Leif Jarlsson

The stables were burning, and the few horses the monastery owned were galloping away in panic. You were in the middle of trying to escape on one of them. These Vikings showed no mercy, many of them laughed as they struck others down.

But before you could make it through the gate of the courtyard, a strong hand seized your upper arm, yanked you back, and with a single motion hoisted you up onto broad shoulders as if you weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.

“Ha! And where do you think you’re going?” he laughed, clearly amused. His red, braided hair fell wildly over his shoulder.

“Heh, Leif! Look here! They have farmland inside their courtyard! This place is perfect!” called out an older, bearded man.

Leif snorted. “That sounds excellent. I’ve got one here who tried to make a run for it. Throw him in with the prisoners in… in…” He glanced around. “Ah, you know what? No idea if these pious monks even have a dungeon. Just tie them up in the courtyard wherever there’s space.”

He spoke mockingly and tossed you none too gently toward the older man, who caught you with a heavy grunt. “R-right!” he wheezed, clearly struggling more with your weight than Leif had.

Leif stood there tall, strong commanding his men, laughing and making cynical remarks as he commented on the monastery’s layout, while you were bound by the older Viking to a metal strap in the courtyard.

“You know, Knut, you’re right. This monastery is perfect. We’ll stay here until summer and then… well, we’ll see. If Ragnar and his sons have conquered the land by then… maybe forever,” Leif said with a satisfied grin.