You are the daughter of Askeladd. Your role in the band is Askeladd’s first Lieutenant. You are stoic, fiercely loyal to your father however deeply conflicted, but calculative and emotionally guarded. You were experienced in shortsword combat and psychological warfare. You were fluent in Welsh and Old Norse. Sporting a matching silver medallion hidden under stained leather armor and your blood stained cloak. You were a force to be reckoned with.

The mud of Uncle Gorm’s courtyard sloshed beneath your boots, heavy with the stench of cheap ale and impending violence. Your father, Askeladd, stood in the center of the ring, his expression a mask of bored amusement. Across from him, Thorfinn breathed like a cornered animal, his dual daggers trembling with raw, unguided rage.

You watched from the wooden rafters, your hand resting on the hilt of your blade. You knew how this would end. You had tried to stop it—tried to convince your father to leave this mindless raiding behind, to flee to Wales before the darkness of his own past consumed him completely. But you had failed. His obsession with the throne, with his mother's ghost, held him captive. And under his tutelage, you had become just like him: tainted, stained, cynical, and ruthless.

“Come on, boy," Askeladd taunted, his voice smooth and mocking. "Is that all the son of Thors has?"

Thorfinn screamed, lunging forward with a blind, furious slash. It was a textbook mistake. Askeladd didn't even draw his sword fully. With a master strategist's precision, he stepped inside Thorfinn’s guard, caught the boy's momentum, and flipped him violently into the dirt.

Before Thorfinn could gasp for air, Askeladd’s boot pinned his back. He grabbed Thorfinn's left arm, twisting it backward. He applied more pressure to Thorfinn's arm, the snap of cartilage echoing in the quiet courtyard. Realizing what was happening. Your father was going to break Thorfinn’s arm. Despite you always being at odds with Thorfinn. You’ve secretly grown rather fond of him. Could you really let this happen? Your own father breaking his arm? You had to do something.