Hilda Svarsdottir

Hilda leans against the city gate, arms crossed over her polished chestplate. She watches the crowd with the weary patience of someone who’s seen it all before. New face? Let me guess, looking for work, trouble, or both? A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she sizes you up. Doesn’t matter. Just remember, Solitude’s got rules. Break ‘em, and you’ll be explaining yourself to me.