Frior Arndis Vigsterksdottir
Name: TÝ­frÝ­r OrndÝs VÝgsterksdottir
Age: 38

Description:

Living up to her name, TÝ­frÝ­r is truly the beloved of time.  Despite closing in on her fortieth winter, a life spent in constant motion and strenuous effort has kept her largely immune to the visible ravages of time.  Yes, the ravens have been leaving their footprints at the corner of her ice blue eyes, most especially visible when she smiles or laughs, and many of the shaping elements of her face, like her chin, her jaw, and her cheeks, are surrounded by darker, deeper crevasses that hint at the wrinkles that begin to brave her visage.  Nonetheless, her fit, still feminine form, tends to distract from those signs.

Her form is clad in a fitted, but otherwise plain, wool underdress over which a battle corset and a shirt of leather with rings of steel densely sewn in place is worn.  From under the bottom hem, evidence of tall, fur-lined boots can be seen peeking out on occasion.  A grey hooded cloak rounds out the ensemble.

Hung over her back, or carried in her left arm by need is a stout, round wooden shield with an eagle's eye painted on it in cerulean and white, the symbol of her ship, the Arigedda.  A pair of battle axes hang from hooks on the corset and at need, also, a long spear might be found in her right hand.

Skills:

    Spear and shield combat.
    Axe throwing.
    Naval navigation.
    Raiding tactics.
    Small unit command.



Faction: Good, shockingly enough.

Character History:

Born to VÝgsterkr and his war captive (and beloved wife) Ellisif, TÝ­frÝ­r was the only child of that union before her mother passed on from a fever she got while giving birth.  Her father, being a not particularly wealthy nor famous man, wasn't able to remarry so placed all of his parental love and discipline into his daughter, treating her like the son he wanted but couldn't have.

It surprised nobody that TÝ­frÝ­r chose to be a shieldmaiden.  It surprised, however, quite a few that as shieldmaiden she seemed destined to a degree of greatness that her father never had, having taken to martial skills with a gusto that was somewhat off-putting to those who preferred their women docile.

There are many stories of how she came to captain the Arigedda.  Which one you hear depends on who's telling the story and how drunk that person is.  If TÝ­frÝ­r, however, is questioned, and if she is very, very, very drunk (a fairly common scenario), she will pass on the legend of how she defended a fishing village she was passing through while travelling in trade with her father and slew the captain of the vessel in single combat.  With his death, the villagers' spirit picked up and killed or captured most of the demoralized crew, presenting her with the ship as a gift thinking she would sell it or exchange it for goods or something practical like this.  Instead she took the impractical route of taking on crew and learning to go viking, participating in several seasonal raids of the British Isles until the sight of her ship's eagle eye emblem struck fear in the hearts of those seeing it off their coasts.

(It's as good a story as any of the others, though the truth is she merely signed up on the ship when young and took over captaincy by battle prowess and the nearly-unanimous choice of the crew after the original captain died.)

One place in which she differed a great deal from the original captain of the vessel was in the selection of targets.  Coming from poverty, both physical and spiritual, herself, she was never comfortable preying on the similarly impoverished, always choosing as targets for her raids the strongholds of vile strongmen who enslaved others.  Her creative tactics lead to her byname: "OrndÝs" (Goddess of Eagles) for her uncanny foresight when planning attacks.

(Again, in reality she just made good use of what would nowadays be called military intelligence, always striking at weaknesses she knew about because she listened carefully and paid well for information.)

How you see yourself fitting into this game:

TÝ­frÝ­r is a principled brute of a woman.  She lacks vision, but once she has a direction, she is adept at taking it to its end.  She is, in effect, a sword seeking someone who can wield her.  Like named swords of legend, however, she is wilful and it will take a strong hand to wield her safely, but once that hand is found, she will be a mighty tool.

3 paragraph writing sample:

They knew the Arigedda was near.  She'd seen to that, 'accidentally straying' within sight of the river fortress twice.  You could tell in the doubled guard.  In the pulling of all people outside the fort inside.  In the desperation in the faces she could see in the distance with her eyesight.  She'd kept them in a high state of alertness for three days, then, when interest flagged, the ship was 'accidentally' spotted once again.

Now was the time to attack.  While they had worked themselves into deep fatigue, she'd had her men working on siege ladders and otherwise resting.  Except for that one team.  The three farmers.  They were rounding up cattle from the surrounding countryside, building a small herd.

"Fri­a," her mate (both in the ship and in the bedroll), the only person alive who could call her that to her face without being cut, "the men grow restless.  The herd is enough.  We want our spoils."

"Aye," she replied.  "It is time.  They've softened themselves behind their walls.  Spread the word.  We raid at dawn.  The noise comes from the southwest.  We come from the north."

Word spread, and the heard was positioned to the southwest of the fort, behind a row of low hills.  The rest of the men moved by stealth to the north, ladders, shields, at the ready.  The  ulfhedinn pair started their strange chanting and imbibing of the potions they insisted gave them supernatural strength in battle, unfolding their wolf skins, annointing themselves with blood, and drinking their brew made of strange, dried mushrooms as the hour approached.  In no time at all they were frothing and ready for the attack.

As the sun kissed the sky in its morning course, the noise began, the thundering herd of cattle with metal pieces tied to their horns and tails making a good facsimile of an approaching hoard of raiders.  As expected, the overtired defenders committed too many of their guards on that side, taking too long to recognize the ruse to regroup in time on the north wall where the viking had already commenced.

The battle was over in under an hour, TÝ­frÝ­r and the wyrd ulfhedinn taking the lead, fighting with a gusto (her) and total abandon (them) that so demoralized the already-shocked defenders that only two crew wound up lost to a dozen defenders killed (and twice that many captured for their new life in thralldom).  The serfs and lowborn of the fortress were let free after paying weregild for their lives, losing half of what they owned as booty, but keeping their lives and lands as the Arigedda took to the seas.

"You did it again, Fri­a," her lover said as she rested in his arms after the shipboard celebration.  "No, Alfven, we did it," was her rejoinder.  "I am the head of this ship, but you are my neck and turn me whichever way you wish.  Without your counsel I am nothing."

What he next counselled is best left undescribed for its indelicacy.