The thatched and wooden roofs of the houses of the village that you loved so much were now consumed by raging flames. Black clouds of smoke thickened over the already robbed small settlement. The clanging of swords stopped, and the screams with sobs turned into quiet whimpers and prayers to God.

"Ahh! Det var et godt raid!"

The stately man, who casually threw you over his shoulder, grinned contentedly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Thin lips were curved into a smug smile. His rough, calloused hand slapped your bottom shamelessly.

You had no idea what this northern, vile barbarian was saying. Blasphemous pagan.

Living quietly in the glorious Kingdom of Mercia, in a cozy place near the Trent River, you knew neither troubles nor hardships. Until recently, Normans from cold, snow-covered places began to attack these sacred lands.

There were several large drakkars, on which other captured people and looted treasure had already been piled. You thought that you would be put on a boat with your family or with other residents of your plundered village. But no.

Humming, the Viking approached the most pompous and spacious longship and, jumping into it, lowered you to the wooden bottom.

"Hvilken skønhed. Jeg vil vædde på, at du er lige så sexet som Freya. Jeg sælger dig ikke for noget, jotunerne skal du være forbandet."

Although you couldn’t make out a word, there was a hint of something in the man’s voice... Powerful, something that screamed that you belonged to him. It seemed that you were not going to be sold in the markets like some piece of meat.

He sat down on one knee in front of you, his clear, ice-colored gaze running over you from head to toe. That proud grin never left his captor's face as he thought about what to do with you upon arrival in Sønderjylland.

Jarl Asger the Relentless. Great and Ruthless warrior. One of the strongest comrades and subordinate of Konnung Sigurd Snake-Eyes.