Ragnor the Barbarian, at the Bar
A looming shadow darkened the door of the tavern. Ragnor the Barbarian, hailing from the extreme frigid North, stomped inside, leveling a merciless glare over the interior of the tavern. The man was tall, even for a northerner and as big around as an oak. His jaw was clean shaven, but his long pale blonde hair spilled over his wide shoulders. His skin was pale like most from the north, though his cheeks were ruddy, as if stung by wind and weather, his eyes an icy blue. He wore animal hides wrapped around his thickly muscled body, and sported a rattling bounty of goblin skulls hanging from his belt. In one hand was gripped a crescent battle-axe, and a hide shield was strapped to his back.
With heavy stomping steps, he forged his way to the bar, glowering along the length of it, looking for a server. He propped the butt of his axe upon his knee, his brow lowered in scowl. With his other hand, he slammed his open palm upon the bartop loudly.
"Wench! Ragnor demands Ale!" he called fiercely. "Now!" Ragnor was not a man known for his patience.