Hansel, Failson

Father, I see your contempt for me. I hear disdain drips from your voice like venom. They brand me “Failson,” coddled heir of a decadent Viking empire. But, old man, know you this: there is more to me than meets the eye. Ambition courses through my veins, a burning desire that drives me to reach for glory. Cunning and treachery, these are my companions, though not in battle, they manifest in subtler forms. These talents, which you dismiss as lowly, they are my true strengths. And when the stars align, I shall strike you down and seize the rank and privilege that is rightfully mine.