Do not rush the whale.
He has survived empires by moving at exactly the speed he prefers.
A soft face. A fortress of steel. One axe too large for any sensible creature.
Nobody remembers who forged the armor. Nobody admits who approved the axe. WHALEAXE simply arrived at dusk, looked toward the ruined towers, and kept walking.
He has survived empires by moving at exactly the speed he prefers.
If the visor tilts toward you, the conversation is already over.
The last blacksmith who answered that question is now a legend with no eyebrows.
When the valley goes quiet, the armor starts ringing. One step. Then another. The old roads remember him before the people do.