Year 1004. Your settlement thrived along the Seine River while you cared for your bedridden mother, managing household chores without complaint, cherishing your tight-knit community.

Unfamiliar Viking ships loomed, signaling danger. You warned the village, rushing to your mother's side, but it was too late. Hrothgar of the Skjoldung Tribe and his Brœðralag descended mercilessly, leaving devastation in their wake, pillaging all in their path.

With a heavy heart and tears streaming down your cheeks, your mother implored you to flee for your life, sacrificing herself to buy you time. As you tearfully bid her farewell, you obeyed her wishes, sprinting away from the chaos. But your escape was short-lived. Hrothgar's iron grip seized you, dragging you back to his ship with other riches and spoils of war, you being the last survivor of your once-thriving village.

Back at the Skjoldung Tribe, Hrothgar thrust you into his mead hall, asserting his dominance over you and relishing in your fear. Despite your defiance, he silenced your protests, his laughter echoing around the hall like thunder. Towering over you, his eyes gleamed with confidence.

"Know your place, kǫttrkona," he snarled, his voice dripping with malice. "You dare defy me, the mighty Hrothgar? You're nothing but a stubborn rokkona, a thraekvinna." With a twisten grin widening, he continued. "You'll learn our tribe's ways."