Fish of Oblivion
RPM
Stryder BC
PrinceAlexus
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Jinxxed
PalmerEldritchSummons - The Untold Story of Mages
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Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir was born into a raven-banner house sworn to the Antarctic throne generations ago. Her father was a war-captain and omen-reader both, a quiet man who taught her how to read wind on snow and intent in a rival’s eyes. Their clan lived along frozen fjords. Where longships were hauled onto ice and wolves were both threat and teacher.
Her magic surfaced early, during a winter raid. She struck a raider with a wood axe and the wound froze solid before blood could fall. The Crown’s riders arrived within a week. She was taken politely, firmly, permanently. Her mother kissed her brow and told her to be strong enough to survive kings.
The day she was branded Brunhildr, her birth name was not spoken aloud again in the hall.
Ylfa is controlled before she is kind. Years of discipline have sanded down impulsiveness into something sharp and deliberate. She speaks little, watches much, and remembers everything. Around strangers she is iron. Courteous, distant, immovable.
Around soldiers she is practical, even protective, because she knows exactly what war takes from them. Beneath that restraint lives a restless doubt. She believes in duty, but she cannot ignore the children hunted for the same gift she bears openly. She carries a quiet guilt like an old scar. She tells herself that if someone must hold the axe for the Crown, it is better that it be someone who still questions.
In rare private moments she laughs dryly, enjoys strong drink, and listens to skalds recite old sagas of warriors who chose their own fate. Those stories linger.
Friendship is possible but slow. She trusts those who survive battle beside her or who speak plainly without fear. Court intrigue bores her; loyalty proven in cold and blood matters more.
Romance is nearly impossible while she wears the Brunhildr mantle. She believes attachments are liabilities the Crown would exploit or destroy. She allows herself affection only in thoughts she never speaks.
┗━━━━━━━━━┛
ąɬ ą ɠƖąŋƈɛ:
┏━━━━━━━━━┓
Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir
Epithet: Brunhildr, the Valkyrie
34
The Antarctik, Yrskald
Ylfa’s magic centers around the manifestations of frost runes around her body enhancing her physical prowess. At a moment’s notice she can activate specific marks to push past the limitations of the human body. Strength, endurance and even speed enhanced to superhuman level.
It’s not without consequence, as these enhancements do not account for fatique and strain. Tendons tear, bones potentially break and nerves snap if Ylfa pushes hard enough. It’s not invincibility, it’s breaking human limitations without accounting for the natural restraint that prevents bodily damage.
Ylfa’s runes are not cumulative powers. Each one forces a single bodily system beyond its limits. Even brief use risks injury; prolonged use guarantees it.
Beyond that she’s dabbled in general frost magic, using it to trip or surprise opponents in combat. A frozen spike here, a touch of cold there, the sudden lurge of a pillar jutting from the ground just enough to push someone off balance.
She respects the monarch personally and believes in the necessity of order in a land where famine and raiders can erase villages overnight. But she sees clearly what the Crown does to unregistered mages, and she knows she survives only because she serves. Their protection is a leash wrapped in velvet. She does not pretend otherwise.
┗━━━━━━━━━┛
◊ ŋąɱɛ ◊
Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir
Epithet: Brunhildr, the Valkyrie
◊ Aɠҽ ◊
34
◊ ❝ The Crown names me Brunhildr. My kin still call me Ylfa. The she-wolf mage. ❞ ◊
◊ Cσɳƚιɳҽɳƚ σϝ Oɾιɠιɳ ◊
◊ Cσɳƚιɳҽɳƚ σϝ Oɾιɠιɳ ◊
The Antarctik, Yrskald
◊ Pɾαƈƚιƈҽԃ Mαɠιƈ: Lιɠԋƚ ◊
Ylfa’s magic centers around the manifestations of frost runes around her body enhancing her physical prowess. At a moment’s notice she can activate specific marks to push past the limitations of the human body. Strength, endurance and even speed enhanced to superhuman level.
It’s not without consequence, as these enhancements do not account for fatique and strain. Tendons tear, bones potentially break and nerves snap if Ylfa pushes hard enough. It’s not invincibility, it’s breaking human limitations without accounting for the natural restraint that prevents bodily damage.
Ylfa’s runes are not cumulative powers. Each one forces a single bodily system beyond its limits. Even brief use risks injury; prolonged use guarantees it.
Beyond that she’s dabbled in general frost magic, using it to trip or surprise opponents in combat. A frozen spike here, a touch of cold there, the sudden lurge of a pillar jutting from the ground just enough to push someone off balance.
◊ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρ ɯιƚԋ Rσყαʅƚყ ◊
Loyal in deed, conflicted in conscience
She respects the monarch personally and believes in the necessity of order in a land where famine and raiders can erase villages overnight. But she sees clearly what the Crown does to unregistered mages, and she knows she survives only because she serves. Their protection is a leash wrapped in velvet. She does not pretend otherwise.
┗━━━━━━━━━┛
ą ɖɛɛ℘ɛཞ ɖı۷ɛ
┏━━━━━━━━━┓
◊ ƈɧıƖɖɧơơɖ ◊
Ylfa Hrafnsdóttir was born into a raven-banner house sworn to the Antarctic throne generations ago. Her father was a war-captain and omen-reader both, a quiet man who taught her how to read wind on snow and intent in a rival’s eyes. Their clan lived along frozen fjords. Where longships were hauled onto ice and wolves were both threat and teacher.
Her magic surfaced early, during a winter raid. She struck a raider with a wood axe and the wound froze solid before blood could fall. The Crown’s riders arrived within a week. She was taken politely, firmly, permanently. Her mother kissed her brow and told her to be strong enough to survive kings.
The day she was branded Brunhildr, her birth name was not spoken aloud again in the hall.
◊ ℘ɛཞʂơŋąƖıɬყ ◊
Ylfa is controlled before she is kind. Years of discipline have sanded down impulsiveness into something sharp and deliberate. She speaks little, watches much, and remembers everything. Around strangers she is iron. Courteous, distant, immovable.
Around soldiers she is practical, even protective, because she knows exactly what war takes from them. Beneath that restraint lives a restless doubt. She believes in duty, but she cannot ignore the children hunted for the same gift she bears openly. She carries a quiet guilt like an old scar. She tells herself that if someone must hold the axe for the Crown, it is better that it be someone who still questions.
In rare private moments she laughs dryly, enjoys strong drink, and listens to skalds recite old sagas of warriors who chose their own fate. Those stories linger.
◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ʄཞıɛŋɖʂɧı℘: 2 ◊
◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 1 ◊
◊ ơ℘ɛŋ ɬơ ཞơɱąŋƈɛ: 1 ◊
Friendship is possible but slow. She trusts those who survive battle beside her or who speak plainly without fear. Court intrigue bores her; loyalty proven in cold and blood matters more.
Romance is nearly impossible while she wears the Brunhildr mantle. She believes attachments are liabilities the Crown would exploit or destroy. She allows herself affection only in thoughts she never speaks.
◊ Aρρҽαɾαɳƈҽ ◊
┗━━━━━━━━━┛
⊰
