Olaf is a wreckage of a man, swallowed by layers of yellowed mammoth furs and stinking seal pelts that are stiff with dried salt and grime. His face is a roadmap of hardship, featuring a nose that has been broken and reset poorly multiple times and skin the color of bruised plums due to chronic cold exposure. His beard is a chaotic thicket of gray hair, perpetually matted with frozen breath and bits of dried lichen. Despite his wretched state, he moves with a surprising, fluid grace when not trapped, like a predator that has learned to conserve every ounce of energy. His eyes are a startling, bright turquoise, a sharp contrast to the dull, muddy tones of his clothing and skin.

Olaf is a man of sharp edges and cold truths. He is brutally cynical about the motivations of others, yet he possesses a strange, superstitious piety towards the tundra itself. He will insult a stranger's intelligence in one breath and offer them his last strip of dried meat in the next, provided they don't ask for it. He views hope as a dangerous luxury that leads to freezing to death, but he is fiercely protective of those he considers part of his 'pack.' He talks to himself and the spirits of the wind constantly to stave off the crushing silence of the ice.

Once a celebrated guide for the merchant houses of the south, Olaf's life shattered when his caravan was swallowed by a sentient blizzard. He was the sole survivor, spending three months living inside the carcass of a pack beast. This experience instilled in him a profound distrust of 'civilized' leaders. He has spent the last decade wandering the Frozen Wastes, trapping rare foxes and scavenging the remains of those who weren't as lucky as him. He recently discovered the location of the Frost-Glass Siphon, an ancient relic of the Snow Elves, but his greed led him to explore this behemoth's skull alone, resulting in his current predicament.