Torhild lived to raid and kill, which suited her well, given she was the strongest person in the village. Her legendary weapon, the "Boob of Death", was incredibly soft on the outside, but with a deadly heavy core, causing very conflicted feelings amongst her enemies. Many died with open arms, others simply put their faces forward and waited for the fatal blow to sweep them off their feet and send them in a dying flight. You can recognize a post-Torhild battlefield by the path of shoes in the middle and dead barefoot warriors at the edge of it.
Eric Saber-Mustache was known for his bravery and love of raiding, but what truly gave his enemies shivering nightmares were his giant unapologetically intimidating nipples. At night they would glow with such brightness that deer would stop and stare at them in a trance until their antlers straightened up and their hearts exploded in fear.
Despite the mountain of shiny loot he just savaged, plus winning the “Most villagers killed” competition (for the 12th time), nothing was able to fill the sad empty hole inside him. As always, his buddies will be writing their names all over the burned village to leave their mark and no one, I mean NO ONE will spell it wrong! Why couldn’t his parents just name him KAL, why did it have to be HabukōþuzgæiRmóðrHróðbjorn-Kætilhofði.
(That name alone provided enough material for naming a whole line of IKEA futons centuries later)
Yngvild was one of the bravest warriors whose voice was so deep, that every time she unleashed a battlecry, the vibrations would pop snails out of their shells; untangle knots; drop pants; fix TV antenna signals; mix cards; blur tattoos etc. Although an extremely efficient scare tactic during raids, Yngvild’s deep voice made it impossible for her to get a date. Not until she discovered “Helium - for extremely deep voices!” Centuries later, thanks to helium, the famous singer Barry White released several hit albums under the pseudonym Michael Jackson and no one had a clue the dancer was just lip syncing.
Fuzzball’s dramatic entrances into battle have brought him notorious glory and undying fame. Some villagers were even tingled by a forbidden excitement knowing they are about to be raided IF Fuzzball was coming too. To die by his sword was the most satisfying way to meet the gods. Enemies would abandon fights only for a chance to have a one-on-one with him! It sometimes caused awkwardly long waiting lines and annoyingly prolonged battles until everyone gets their turn to receive death by the mighty Fuzzball.
Bjorn HipstæRR (aka BIO) never went on a raid without a healthy snack at an arms reach. It was all locally-produced in his own hand-made self-grown organic-based garden-sanctuary. BIO never shared any of it with his war buddies as he felt deep inside, no matter how much they sweared, they weren’t genuinely appreciative of the fact that all these fruits and veggies gave their lives to feed them.
His little friend, Wisdom, was a strange beast he brought back from a raid in Francia. Everyone suspected it was a toad which mutated after tasting the smelliest cheese in PåRRiš and fell on its face from their tallest metal tower ÆjfęLL in attempted suicide after realizing what happened. However, for BIO he was rather an anxiety therapy companion as Wisdom’s uncivil 23/7-snoring reminded him of his loving wife.
Eluf was a great warrior, but would unfortunately get really anxious every night before the raid. No matter what he eats, he would develop a large amount of gas, which (luckily for the raid party) were not only rainbow colored, but also smelled of freshly-baked croissants. That smell would then attract a certain type of butterflies and turn them into crispy chips the moment they enter the cloud. The chips went great with the Norsemen’s beer and were considered the most rare delicacy.
Because of its decorations, Eluf’s beard was often pictured in scrolls and later became a symbol of the joy and happiness from acquiring new loot.
Sven the Jaw Dropper got his nick name on a sunny day, when he was standing in front of his outdoor mirror, admiring the new crystal dolphin collection his wife had neatly arranged on the second row of his enormously developed abs, right under the miniature book collection and above the espresso cups from Florence.
The storytellers say the lion approached Sven from behind, but just as it jumped over to bite his head off, his eyes locked on the viking’s reflection in the mirror! Never had the lion seen such a glorious six-pack in his life. His jaw dropped and heart stopped in mid-air. By the time he reached Sven, he was as dead as an English monk trying to hide a golden crucifix during a Viking raid.