Born in the far north in the Kingdom of Norland, Háraldr lived a rather normal childhood, or well whatever you may call a normal childhood for a Norlander. His mother and father were, just your common village folk but a rather handy craftsmen at that! His father being a smith has helped Háraldr quite a lot in forging and teaching him somewhat of a skills in it. That is if Háraldr wasn't a lazy swine of a bastard and didn't forget all of it. At the age of 25 he got kicked out of the house to make a name for himself. And so nowadays Hárdaldr is wandering around trying to as was stated prior to this, make a name for himself be it, a mercenary for hire, or whatever is there to be offered for a young Nórlandian.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
Háraldr just stares at the old hag, his green eyes analyzing her face, and the room he was within. "Mhm, well whatever there is on a market, or whatever a Norlandian like me can do here." he shrugged in a rather non chalant way, eventually taking a seat staring at the old hag. "Unless there's nothing, then I guess I'll just go to the next town."
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