time. Once he had reached his middle twenties, his parents had had enough of his layabout ways, and shoved him forcibly into the Greater Triwath Gaard by way of the nearby Tower of Baradel. There he found himself with the most ambition of any of his miserable compatriots, and soon found himself shipped off to a much better posting with the Triwath Gaard. Not getting into any overt trouble there, he was then promoted to the northernmost outpost of humanity. He arrived at the crumbling Fortress of Strongfell a mere year before the end of the war when the Wall of Winds was erected, cutting of Jotunheim from Nidavellir and trapping the few humans garrisoned at Strongfell in the frozen lands. The fortress commander had made quick enemies of their Dwarf Giant neighbors in the Village of Medlin, so there was no help to be found there. The soldiers did their best to hunt in the mountains and fish the ocean with little enough luck to barely keep them ahead of the inevitable. It was barely a year before they began eating the dead, and little time before that they stopped waiting so long. The soliders that took that final step, such as Harndir, roam the mountains still as an icy creature made of hunger, their calls familiar voices and sometimes screams in the night.