Group: Norse
Name: Gudridr
Age: 32
Occupation: Völva, former Shield-Maiden
Sexuality: Bisexual



Physical Description: Gudridr isn't exactly what one may expect of a Völva. About average height, her curves are laced with strong muscles, a testament to her former life. White scars break the smooth, pale skin across her shoulders and completely disfigures the back of her left thigh. She walks with a pronounced limp, oftentimes leaning on a staff for support and balance. Her long, silver hair is usually twisted into complex braids or piles back from her face, keeping her vision clear. Her eyes are a crystallized blue, darkening to near black when practicing Seidr or otherwise traveling the Nine. Kohl lines her eyes, mixed with woad and white lead in intricate designs across her face. When clean, her sharp features are intelligent, cunning, and lovely to behold. She typically wears a white linen gown, delicately embroidered with vibrant blue and green thread at the hems of the long sleeves and neck in a complex design of vines. Her apron is rich blue and red, her brooches silver discs playfully depicting the goddess Freyja's cats. She is usually barefoot. Her staff is cut from a hardy Yew tree, human and animal bones strapped to its gnarled core. Cords of twisted leather have feathers and precious stones woven into them and clatter in hushed tones as it sways with her movements.



Personality: Gudridr is what is needed. Her true personality is difficult to determine, as she behaves according to the Will of the Gods, or the needs of those who petition her. At her core, she does everything with her heart out of love for her people.  She is secretive with her own desires and longings, as the Völva's course is generally lonely, if adventurous. She fears falling in love again for the heartbreak it earned her last time. She doesn't dwell on the past often. She has a soft spot for children and their innocent musings. She most enjoys sharing lore at the hearth, filling her evenings with laughter, tears, and warmth amongst the clans. She has a visceral hatred and mistrust of the Christians, and refuses any dealings with them. In turn, they fear her kind and attempt to spread violence, reducing her to an evil witch.

Biography: Gudridr was born to farmers, nothing particularly special about them. They grew flax, and her mother taught her to take the plant from ground to transform it to cloth. Spinning and weaving, her fondest memories of her mother were the days spent with distaff and drop spindle with the women of her clan. She would daydream while spinning, and see things yet to pass. The women consulted the clan Völva about Gudridr's visions, whispering of the touch of the Nornirs. The Völva dismissed their whispers yet saw the potential in Gudridr…

"Yet mine is not your Path, little Valkyrie. Not now. Your path has violent twists but this is not yours right now." The Völva's cryptic words confused the child, as the wise woman tolerated her presence and taught the girl the magic and uses of medicinal and baneful herbs, as well as the ethics of Seidr. She found use in the girl as an assistant midwife. However, she repeatedly refused to share the deeper mysteries of Seidr with the child.

It came to pass the words of the Seeress held true. Gudridr was tending the hardy flax plants, humming to herself. Her iron distaff hung at her hip while she worked the soil with her bare hands and a knife, cutting away dead or infected shafts and plying healthy shoots to better position. Hey face was smashed into the ground and pinned beneath a heavy form before she could grasp what was happening. Acting on instinct she drove her pointed tool back, piercing the tender flesh in the side of her assailant. She scrambled to her feet and swung the iron distaff with all the ferocity of a wild auroch. The metal collided with the man's skull with a thick thud, the spray of blood from his temple igniting a vicious thrill of victory within her chest. Again and again she attacked, until the twisted cage of the distaff glistened a full red from his blood. Bruises and split skin disfigured his face and splatters of body fluid stained her farmer's gown. She didn't kill him but she spat on his raw face, cursing his name. Her father saw her attacker, then stopped in his tracks as she turned her Fate with little more than a farming knife, a spinning tool and her own fiery spirit. Come, he motioned to his furious daughter.

The man she had attacked was the Jarl's son who coveted the farmer's daughter. She had rebuked him, having found favor in another in secret. "Your son earned her violence upon him and she seeks her restitution."

The murmurings of the clansmen revealed a disgust at the son's behavior. Gudridr stood as a stone, watching impassively while waiting for her turn to speak. The men debated the situation for a time before the Jarl motioned to the girl. "Request your price, Gudridr."

Gudridr didn't look at her father, a sign he knew meant the strong-willed child was going to act on her own volition. Lifting her sharp little chin, the girl's strong beauty was apparent even buried in the dirt, sweat, and blood. "Had your son been less zealous, I would not have had the advantage over such a warrior. I will not find myself at such disadvantage again. I will take up sword and shield and begin my training in one week's time. Your good wife will sponsor me, and as such your sons will be bound to see me as sister, nothing more."

Her blood thundered in her ears, internally quaking at her own brazen demands. Her Jarl's heated glare bored holes into her soul, yet Gudridr didn't drop his gaze, despite her obvious trembling and the deep flush in her cheeks. The thick silence stretched on as the clan shifted uncomfortably, awaiting their leader's determination of the little one's daring proposal. Suddenly, the Jarl's wife spoke up. "You are far too bold and demand for much more than what was transgressed upon you. You are a farmer, and weak. You are ill-suited to even hold a shield much less handle a sword. You have not even become a woman and your hips remain that of a child."

Her hard words had the girl staring at her feet, eyes burning and fists clenching at her sides. The Jarl's wife was the renowned Shield Maiden Ragnhild and her words were cutting."Such boldness will carry you far on the battlefield, and I know you have been learning from the Völva. I will sponsor you. You will learn from me, and you will not be weak, or I will kill you."

With that, Gudridr became Ragnhild's shadow. By the time she reached womanhood, she was gaining her own reputation as a fierce warrior and combat medic. In battle she was called the Valkyrie as she tended the wounded and moved them out of harm's way. She gave a merciful death to those too far gone, whispering guidance to the sacred Halls of Folkvangr and Valhalla. It was in battle that she met Sidroc. He had taken a sword to the face, and she spent weeks fighting the beyond from taking him. Between his fever dreams, he had moments of lucidity and spoke at length with her. Even after the shadow of death had passed him, Gudridr stayed with him, nursing him to health… And falling for the terrifying warrior. He captured her wild heart and before returning to battle, Sidroc married the mortal Valkyrie.

It wasn't long before she was carrying their first child in her belly. Gudridr couldn't abandon the call of the wounded and against Sidroc's warnings, tended the dying and the dead though she avoided the worst of the fighting. She eventually had to abandon her armor to her swollen womb, and it turned her Fate once more. The Anglo-Saxons had attacked the clan as they were migrating East, seeking more fertile lands for farming. Pulling a wounded warrior from the fray, she felt a sharp stab of a contraction in her gut. It took her breath away and she momentarily stopped. She breathed deeply, sitting both herself and the man bleeding out beneath her. She began tending the wounds right there, and looked up too late hearing a familiar cry of unfiltered rage. Sidroc… His scarred face contorted in unbelievable rage and fear. Gudridr stood quickly in the same moment a sword pierced her side, the movement drawing the blade down her waist. Birthing water and blood poured from the gaping slit, and she screamed. Gudridr crumpled to the ground as she felt another slash at the back of her leg. The last thing she saw was her husband succumbing to blood fury, and her world went black from the excruciating pain.

When she woke up, she felt empty. Empty, and too weak to even lift her head. She moaned, and the familiar face of Ragnhild greeted her, along with the aging Völva. The older women shared a meaningful glance as she murmured her beloved's. Her hand slowly drifted to her belly, intercepted by the calloused fingers of Ragnhild. "No, Gudridr. Your babe is no more, and Sidroc has gone to Valhalla."

Hot tears sprang to her eyes and her vision darkened. Her chest seized as she drew in a ragged breath as that reality hit her. Ragnhild's forever fierce, lined face covered Gudridr's and she whispered harshly. "Don't you dare succumb. You weaken, and I will still kill you. You do not get to forsake your seat in Folkvangr, even for your lost child."

Gudridr fought to stay conscious, driven by Ragnhild. The Völva saved the mortal Valkyrie. Over time, Gudridr healed but she was changed. The battle had left her lame on the left side, and the knotted scars of her severed hamstring gave her a halting gait. She avoided looking down at the scar that twisted her right side. She spent more and more time isolated from the clan, although she still tended the wounds that were brought to her. Eventually, Gudridr left.

Under the dark of the new moon, the broken shield maiden harnessed her shield, sword and belongings to her black horse and rode away, never to return. She traveled throughout the clans, telling stories, healing, midwifing and occasionally fighting. She turned back to the practices her Völva had taught her and began uncovering the mysteries of Seidr for herself. The gods and wights spoke to her, through her, ancestors whispering archaic secrets in her mind.

Finally she settled in the isolation of a forest. A clan of northmen were settled nearby and she hid among them, for the Saxons had no mercy for her kind...

Family:
Helga, Mother (deceased)
Sigurd, Father (alive)
Bjorn, brother (alive)
Sidroc, husband (deceased)
Child (deceased)
Ragnhild, mentor (deceased)
Agnes, Völva (deceased)