"Here lies one born in war."
Baptized by thunder
Bathed in blood and broken bones;
Here lies one born of glory.
Songbringer in the storm.
Upon which enemies tremble and gnash their teeth;
For whom the Golden Gates stand open.
Until stars fall and sea overcomes land."

——Eternal Warrior, Thrud the Wolf-Kissed

What can one say about Thrud and Helga that hasn't already been said? Of their different temperaments it is known. Of Thrud's rashness and impulsiveness, love of wine and addiction to battle it is legendary. Well told are the stories around the Northland inns of Thrud the Great.
It is well-known that her weapons of choice are twin axes, which she can throw at a moment's notice. Her choice of adornment is also noteworthy—a beautiful white direwolf coat, said to be a former companion who died at her side, spoken by some as a lost descendant of the great Fenrir who comes to her aid in battle.
Well known is the honorific given to Thrud, the "Wolf-Kissed". For she has "kissed" wolves and death many times.

Thrud is a warrior of warriors but even she has served under greater legends, like the once great chief of chiefs Ivar Ironfist. A long time ago, before Ivar's sun had set and hair turned gray, Thrud was no more than a common soldier under his watch.
Those were great days of pillaging! Plundering! Many towns were razed. Many gasps were uttered at the sight of the infamous longship of dread that brought screams and bitter nights.
It was inevitable that deadly ambition would creep in to the purity of their swords as the plunder of the clan grew. One wrong move and any chieftain can lose everything.
A new breed of warriors ascended the stage and cast out the old chiefs. The fate of a retired Viking Lord is sad indeed. Death in battle is far preferred to becoming a laughing stock of the able-bodied. Unworthy to be slain in battle, old Vikings frequently become nomads, shaking their fists at daily disrespect.
"I'll give you an honorable death! Rise, Ivar Ironfist!" Thrud spoke in a low voice, "Come fight your finest duel with me!
Should the gates of Valhalla be opened to one such as Ivar who had not the pleasure of dying on the battlefield? The old man's dry eyes could have wept for joy at the thought he would finally be released into Valhalla's glory. Red was the sword that delivered him from the earth. And joyous was the heart of the man who died.

"Upon the shore of the Western Sea stood row upon row of iron shields. Waves of our warriors were beaten back, spears splintered, legs and arms heavy with wounds. Our men looked at each other in fear and trembling, and then... then Thrud appeared."
She had no speech to give, but lifting twin axes in twin hands, charged into the fray. Can you imagine? One woman against that wall? The laughter of the enemy soon turned to screams. The battle lines began to shake! Blue light flashed here and there... What was it now?! A great white wolf! Fenrir had heard the cry of Thrud and come to her aid!"
"The enemy ranks broke! They fled! And everyone knew, crystal clear, who in that moment had delivered them, who had saved the Viking army from ruin!" Another colorful story of great deeds in battle told beautifully by Jaeger to the assembled. They looked to Helga occasionally to see in her eyes whether it was true. She had been there. But she only smiled from the door, content to keep her counsel secret.