"I do not know whose blood is on my axe, though I suspect they deserved what they had coming..."
❰ Audhild ⟡ Twenty Four ⟡ Human ⟡ Female ❱
Audhild is a woman in her early twenties with hair which was once described as the colour of cedar, nowadays seen stripped back to a more lifeless, smokey straw after years of living by the ocean sea. Her skin does house more vigor — compared to her salty strands — with its buttermilk blend of littered speckles and faint blemishes, howbeit she chooses to hide this alluring grace under the layers of war-paint, blood splatter, and grime tilled from the earth.
To cover her youthful and distressingly scarred body Audhild wears a tattered, hazelnut tunic, a linen dress which lightly rests upon her shoulders. Laying atop of these shoulders and the clothes she wears so often is the thick coat of a great beast's fur — the source of such an animal has been long forgotten. Her leggings are bone in colour, a durable woollen blend once crafted with skill, now haggard and in need of some care. Finally across her waist and extending up to her belly is a hickory coloured, animal skin and animal hide war skirt; an item of attire made from a similar creature to the ones which was once hunted for the crafting her boots.
As the blade falls into one's head the last glimpses they see are the eyes of a woman with a fire that burns deep within her soul; the red vein passion of fury, love, and loss. Audhild is a woman with a fierce temper and fast instinct, but lacks the logical finesse for which the more educated hold so dear. Much like a wolf against a bear she understands that her strength, her skills, and her past all must culminate together in a twisted expression of aggression — or else she risks falling to her failures and fears; to become a lamb to the slaughter of men and monster.
Out of the red mist of a battle and beneath the twilight darkness of the evening sky, Audhild has been seen to display emotions of silence and spirituality. Her lack of meaningful companionship and confusion about her place in the world holds back her ability to trust and sympathise with others. This odd trait is what ultimately defines her, and is the root cause of her inner anguish and desolation. She is a woman without a family, and a warrior without a clan.
How does one become a fierce female warrior if it was not for a life of chains, barbaric pit fighting, and an eventual escape to freedom. A woman reborn through the waters of the ocean, drifting on the floating debris of shattered oak at a time when an illuminating smoke could artistically paint the backdrop for the drowning screams of her pirate captors; a cold and frightening night it truly was.
The feeling of being alive as Audhild washed up on an unknown shore was nothing short of both euphoric and sombre, a moment which brought tears to her eyes as she could cast the years of slavery into the depths of her submerged memory. Those nights where the monsters of human appearance would spoil themselves in alcohol and force her to fight their ravenous pets for their own entertainment. A single night where she would fight for her survival, repeated endlessly for years. A routine ritual forcing her deep fears to cower and adapt as an emotion of violence became the norm.
With almost two decades passing since the death of her parents — a single memory lovingly spoiled by the blades spilling their blood across a fishing boat deck, their limp corpses tossed overboard as the screams of a child begging for mercy were heard — the woman of beastly fur clothing takes on work that will pay to quench the thirst for unfulfilled revenge. Bloodshed has fueled her life, a cost paid when innocence holds no value, as Audhild willingly befriends death herself. Her ventures have taken her far, leading her deep into the continent where the real monsters offer a real opportunity, along with the feral creatures of unhumanly nature who she has been asked to slain.
⟡ Fierce like Fire: For Audhild nothing is more invigorating — or more enthralling — than being one on the battlefield. A warrior, a natural with her axe, a force of absolute power. To fight alongside Audhild with her edge is to be compared to witnessing a painter with a badger bristle brush. Each stroke is meticulously accurate, a sweep with absolute beauty and confidence as she paints the scene with her desires and commitment. One can only admire the skills she has obtained to become of an artist of carnage.
⟡ To Chant and Charge: A bellowing roar, the pounding of soles in a heated blaze which sweeps across the scarred lands. There can be nothing described as more anxiety creating or fear inducing than the sights of a screaming banshee masked in the blood of her fallen victims. With an inner willpower which can be seen driving her immense reserve of stamina, Audhild ensures death will come fast, painful, and filled with copious amounts of terror; watching men as they flee from her appearance alone.
⟡ To Survive in Sickness: The key to one's survival lies in the preservation of life. A simple wound — shallow and uninteresting — can be so easily neglected and left to linger until a point where it may fester and evolve into a plague. Audhild's own experiences in treating and mending these ailments, using elements of nature as ointments and bandages, helps to improve the chances of prolonging one's survival. If it's worth treating, it's worth trying.
⟡ Oyen's Edge: An old timber handle axe, made from a carved length of golden oak with a blade that appears to be forged of iron. The bevel of the blade appears to have lost its once sharp edge, coated in a fine layer of rust from being exposed to the ocean air, forever embedded and discoloured with the remains of a deep crimson bloodstain. An engraving of a name or blessing can be seen on the cheeks of the head, but age and deterioration have taken over, hiding the truth to this mysterious identity.
⟡ Stohl’s Round Shield: A circle of thick, pitted steel surrounds an alignment of dry cedar planks; a robust shield which measures two feet in diameter and rests sleepily upon the back of the axe wielding woman. The face of such a piece once held beautiful colours of red and black but has been weathered and scarred to a state where not even the troops of Skellige would recognise its origins.
⟡ Hilde's Uniform: Stripped from the dead, a body washed ashore from a time of rebirth; the layers of clothing provide very little protection against that which may draw blood, instead dulling the blow of any heavy fisted hit. It is only through the hunting and pillaging of the dead and killed that the uniform's personality and uniqueness began to blossom, providing an appearance which speaks in the dialect of war.
⟡ Audhild is quite spiritual to a level where she will meditate in front of a flame to offer thanks for her day of survival.
⟡ To read or write is impossible as she has never had any form of schooling.
⟡ One must always be vigilant with food around the woman for she cares little for rationing and more for her personal hunger.
⟡ The last person to touch her face was left with three fingers. She spat out the blood soaked digit.
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