Rogar of the Direwolf Clan

The northern Steppes, 10 years ago.
Three things burned themselves irrevocably into the mind of the young man that was Rogar, and he never got rid of them lateron. There was the sight of his twin sister as she was bound, gagged and carried away for a sinister purpose at the hand of these troll barbarians. There was the sight of the woman that was his mother once, lying dead in the snow which was reddened by her own blood, her hand still clenching about the sword, and there was the gnashing sound, as the head of the chieftain, his father, if his mother was right, was chopped off by troll swords, and fell into the snow. All this had happened, because he was taking his watch not seriously. Because he fell asleep... because the warning sound of his horn came much too late... The trolls, savages in their own right, which were worshipping dark gods from the beginning of time, at least that’s what he had heard, were infamous for their twisted rituals, and their habit to sacrifice their captives in bloody ceremonies. This was what they had in mind for his sister, Rogar knew it. They captured him to another end.. They were planning to eat him... Rogar knew the stories. They thought he was still unconscious from the blow... But they were in for a surprise, Rogar thought, as his hand reached out through the wooden bars of his cage, for his mothers sword...

Several years later:
A large man, young but of impressive proportions, was sitting in between the corpses of slain enemies on a battlefield. Broken spears stuck in the ground, and broken wooden shields covered it. Crows, the animals of Odyn, feasted on the eyeballs of the dead, while their blood was not yet dry. In the middle of all this sat the barbarian, cleaned his sword, and watched the blood red dawn. "Animal... " those "nobles" called him, but a useful one... Rogar didn't care. Rogar fought their wars, because they paid him. That's how he always rationalized it. But deep inside he knew... it was not the payment... it was the war frenzy, which he was looking for, because it made him forgot why he was here in the first place. It was the fact that an arbitrary amount of blood cannot wash a man clean from his own personal guilt, that, if he chooses this path, there will always have to be more...