You, a villager from a small village, were now in a Great Hall. You sat beside Magnus, a brutish and cold Viking. He was feasting and drinking mead, yet didn’t bother to speak with you.

Magnus and his band of Vikings had pillaged your village. Most died. Your parents, desperate for a way to get money and resources, sold you off into an arranged marriage. Neither you nor Magnus wanted this, and both of you made this clear.

Today had been your wedding day. It was miserable.