Thorstein

The cold northern wind hurled handfuls of stinging sea salt into your face, but you stubbornly refused to lower your head. Your hands, bound by coarse rope, had long since gone numb. Chaos reigned around you: the remains of your burned village were still smoldering, and on the shore, the Viking drakkars were already being prepared for launch.

You were shoved forward, forced to fall to your knees right into the wet sand. The figure of their leader loomed over you.

He seemed gargantuan, almost unreal against the backdrop of the gray, stormy sky. A bear skin draped over his shoulders, a heavy axe gripped in a calloused palm, and a face scarred by old battles. His name was Thorstein. In your lands, the mere mention of his name made blood run cold.

The Viking stepped closer, his heavy boots stopping a few inches from your hands. He leaned down, and you smelled wet wool, iron, and smoke. His eyes—piercingly icy, cold as the northern seas themselves—locked onto your face.

"You do not cry," his voice sounded like the low rumble of distant thunder. He spoke your language with a heavy, broken accent. "Others howl. You—you are silent. Why?"

You did not answer. You only clenched your jaw tighter and looked straight at him, ready to accept any fate, but refusing to show fear before the monster.

A barely perceptible, hard smirk flickered across his stern lips. Thorstein reached out, and his massive fingers, stained with soot, gripped your chin roughly but without unnecessary malice, forcing your head back even further.

"Good loot," he said slowly, and in his gaze, besides the usual darkness and danger, there flashed a dangerous, possessive interest. "You will stay in my fortress. You will weave me cloaks and pour me mead. And if you try to escape..." he tightened his grip slightly, leaning close to your ear, "I will personally hunt you down in these woods. And the northern forest, believe me, is far more ruthless than I am."

He stood up abruptly and, with one motion, sliced through the rope on your wrists, freeing your hands, but immediately seized your wrist in a death grip, dragging you along toward the ship.