With every lumbering step of the Herkurian, steam rose in clouds from the snow underfoot. The red-hot veins which normally ran throughout his rocky exterior were dimmed to feint lines by the biting wind, and he generally felt miserable. He wore no protection against the weather, because few materials would stand the heat of a Hekurian’s flesh. His only attire was a fire-blackened kilt made of the same heavy leather that blacksmith’s used for aprons, and a broad baldric of the same material holding some food alongside his massive half-axe, half hammer.

Reaching up to that belt, he grabbed an iron ingot and pulled it loose. He ate the metal in one mouthful, letting the heat of his fiery maw soften it before swallowing. As it hit his belly the veins that had begun to dim across his body flared up briefly, and the billowing stream of fire that was his hair brightened. It had been the third ingot he’d eaten since entering the Drangazi range, and that much food should have lasted him half the month.

Still, he had accepted the job and the word of a Herkurian, let alone a mercenary, was important. After several more minutes of leaving a watery trail up the mountain, the forest around him opened up into a clearing in which stood the unimposing structure that should be the Wizard’s Tower. By his count, the rest of his company had already arrived, which he had expected. He moved slow, and did not choose to change his pace for others. 

He did not stop as he drew near the others, instead walking straight on towards the tower’s entrance, wanting to get his feet out of the snow as soon as possible. "[url=http://vocaroo.com/i/s0cIV1iQkZST]This place is cold. I don't like cold.[/url]"