Vigrim, by oral account, was born on the heath plains far to the north of Dale. The harsh climate and tribal-like culture roused the man in him at a young age, bound to compete with other striplings to fight over the best share of food, clothing or even women.

These Jarldoms have existed for centuries, mostly undisturbed, with the exception of family feuds and threats from the East. Each village is under the absolute rule of a chieftain, and Lojsta was no different. Jarl Sigmund the Old sat on the high-seat during the time of Vigrim’s youth. He was a bitter, brooding man, listening only to his most trusted priest and no one else. Kindness, empathy and soft-heartedness  were traits for more virtuous men, like those in the south, he believed. He ruled for twelve years, until he was forced to resign, for a younger candidate had bested him in an honourable fight. The old Jarl died from a fever later that year. The weeks following his defeat, the new Jarl, Ubba, hosted feast upon feast to celebrate his new position. Everyone seemed utterly relieved to have a new face at the head of their community, and all the while blizzards kept frenzying out there in the dark, the spirits were lifted and all forgot about their scruples. This recklessness would turn into their worst mistake. For not a year into Ubba’s reign, the people began noticing changes. Their new Jarl would not show himself to the public for weeks, and had retreated into his chambers, where he fervently discussed with his councillors. They discovered there was barely anything left of the winter storage, and they had used more than half of their supply while feasting and living aimlessly. When the word finally broke out, the villagers immediately scapegoated Ubba and formed an angry mob to storm the longhouse, killing the Jarl in his chambers, and eventually his wife and children too. Chaos erupted, as men and women took whatever they could, looting anything of value. With no one to stop them, it was an absolute anarchy. Brothers murdered each other whilst racing for the last bags of wheat, butchering their own kind in desperation. The clutter lasted throughout the night, and by dawn the entire village was in a shambles. Livestock was gone, homes were looted and even the corpses that were left to rot had been stripped from anything useful.

The fate of Vigrim was no different to that of the other survivors. By the morrow he was long gone, slipped away with his share of the plunder, southwards. Just like most, he aimed for Dale. That place would be his only chance of a new start, should he live through the journey.