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Warren Brisk, age 29, sloshed across the barren tundra, the pack on his back increasing in weight with each deliberate step. The arctic wind whistled through his unruly, platinum blonde hair. He should be shivering. Any normal person would be. After all, his crimson jacket and baggy black cargo pants offered little protection from the unforgiving elements. Even his sturdy boots had filled with melted snow, chilling his feet. Hypothermia would have set in a long time ago. Again, if he was a normal person. But it goes without saying that Warren was anything but normal. He trod onward, his tracks quickly being filled by the torrent of snow. The only thing separating Warren himself from an icy demise was the blanket of warmth that now surrounded him. The air around his skin was charged with energy, providing a relatively suitable environment. It certainly beat the alternative. Warren found himself at the peak of a dune of snow. Below him lay a deep valley. Dots of light were barely visible through the blizzard, and he immediately knew that he had arrived. The vagabond leapt from the side of the steep cliff, concentrating. Just before hitting the iced over ground, he created a wave of energy heated the air below him, creating a strong thermal updraft. His descent was slowed, but he lost concentration and the warm air immediately ceased to bear him. He plummeted the rest of the way, his impact fortunately cushioned by a conveniently placed snowdrift.
I need to work on my landings. He thought, making a note of it. Warren exerted himself, rapidly melting away the snowdrift. A large puddle formed from the melted frost and quickly froze again. Warren pressed on. Unlike the frigid plains, this valley had no breeze. The snow fell softly now, landing on him gently rather than lashing at his bare skin. Of course, this was the perfect place for a settlement. The high valley walls would protect any structures from extreme winds. It was isolated, making it extremely difficult to locate. What’s more, it was well out of reach of Emperor and his goons. A humble village was coming into view now. Warren scanned it with his pale blue eyes, absorbing every detail like a sponge. What he saw surprised him. The buildings were all charred black, many collapsed inward. The snow on the ground was stained crimson in some spots, but the snow worked quickly to cover the evidence that anything had happened. The lights he had seen earlier were actually fires, though they were now quickly going out. The imperial army. And if he wasn’t mistaken, they’d passed through recently. Otherwise, the fires would be out and the blood covered. But the village was empty now, and without so much as a soul to witness him, Warren quickly looted the local market for anything of value it still retained. He found some herbs, rare plants with powerful medicinal properties that grew only in the tundra. There was also some meat, most likely frost wolf. He even stumbled on some bread and cheese, though he had no idea how they would grow wheat or raise cattle all the way out here. However, the objects that caught his observant eye were two identical ice picks, meant for climbing and, to some, ice sculpting. There were tethers as well, intended to keep the tools attached to one’s wrists incase they were dropped. These would be extremely useful for climbing out of the valley now that he had no reason to stay. Warren stuffed the loot into his bag and continued searching the town.
There was nothing much of interest until he came to the town square. A large, broken fountain stood in the center. Without running water to keep it moving, the pool at the bottom of the fountain had frozen solid. A large statue of a man had been toppled as well. According to the plaque on the base of the fountain, it had been the village’s founder, a brave man and, more importantly, opposer of the empire. Though the name was damaged and illegible, he liked this guy already. He moved closer to the sculpture’s face, which he noticed vaguely resembled his. Whimsical thinking most likely. Then he notice something below the statue’s severed head. It looked like a hatch. Almost completely covered, the statue’s fall must have cleared some of the snow out of the way. With any luck, the imperial army hadn’t found it already.
Warren tried lifting the stone figure and, when he had no success, used his powers to absorb all of the energy from the statue’s head. It immediately froze over, and one good kick shattered it to pieces. Warren lifted the hatch.

Karen hugged her younger brother tightly, as much to comfort herself as protect him. Her mother had been killed by a group of strange men just minutes before. Fortunately, she had been able to escape underground with all of the other survivors. Next to her was Harold, the shopkeeper, the size of his gut outmatched only by that of his heart. He was an intimidating, but gentle, man, reminding Karen of a big teddy bear. Spencer, the innkeeper, was in the fetal position in the far corner. He’d always been a cowardly man. Also in the cellar were Darryl the baker, Mark the blacksmith, and a smattering of the town’s remaining residents. At the age of 19, Karen was now the oldest in her family. Her father had left them long ago with some of the townsfolk to face the Emperor and her mother was now dead, leaving her with the heavy burden of taking care of her younger brother. If only her oldest brother had remained. But he’d left the village years ago, when she was only seven. Karen couldn’t even remember what he looked like, so she’d just have to “man up” and show her worth. That is, if they survived. Suddenly, light flooded the small room. They’d been found! Somebody near Karen screamed. Or had it been her?

Warren heard a shriek pierce the air. Was somebody alive down here?
“It’s alright.” He said as he stepped down the wooden stairway, not even making an attempt to sound reassuring. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
A small group of people sat at the bottom, a fraction of the original amount he guessed.
These lucky survivors had been trapped here by the statue's head. He deduced. Then he thought, They should be more grateful.
The largest man of the group stood and approached Warren, who instinctively took a step back. Catching himself, he walked forward to face the man.
“My name is Harold.” He stated. “Thank you for rescuing us. We are all greatly indebted to you.” The man nodded his head in gratitude.
“Uh huh.” Warren mumbled absently, still slightly unsettled by the man’s size.
Harold laughed, easing the tension in the room. The townsfolk started to get up and leave the cellar. One of the girls in particular glanced at Warren with some interest. Ignoring her stare, Warren followed. When they reached the top, the group had mixed reactions about the state of the village. Some stood sullenly, devastated but not surprised. Some knelt, weeping, while still others were just thankful to be alive.
Made of stone, the blacksmith’s workshop was relatively unscathed, but the rest of the town was in shambles. The shopkeeper turned sullen. There was much work to be done if the village was to be reverted to its former glory.
“I’ve a favor to ask of you, my lad.” Harold said. “You look like a worn traveler with nowhere else to go. Might you be willing to stay with us, at least until the repairs are finished? We could use a hearty young man like yourself.” The man needed all the help he could get.
Warren considered his proposition. There would likely be a lot of work involved. On the other hand, the traveler had intended to make his bed here anyway. Besides, a little bit of work was nothing he couldn’t handle. What’s more, these people seemed kind and generous. They’d probably supply him with shelter. Food. A fire to keep warm. He made his decision.
“Sounds good.” He said, accepting the offer.
“Good man!” Harold rumbled, clapping Warren on the back and almost knocking him over. “What was your name again, son?” The man asked jovially.
“Warren.” He said brusquely.
“Warren!” Harold grasped his hand and shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, my boy!”
Pleasantries out of the way, Harold started on the subject of rebuilding. Naturally, to even begin fixing up the town, they needed wood. Lots of wood.

Abridged version:
Warren Brisk is a 29 year old with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a crappy fashion sense. Oh, and he has powers of thermal energy and whathaveyou. He finds a village and then helps the townsfolk out and stuff. To be continued.

That is not a bio.

Dammit, you're right.