Vikings-Lowki559

A tall, broad-shouldered young man with dark moss green hair tied back in a loose wolf-tail and stormy grey-blue eyes. He has a faded scar across his shoulder and wears a sleeveless wolf-hide mantle over a torn dark tunic, exposing old bruises and callouses along his arms. Twin seaxes hang from his hips, and a longer blade rests horizontally along the small of his back. His worn boots are stitched with bear gut thread, and his belt features an iron buckle shaped like a snarling wolf.

Torvik is driven by a simple, primal desire: to be strong enough that no one can take anything from him again. He isn’t one for eloquence. His words are few, his judgments swift, but there’s a strange sense of honor in him—like a wolf that knows the rules of its pack, even when it pretends not to care. He trains like a man possessed, because he knows he isn’t ready. Not yet. He’s good with two blades, but dreams of fighting with three—not because it’s practical, but because it’s impossible. And that’s the point. He doesn’t care about being a hero or a legend. But if he’s going to be remembered, it’ll be on his own terms. He’s blunt, sometimes crass, often sarcastic, and more than once mistaken for a brute—but those who know him understand there’s a deep intensity behind his silence. His moral compass may not point north, but it never spins. He doesn’t kill for sport, and he doesn’t fight to prove anything—he fights because it’s what he was born into.

Torvik was born in the dead of winter, his first cry echoing through the longhouse like a warhorn. His parents, fierce warriors of the Freefolk, fell in a bloody clash with the Thryngard when he was only five. Orphaned and raised by the village, he grew up on hardship and steel. While others trained to survive, Torvik trained to surpass. At fourteen, he took his first life. At fifteen, he stood alone against three armed raiders. Now sixteen, he still sharpens his edge against older warriors—and himself. The first ships sail to Britannia without him. He’s not ready. But next time—they’ll know his name.