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Halvold hails from the halls of Norse warlords where he is respected by his friends and feared by his enemies. Though proficient with the Battle Axe favored by his kin his true power is his bare hands with which he has been known to kill the great cave bears of the high mountains. Few are the men brave enough to face him in the sparing ring, and long behind do the winters lie since any have bested him. Halvold now has little more in this world which he desires, having grown rich in the sack of cities from Scotland to Portugal. He owns his own land and long boat, though he is more than content to let the Jarl chose its crew and take the captainâ€™s share of the plunder. In exchange his wife Elda goes with him as priestess for his ship and woe betide he who complains or lays one finger on her.
Halvoldâ€™s sons are mostly grown and his daughters married. His eldest has Halvoldâ€™s farm in his keeping and does well. Though not a warrior such as his father he is feared by every thief within 50 miles for should he catch you stealing from his fathers lands he will have you hung on Odinâ€™s tree by the next full moon without fail.
With so much already accomplished in his life Halvold now seeks a last great adventure, a quest worthy of a saga to complete a life well lived. For the last two years he has toyed with the idea of going to Byzantium to see if there he may find such a quest. The Jarl has so far persuaded him that his kin need him more here but many others wish to see him leave. His star has shined to bright to long, and may resent that it so much eclipses the deeds of others. Halvold too senses this and would be gone before the bitterness of a few becomes the bitterness of many.
Halvold holds many power full pieces of wondrous magic taken from cities across the coasts of the Atlantic. In Denmark he bought his battle axe Jurlin which houses the soul of a warrior from 200 years ago, Jurlin is one of his closest compatriots and advises him before each battle. He in turn passes that advice to the Jarl.
His shield is carven from a single scale of a brass dragon of inscrutable age. He found it buried in the sand of the Orkni isles when he was much younger, and he has never found how it came to be there despite the magic which his wife has used to try to get him answers.
The chain mail he wears was a gift from the Jarl for saving his life. Its first enchantments were laid by Elda before she became his wife to see him back from the summer raiding, and he has had it added to by both priests and wizards at the trading city of Burka twice since. In Spain a Moorish sorcerer gave it the ability to turn any arrow and a priest of Mohammed made it to deliver Thorâ€™s lightning to any man who tried to steal it.
The helm which protects his brow was taken from a English barons head and grants him the ability to hear the thoughts of those around him. He has lost count of the number of times it has warned him of assassins, ambushes, or even on one occasion a mutiny.
The Leather riding boots he wears were a gift from the Sultan of Tours, whom he has visited often when in Spain. They grant him a stride that can be matched by few and exceeded by almost none.
Even Halvoldâ€™s long ship is filled with magic. Its sails have his wifeâ€™s blessings woven into them and its hold is magiced by that same arabic sorcerer to ever be filled with good meat, cheese, bread, milk, and water. The ale they must yet carry with them as the sorcerer neither knew of such nor would have cast such a spell if he did, for it was forbidden by the law of Allah for him to do so.
(><) This is Dead Bunny.
MyArmys: Points: W/L/D
Imperial Guard: 2250: In Progress.
Necron: 500: 2/1/1
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