Helgmar was known for his skill with axe and spear. The lore of his battlefield prowess meant that he could end more private disputes with but a glare of his smoke-colored eyes.
He was blunt and honest in a way that earned him an equal amount of friends and enemies. He was glad for both, for enjoyed a life full of equal parts feasting and fighting.
And when he left the feasting halls the men that remained would whisper that he must be eager to get home to the comely wife that waited for him. After all, fighting and feasting were but two parts of the sacred trio and for all his glory, Helgmar lacked what all great men needed: a son.
Helgmar, upon his arrival, was gladdened by the face of his wife and he lunged for her voice, but another demanded his attention first.
He sat down to meet his daughter’s eye as she told him about colors, and dogs and cats spoke with different voices. In turn, he sang her a new song about frogs.
And as he combed her hair before tying it up for bed he thought about how complete his life was.
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Deadly Troubadour 