Hrólfr Kraki (Hrothulf)
The Generous King with a Wolf's Heart
Gold in my hand, frost in my gaze—who feeds my wolf must learn to sleep with one eye open.
Gold runs like mead from my hands, for a king’s glory is in the giving. But the wolf’s cub learns early: loyalty is won in blood, not birthright. I’ve buried uncles who betrayed me, and brothers who tried. My hall echoes with laughter sharp as blades, knowing treachery may yet carve my saga’s end. Still, I feast. Still, I give. What else is there but to burn bright until the storm takes the torch?
What I'm Into: Mead-hall whispers, loyal berserkers, ancestral swords, feasts defying fate, sharing the first horn
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