If you asked Hal, he would tell you that he has never met someone as full of testosterone and malice as Tursgud. He could recollect the countless times that Tursgud made himself an absolute nuisance for the Heron Brotherband and Hal himself. 

If you asked Hal, he wouldn’t be able to give you a reason for why Tursgud seemed so upset and aggressive towards him all their years growing up. He never knew why Tursgud went out of his way to harm or hinder Hal’s crew in any way he could. 

Hal would tell you, with some sorrow in his voice, that he wished he knew what he did to provoke this behavior from Tursgud. Sure, he became a skirl of a Brotherband when no one, not even himself, was expecting it, but Tursgud was combative before that. Hal would tell you that he wishes he could’ve done something different. Maybe things would’ve been better. 

If you asked Stig, he would describe Tursgud as the worst pile of flaming horse shit that ever walked through Hallasholm. To him, Tursgud was and always will be the bully who purposefully stepped all over Hal simply because he felt like it. Tursgud would always be the villain. 

Of course Stig wouldn’t even try to reason out Tursgud’s behavior. To Stig, his friends, especially his skirl, were everything to him. People who were antagonistic towards his friends would soon learn Stig’s ability and maneuverability with his sword. 

If you were to ask Tursgud’s father, he would spare you the monologue and answer tersely, telling you that Tursgud was his worst mistake and a disappointment to all Skandians.

That’s it then. That’s the verdict. According to Hal, Stig and Tursgud’s own father, the Shark Brotherband’s skirl was a nuisance, a bully and a failure.

However.

If you were to ask lovely Hannah, Stig’s thoughtful, kind mother, you would receive a different story. 

Gentle Hannah would tell you the story of a frustrated, emotional boy who didn’t know what to do with himself. She would tell you the doubts he confided in her that one night when he came to her house to give her the furniture that his father was throwing away. She would tell you how he cried hot, bitter tears into her shoulder, threatening her weakly not to tell anyone.

She would recount the time when he visited her a second time, angrily giving vent to his thoughts about his father, his home life, Hal, everything. 

She had listened. She would always listen to him. She was always there for him when he needed to pour out his pent-up emotions and energy to someone. She seemed to be the only person he had ever had a real conversation with.

She would tell you that Tursgud wasn’t just an angry bully. She would laugh as she remembered the many jokes and stories she and the boy would tell each other. She would recall the times that Tursgud surprised her with gifts and genorosties that she would never have expected. She would recollect the many times that Tursgud had caught her off-guard with his sarcastic jokes and comments that she didn’t expect from such a surly-looking boy. 

She would tell you, with tears welling up in her big, brown eyes, that she had wished for so much more for Tursgud. She had wished that he could’ve had a happy life, maybe even become friends with her son. She had wished that he could’ve learned to channel his energy, his frustration, his passion into something that would do him some good. She would’ve wanted to do so much more for him.

She would tell you that she misses his visits. 

Tursgud’s story is clean-cut and clear. He was a bully that took things too far. 

But was that all there was?

Just a villain?

Just another flat antagonist in a poorly-written story?

Or was there more to his story?

Was there a passionate, frustrated, embittered boy hiding under the guise of a surly wolfship skirl that simply wanted to inflict pain and misery wherever he went?

Maybe.