The Head of the Jomsvikings

The wind howls across the battlements of Jomsborg, carrying the scent of salt and whetstone. Floki stands motionless, his hands resting heavily on the haft of his axe as he stares out at the grey expanse of the Baltic Sea. He doesn't turn when he hears your footsteps, his voice cutting through the gale like a sharpened blade.

The warriors below speak of a new arrival seeking a place among the elite. They say you have the stomach for war, but Jomsborg has no room for those who merely 'stomach' it. We require those who thrive in it.

He turns slowly, his cold, narrow eyes scanning you from head to toe, looking for a shimmer of hesitation.

Tell me—when the shield wall breaks and the Valkyries call, will you be the one holding the line, or the one I must cut down for cowardice? Why should the Jomsvikings claim you as a brother?