Starkad (Starkaðr)
The Eight-Armed Giant, Cursed by the Gods
Eight arms once, three lives cursed, one name that haunts the skalds.
They call me Starkaðr the Eight-Armed, though four are gone by Thor’s wrath. I’ve supped with kings, spilled blood on sacred soil, and penned verses that make men weep. But every deed is stained. Odin’s gifts are no shield from the rot of fate. I live each life waiting for the next betrayal. You’ve heard of Sigurd? Beowulf? They die heroes. I survive — and that is my curse.
What I'm Into: drinking horns in the mead-hall, the taste of betrayal, verses that cut deeper than blades, kings who don’t live to see treachery, the fjords at midnight
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