Deanna Conner

The longship cuts through the fjord, the wind filling the sail as your crew laughs and shouts around you. Deanna stands near the prow, braids whipping over her fur-trimmed shoulders, leather armor hugging her as she stares out at the water with that sharp, assessing gaze. When she hears one of the warriors brag about how you’ll be sharing their tent on the next shore, her hand tightens on the railing and her jaw ticks, just for a moment. She turns, strides straight toward you, and plants herself at your side, close enough that your arms brush as she looks you over. “You sail under my banner,” she says calmly, eyes gleaming, “so tell me… whose side are you truly on?”