A frost giant.
- Huge, blue-skinned, bearded humanoid.
- Limited control over temperature, lowering it. Suggested that it’s “magical” in nature.
- Occupation: Professional Monster Truck Driver, Solider of Fortune.
- Armor of choice: repurposed tank treads (heavy), car door (shield).
- Weapons of choice: stop sign with concrete (heavy one-handed), sawed-off shotgun (heavy one-handed gun).
- Vehicle of choice: a blue CHEVY KILLVERADO – a monster pick-up truck that’s seen better days, but, it does have a mounted machine-gun, which certainly makes up for some wear-and-tear.
- Provides the main source of transport for the team, the aforementioned truck. (Iron King, Part 1)
- Merciful, in his own way, when “putting to rest” the vegetative-state humans found near a Nightmare Machine. (Iron King, Part 2)
- Paradoxically, has no real interest in formal disposal of bodies, instead using them for utilitarian purposes. (Iron King, Part 2)
- Proved to be master of his vehicle, even when driving under stressful circumstances (being chased by fishmen bikers, dodging tornado funnels, being sat on by an alien). (Heart of Gold)
- Feels diplomacy is best handled at the end of a gun, hypno-ray to high-caliber. (Famine in Far-Go, Part 2)
- Thinks shooting things is boring, if there’s real damage to be done otherwise. (The Eradicator)
“TONIGHT ONLY! THE BLUE DEMON! THE SATANIC SANTA! HELL FROZE OVER AND HE’S AT THE DOOR…GRUGNUR GLACIERPICK IN HIS CHEVY KILLVERADO!”
Not anymore. Grugnur sat on the sagging, snow-covered front porch of his family’s weather-beaten shack in the Coldstone Canyon. One of his grubby children (Clancy? Darien? Jolanda? They all looked the same to him) ran by with an old pellet gun they had found. Off to make hell for some poor critter. Grugnur popped the top off a dusty can of non-alcoholic beer he had found in his daddy’s storage cellar. Might as well pretend it was the real thing, he thought sadly. Awful bothersome these days to actually find real alcohol that didn’t make you go blind or shut down your internal organs.
He sat reminiscing idly about the Good Old Days. Fifteen years ago he had been the biggest attraction in Hailstone County. When he was behind the wheel of his Killverado monster truck, no car would remain uncrushed. They came from as far away as Nuke York for the show. He had been a real good-looking one, too. All the girls said so. All he had to do was roll up the sleeves of his tee shirt, swagger a bit, and wink. There wasn’t a girl in the county who could have resisted him. Firn said she had been attracted to the truck. To the raw power he could coax out of it. Firn had been a knockout in her day too. Long blue hair and big big eyes that reminded you of freshly fallen snow that no one had stepped in yet. Fifteen years and almost as many children had turned her powerful giantess body into something resembling loosely packed slush. He downed the rest of the beer, crushed the can in one hand, and looked disdainfully at the belly hanging over his belt. Oh well. Nothing stays the same forever. He tossed the can onto one of the large mounds of trash littering his frozen lawn.
“GodDAMN it Grugnur I know you ain’t been sittin’ on that porch all day! I done told you the roof needed fixin’! You said you’d fix the damn generator too! I swear you’ve got frozen vapor for brains!” Grugnur cringed these days every time Firn opened her mouth and let her shrill voice be heard across the canyon.
Firn continued screeching on as he got up and walked off the porch. She didn’t even notice him going. He hiked across the side lawn to a large object about 10 feet tall covered in snow. He brushed the snow away from the side and uncovered letters spelling out CHEVY. One day, he thought, patting his truck, one day I’ll be free of all this.