Havardr looked down upon his domain with sharp eyes undiminished by his great age as his snowy white fur bristling in the piercing wind. He made an impressive figure, The King of the Mountain Goats, larger by half than even the largest of his kind, his dark horns rising high atop his head and his beard drooping low. However, it was a task of great importance that saw him far closer to the roots of his kingdom than was usual, as he sensed the arrival of one he had felt moving in the world for some time. He trotted down a near sheer face with almost super-natural ease, his cloven hooves never seeming to struggle to find purchase on icy rock that would have defied any ordinary creature. His movements were odd to the eye, up close and to his own perception he seemed to dawdle along, but as if the very mountain moved to accommodate him he traversed a vast distance in a pittance of time, reaching the flatter grounds even as the intruder sought shelter in an abandoned shack.

“Stop, Hemming.” His voice boomed with the rumble of the earth, aiming to draw the attention of the man who walked below him. He referred to Kei’taro with an inflection that roughly translated to ‘changer of shapes’ a fitting description for the Beast-man. “Turn back, you are not ready to challenge the mountain.”