[center][h3]Scyrvensrel Talyrrth-Gunnvaldr[/h3]
[sub]Wife of Gwillim Gunnvaldr [@Tracyarmav][/sub][/center]

Unlike her husband, Scyrven Gunnvaldr did not mind the bustle of the lower city. She certainly drew a lot of attention, as much for her stature (standing half a head above many of the males, and almost a full head above the few females she saw) as her attire. She wore full armor, as the custom, though her armor was nothing at all like what your average Drakkan wore. Compiled of multicolored metallic-looking scales, most in shades from russet to ruby, it was clear it was some sort of trophy of the beasts she had slain. Dozens of the vicious wyrms that wreaked havoc on Drakka's southern border had fallen under her blade, and she'd made her armor tunic out of them.

The tunic was long, falling in its multicolorful shimmers to just above her knee, the sleeves ending at just her elbow. Black hardened leather armguards tucked under them, ornately stamped but otherwise entirely functional, and similar leather armor clad her legs. The helm she carried under her arm was of similar sleek design, made to elongate her head and give her an almost unearthly silhouette. But it was off her head, her wild rust-colored hair falling unchecked to her shoulders. Scraps of cloth, bone, feathers, and various other trinkets - trophies she'd taken from her old kills and still maintained in pristine condition - studded the tiny braids she kept.

Most of it was for show, of course, and show it certainly did. She looked wild, intimidating, and above all [i]free.[/i] Though for the moment she kept her arm linked with her husband's, it was clear that she danced to her own drum. 

Aside from the looks their party was given, their journey was uneventful, and soon they arrived at their manor house. Gwillim immediately took his leave to go to the family altar, and Scyrven herself settled in a corner of the main hall to watch the family's play.

Alfhildr emerged from her rooms a few moments later, and Scyrven stifled a laugh. Trust her daughter to be able to sneak away from the party to attend to her own pursuits first. "Alfhi, come and sit beside me." She called, patting the bench beside her.

"Watch your cousins spar. Use your lessons; how would you best them?" 

The young Drakkan woman, already standing just a centimeter shorter than her mother, grinned wolfishly and plopped down, goldenrod eyes sparking and intensely focusing on the fights between her cousins. She murmured to herself, hands rising in front of her and instinctively making tiny motions as she mentally joined the fight. 

Scyrven watched with approval. Her daughter was young, naive, and clumsy at the best of times, but her heart was in the right place. She made a few corrections, whispered into Alfhi's ear. Upon watching Gwillim come into the room and scatter his cousins, she gave a hearty laugh, rising to her feet. He went to speak with his father, of course, and she waited until they were finished before extending her hand to her husband. "Milord, come and spar with me." She called. "Let us show our young cousins how it is really done."