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Fourth oldest child, and third son of Harald Grimhall, Sivard came into this world minutes behind his twin brother crying and screaming out into the night as a storm raged overhead. After his birth, Sivard spent the majority of his early years at Grimhall Island with his mother and siblings, where he trained and studied as any other Thraxian might with a focus on sailing and warfare. Although while his brothers contented themselves the a more traditional approach to things, training for combat and sparring whenever they had a free moment, Sivard prefered the company of his Mother, in his spare time, where he learned many things that weren't as typical for a son of Grimhall to pursue. When his father was around though, he could always be found nearby, learning about the sagas and heroic literature of the past, which he developed a deep appreciation of over the years. As time passed, Sivard grew discontented with being cooped up on the island, and as such pleaded with his father to take him along on some of his travels. Expressing a desire to see more of the outside world, and experience all the things it might have to offer. At least, in so much as there was on offer in the Mourning Isles. Much of what he experienced was the traditional pursuit of House Grimhall, raiding and reaving, taking what they could and leaving nothing behind. It was during this time that he came into his own in regards to infiltration, something he was more gifted at than his twin brother. Skills learned that were perhaps atypical as a youth have turned out to be something more useful as he has grown older. There was a small amount of bitterness that settled on him when his father refused to allow him off the island during the last war. Was it for his protection? Possibly. But it wasn't just about him, either. He had his mother, and the rest of his siblings that would also need to rely on him, and not everyone could pack up and head out to a battle such as that. However, that has changed, and with the changing climate there is a chance for him now that he didn't have before. He's heading to Arx.

Tall and slender, standing just a whisker over six feet, he's got the kind of persona that grabs you by the throat when he walks into a room and doesn't let up until he leaves. His skin is lightly tanned, from years beneath the sun, and his complexion smooth, while appearing to be somewhere in his late teens to early twenties. A crop of short hair, a dark golden brown in colour, sits atop his head; shaved down at the sides and back while the top is left alone, looking as if it were styled simply by running his fingers back through it. His face is sculpted with a strong jaw and angular cheekbones providing a backdrop for expressive features, the centerpiece of which are his eyes, deep set, azure blue and observant.

Like his father, "grim" is a word best used to describe him, beyond more than just a family name. Although that's where most similarities end. Unlike most Thraxian fighters the eagerness to charge into the thick of things, weapon swinging, seems to be of a more secondary desire than a ruling impulse. Preferring instead to play the role of watcher; studying and observing, before moving to engage at a time of his own choosing and on his own terms. Wise is a word oft used to describe him, though his usually underhanded and unorthodox way of handling things, tends to lend a hand in "cunning" and "cruel" to be tossed around just as much. As far as loyalty goes, unless one happens to be family, or someone proven worthy of his trust, it is often best to step carefully around him.