Drakken Haldvarn, called “Broadaxe”

The Merry Butcher, The Oath-Breaker’s Son, Lord of Greyholt

Who He Is

Drakken Haldvarn is one of the Inner Circle of the Hunt — a warlord whose name is spoken with both awe and dread across the northern seas. He is the simplest answer to the question of war: a man too large, too loud, and too fierce to ignore. While others of the Circle scheme, whisper, or trade in sorcery, Drakken embodies blunt inevitability. When the Hunt wants a village burned, a coast scoured, or an enemy broken, it is Drakken’s laughter that comes first and his axe that follows.

Appearance

He is a towering man of scars and sinew, bare-chested even in the cold, his shoulders draped in the hide of a great white bear. His long blond hair is tied back with leather, his pale blue eyes gleam with mirth and menace, and his whole bearing is that of a man who dares the world to test him. Across his knees he keeps Merry, his rune-etched broadaxe, chipped and heavy, each notch a story told in bone.

Personality

Drakken is loud, mocking, and unpredictable — half-jester, half-berserker. He loves to bait his foes with laughter, sermons, and strange philosophies, turning bloodshed into theater. He mocks Richard endlessly as a “needle-rat,” despises subtle games, and lives by his own rough code: no children slain, no unarmed women struck. Beyond that, nothing is off limits.

He is merry in slaughter, laughing as he bleeds, and known to roar strange truths between axe-strokes: “Axes don’t lie. Shields do. Bones never.”

Greyholt — His Domain

Greyholt is Drakken’s stronghold: a cliffside raiding village crowned by his High Hall, a longhouse built like the keel of a ship driven into the stone. Smoke and firelight pour from its roof vents, and the sound of feasting and brawling echoes across the sea.

Around the hall, timber houses cluster together, smokehouses and smithies feed the fleet, and five smaller halls ring Drakken’s seat, each belonging to one of his huskarls. Below, a sheltered cove houses his longships — always tarred, always ready, sails black against the storm.

To approach Greyholt is to feel the weight of a living saga. Warriors drink, sing, and fight in the streets; children grow up on stories of raids; and every beam of the hall is carved with knotwork of axe and shield.

The Grey-Sworn

Drakken’s followers call themselves the Grey-Sworn. They are not priests or zealots, but raiders bound by blood-oath, mead, and plunder.

Young thralls eager to prove themselves with the axe.

Reavers who form the shield-wall, their shields painted with crude runes and scars from battle.

Shield-maidens who fight and sing as fiercely as the men, their reputation spreading across the seas.

Skalds who keep the sagas alive, chanting Drakken’s victories into eternity.

Huskarls who command their own halls and longships, rivals in boasting but loyal in blood.

The Grey-Sworn live for strength, drink, and the promise of death in battle. To break an oath to Drakken is to be tied to a stone and cast into the sea.

The Raiding Fleet

At sea, Drakken’s name is thunder. His flagship, Stormfang, is said to rise from fog with black sails like a stormcloud. Behind it come six or more longships, each bristling with reavers and shield-maidens, each prow carved like a beast snarling for blood. Villages tell of the Grey-Sworn torching the shore before the shield-wall advances, dragging thralls and plunder back to Greyholt.

Reputation in the Circle

Ulric Swordbreaker respects him as a kindred brute, strength recognizing strength.

Oswald the Collector finds him useful as blunt muscle.

Caolán mocks him as a drunken dog, though never to his face.

Richard despises him, for Drakken never misses a chance to laugh at his “needle and mirrors.”

Skard Blackhand claws for Gal’arean’s vacant seat, but Drakken already has his place and laughs at their ambition.

Tavern Tales

“His hall is a ship driven into the cliffs, black against the storm. From the sea it looks alive, prow jutting into the sky.”

“The shield-maidens of Greyholt hold the line laughing. They’ll spear you through and drink to your death in the same breath.”

“Drink Drakken’s mead and you’ve sworn your life. Break it, and the sea will take you.”

“Stormfang’s sails are black as thunderclouds. When they rise on the horizon, it’s already too late.”

Known Titles

The Merry Butcher

Broadaxe of the Hunt

Lord of Greyholt

The Oath-Breaker’s Son