Sigurd Olafson


Pour yourselves another horn of mead and warm yourselves by the fire, for my story is a tale of bloodshed and sorrow. My name is Sigurd Olafson, and this is my [removed]

"West over water I faired,
Bearing poetry's waves to the shore
Of the war-god's heart;
My course was set.
I launched my oaken craft
At the breaking of ice.
Loaded my cargo of praise
Aboard my longboat [removed];

The year is 907AD. Two brothers, Haldor Lothsgeld and Einar Gunnarson leave Hedeby, Denmark, and take to the whale road to seek their fortune and leave a crimson wake behind them. Haldor headed south to Wessex, whilst Einar headed west to Ireland, where the land was rich and fertile and promised wealth beyond a kings ransom. Einar plundered and murdered his way from Dyfflin (Dublin) to as far east as the Volga.


In the year 909AD, Einar along with his wife Anora and their 2 year old son Olaf settled in Norway. The birth of Olaf had been a difficult one as Anora had previously suffered several miscarriages and this had nearly been the death of her. Olaf grew tall and strong like his father. He accompanied Einar on raids and earned a fearsome reputation, he did not suffer fools gladly. Headstrong, some may say. It was on one of these raids that Einar received a fatal wound to the stomach. With a heavy heart, Olaf returned with his fathers body and his mother, Anora, was grief stricken. She took her own life.

Olaf continued to raid and like his father, took himself a wife, Freydis, the daughter of a farmer. To this day they still talk of the handfasting. It was not long before Olaf felt the call of the sea and once again he would set sail, but this time Freydis would accompany him, where they settled in Ireland.

"Battle-cranes swooped
Over heaps of dead,
Wound-birds did not want
For blood to [removed];
The wolf gobbled flesh,
The raven daubed
The prow of its beak 
In waves of red"

A fearsome storm raged, clouds as black as soot and the screams of a dying woman marked the birth of Sigurd Olafson in the year 929AD. Some say that Sigurd was sired by a black ram and spawned from Hel herself, for Sigurd had claimed his first victim: his mother. Something that will haunt him for the rest of his days. Sigurd grew up listening to stories and tales of his grandfather and his travels, and wanted to be just as fearsome. Sigurd hardly ever smiled, even as a boy. He scorned some of the other boys as they were not first generation Hiberno-Norse Viking born in Ireland, and would always return home with cuts and bruises. But there was one who could always put a smile on his face. Gyda, the daughter of a blacksmith, with raven-black hair and eyes to pierce the very soul. She was the most beautiful thing Sigurd had ever seen, and knew he would marry her.

Sigurd became a skilful warrior and fast with a blade, and at any given chance would accompany his father on raids for Sigurd had murder in his heart. Bloodshed was meat and drink for him, for Sigurd worshiped the Norse gods, and put no faith in the encroaching White Christ. But Sigurd soon realised there was more to be gained through trade than want and killing, and Sigurd soon became the expert in haggling. From hiring a crew to the finest sword. Olaf would not live to see the birth of his granddaughter for he would die in the land of the Rus, fighting as a mercenary alongside his son. A funeral pyre was set ablaze in honour of Olaf and to send him on his way to the halls of Valhalla. Sigurd claimed his father's sword, a single-edged blade which never left his side.

Sigurd married Gyda in 963AD and by 964AD they had a daughter, Aetta, who is now Sigurd's world. Sigurd would boast that his daughter was as strong as any boy and would soon become a fearsome shield maiden. It was whilst in Jorvik that Sigurd travelled south to Behethlen  to trade with the Cornish, where he met Mor Mab Doniert, a member of a warband named Morvleydh. Through this warband, he met Cadan who was the grandson of Haldor Lothsgeld, the brother of Sigurd's grandfather. When they found out that they were cousins, they drank the village dry. For three days neither one could leave their beds, for the pain of Thor's hammer beating inside their heads. They were happy days.

Sigurd returned to Dyfflin (Dublin) only to find out that Gyda had died of a fever. It seemed that the Einar-curse was still with him. Sigurd returned to Behethlen with his daughter Aetta who was just six years old where she would spend time as a fostri with Cadan and his wife Braeca, and their four sons. Sigurd continued to raid and trade, but eventually settled in Cornwall himself where he now fights as a mercenary in the warband Morvleydh (Sea Wolves) with his cousin Cadan, who is more like his brother. They are inseparable friends and fiercely loyal to each other, as well as their warband. Sigurd spends his free time making shields with the aid of his daughter Aetta, who's not so little anymore. This is just part of my story.