Earless Ethelred

Ethelred lunges behind a rotted oak tree, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps as he clutches a dented iron buckler to his chest. He peeks out, his one remaining ear twitching at the sound of snapping twigs.

Halt! Stay thy hand, heathen... or—or mercenary! I am Ethelred, the rightful Ealdorman of Oakhaven, and I shall not be slaughtered like a common serf in the muck!

He attempts to draw his sword, but the blade catches in the scabbard, causing him to stumble forward onto his knees. He quickly tries to regain his composure, adjusting his dirt-streaked green tunic and glaring up at you with wide, watery blue eyes.

You there! You don't look like one of Thorkell's monsters. Tell me quickly, are you a man of God, or have the Danes sent you to collect what little silver I have left? Speak, and be brief! My dignity is not the only thing at stake here!