Drifting Pollen

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Anne Mayer

Aventon - Southern Gate

"Hi, do mind if I join the supervising?"

Anne glanced up, and greeted the Knight Witch with a small smile. "I wouldn't object to it. An extra pair of eyes would actually be very handy for something like this." She trusted the small woman well enough, and the fact that she'd worked with Frankenstein before was a point in her favor... Disregarding whatever it was that had happened with the cows. If we're talking about going overboard, that would be the number-one example, wouldn't it?

Together with Lewa (provided he agreed to come along), they made their way down to the battlefield at the south end of the village, and positioned themselves at the front of the watching crowds. Once the combatants were in position, the duels began—and Anne's prior assumptions were abruptly bowled over by the events that actually transpired.

For one thing, these mercenaries were absolute chumps. As she watched the brawler struggle against Mokou's attacks, it was all she could do not to clutch her own head in frustration. Right there. An obvious gap in her attacks. Come on, what's with that footwork? Are you trying to get hit? You're too predictable, she's leading you straight into a trap—and there it is. Damnit, were you even paying attention during basic training?? She felt a tug at her coat, and turned her head to find Alvin and Millie looking up at her expectantly. Was she going to fight too, they wondered? Anne could only muster up a shaky laugh. "Er, I think that might be considered bullying at this point..."

Frankenstein's match was proof enough of that. To Anne's surprise, the construct girl exhibited an admirable amount of restraint, using only the bare minimum of force to finish off her opponent. Guess there's no need to worry about her for now... Her gaze drifted over to Joker, who was actually struggling for a little bit before he brought out his Paranormal Power. Some basic combat training, but he relies too much on his abilities. At least he seemed to have decent control: she could tell that he'd held himself back from inflicting any serious injuries.

Out of everyone, Youmu impressed her the most. Honed movements, accurate predictions, and perfect discipline even with a wooden blade. Back where Anne came from, she'd already qualify as a Knight, and probably make quite a name for herself taking down high-rank Beasts. Sanae, though... She was elusive, but her attacks seemed more showy than effective. At least until she held up her stick, and conjured up—another strange young woman?

...Just how many of these people were there??

Unfortunately, she had no time to stand there and deal with the massive implications of what had just happened. Murderous intent radiated out from the newcomer, darker and heavier than even the miasma she summoned around her. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the escalating crisis, and the enormous snakes that reared up out of the ground—but anyone paying close attention might see Anne subtly lean forward, and hear the earth crack open beneath her feet.

<Suppressor off. Limiter release, level one.>

A gust of wind. The Knight vanished from mortal sight.

At the same moment Sanae threw herself in the serpents' path, something blew past behind her, sweeping up the mercenary caster before any harm could befall her. A cloud of dust kicked up to one side, and there was Anne, skidding to a halt with the young mage held tightly in her arms.

"I've got you." She'd had to restrict her acceleration to avoid hurting anyone along the way, but Sanae's intervention had bought her enough time to safely grab her target. Even so, she was breathing heavily, her veins bulging out against the side of her neck from the blood pressure forced through them. Slowly, carefully, she set the mercenary down, positioned so that Anne stood between her and any further attacks.

"If you don't mind... I think we'd better call this one a draw."

Thankfully, Sanae seemed to have things handled by now. Rather than ask any questions or try to intervene further, Anne waited and watched, happy with any outcome that didn't demand more exertion on her part.

Rerun: Blackguards!

Svanhild

Nomads, wanderers, people of the plains. Looking at them, Svanhild could only remember her own clan of giants, the friends and allies long lost to her now. Primitive on the surface, yes, but with a rich, deep culture all to their own, and a way of life dating back all the way to the time of myths. If she had only met these Easterlings under better circumstances, had only been able to sit around a fire and speak peacefully with them, just what sort of stories might they have shared? What sort of tales, to delight the soul and enrich one's view of the world?

Chances were she would never know. The scum of the Westerlands, her supposed companions, could only think in terms of crude stereotypes and their own selfish desires. Barbarians, savages, animals to be slain. Threats to be removed, and rewards to be claimed. No sooner had Svanhild laid eyes upon the approaching party than a horrifying shriek split her ears, and she stumbled to the side with hands clutched tight to her head.

The vile tricks of a monster—but they're not directed at you. The giantess clenched her teeth, and forced herself to stand straight despite the ringing in her ears. By the time she managed to refocus her eyes, she saw the Easterling party decimated, heads blown apart and flesh stripped away from naked bones. A cold fury filled her then, and she cast her arm out to one side.

"HOLD!"

Blue ice materialized in her open hand, a massive broadsword as long as she was tall. She held it out before the Warden's misfits like a barrier, before any of them could go thoughtlessly charging off and get themselves killed. "Hold, you dolts! Look around and think for once in your sorry lives!"

The Reavers were scattered, their front lines entirely broken apart by the one-two punch of the magical assault. Some had curled up on the ground, still clutching at bleeding ears, while others cowered behind shields or tried to play dead among the corpses of their former comrades. They weren't berserkers, nor rabid animals: even with half of them still alive they couldn't yet muster the will to renew their forward charge.

No, what concerned Svanhild more was why they'd been charging in the first place. She spoke urgently, loud enough that even the half-deaf would be able to catch her drift. "Why come at us out in the open? They can't have seen us from below that ridge. And if their scouts had found us ahead of time, they could have waited to ambush us after we entered the woods." She couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong—she thought she might've glimpsed something up in the sky, but the scream had destroyed her concentration before she could pin it down. All she knew was that if her side kept up this haphazard retaliation, they'd be sitting ducks for anything else lurking out there.

"Someone wake up that plague-ridden wretch. And if anyone knows magic for observing distant terrain, use it."

Rerun: Blackguards!

Svanhild

The creature explained her intentions, and Svanhild listened in absolute silence. Unflinching, unyielding, even when wild visions flooded her mind and some new thing gazed back at her through them. To feel fear was natural and inevitable, but to express it—to show any sign of weakness before so many watching eyes—would be fatal. The giantess's discipline held firm as an iron wall, her terrors confined to a tiny black room in the very depths of her consciousness.

In contrast, her jailers had revealed their own fragility. The White Tiger, the mighty king, turns to his monstrous pet rather than face the threat directly. And our captor, for all her wicked power, passes the task down unto us. To Svanhild the reason was clear: they were scared of this gold-masked god. They dreaded a war against him, and chose to poke and prod with spies and pawns, hoping to find a hidden flaw that would shatter his empire from within. She knew all about the way they operated: the kingdom had used the very same strategy to defeat her in the past.

Ironic, that she should be the one to carry it out now.

The chamber abruptly shook, and began to unravel itself all around her. Blinking in surprise, the giantess subtly shifted her feet, though a quick glance showed her nowhere was safe from the effect. Logically she knew that their captor would not try to kill them now, but even so it took all her willpower to stand firm and embrace the oncoming wave of magic and madness. She had to stay focused, had to remember the plan—not the one spelled out for her by that smiling abomination, but the one that she'd tucked away in her hidden thoughts the moment she'd understood the situation.

Locate the spies. Infiltrate the god-king's court. Find Ael-Gol...

...And help him burn the Westerlands to the ground.

Cradling this deadly spark, this desperate hope for revenge, she plunged headfirst towards her fate.

---

...How long had it been, since she'd last seen a sky so bright?

Her eyes cracked open, and a sharp breath filled up her lungs. Warm, sweet, fresh in the way that only untainted air could be. After all these years, it felt like a miracle, like something impossible. She wanted to weep, to cry out, to fall down on her knees and plunge her fingers into the rich and beautiful soil. The only things that stopped her were a habit of self control and her awareness of the silhouettes around her—shadows that resolved themselves into familiar shapes as her vision adjusted to the light.

It seemed the wretches had come with her, all eight of them. The majority maintained their composure better than she'd have expected—which only made the lone exception stand out all the more. Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she watched the pyromaniac dance and flaunt his power, almost as if he was trying to draw unwanted attention down upon them. A madman and a fool, better disposed of now before he could cause any further trouble...

...Or so she'd have thought, if he hadn't immediately followed up with critical information about the region. It was enough to make Svanhild raise an eyebrow, and unclench the half-formed fist she'd planned to bury halfway through his skull.

"Your word's as good as any." With a languid roll of her shoulders, she started off in the same direction as the man and the ogre. "Best we cover as much ground as we can before nightfall. Fill us in about the roads along the way."

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Anne Mayer

Aventon

"...Best of luck, then." Anne sighed and lowered her head, though not without a faintly nostalgic smile. Back in her younger days she might have joined in the sparring herself, but the current her was too old and battered for this sort of thing. Maybe she'd come along and watch—Alvin and Millie would doubtless want to go, given how keen they seemed on people who were 'super strong.' A lot of the other villagers as well, who'd stayed hidden away in the lodge during the battle before. This might be the last chance they'd get to see their heroes in action, an occasion not to be missed.

All the more reason for the Knight to keep an eye on things.

While the mercenaries wandered off to gather their weapons, Anne made her way over to the towering green robot who'd seemed most concerned about this turn of events. "I appreciate the effort, Lewa. Though I don't think we can stop them now, and they don't intend on doing real harm in any case." Even as she said it, however, she couldn't quite hide her concern. A brief glance confirmed that Frankenstein was heading southwards, and her eyes quietly narrowed at the Otherworlder's retreating back.

"The best thing we can do is look out for them, and be ready to step in if anything gets out of control. It'd be good to have someone besides me around to oversee the fight, even if there might not end up being any need for it."

@Lugubrious

Rerun: Blackguards!

Svanhild

She dreamed of a distant land, of thin grasses dusted with a light brush of snow.

The frigid air clenched around her like a fist, every bit as heavy as the dead beast she carried slung over one shoulder. No sound could be heard for miles around outside of the steady pant of her own breath, and the weighty crunch of her footsteps as she forced her way uphill. A vast and merciless figure loomed above, and sneered down at her struggles with eyes bereft of all compassion.

"Still so frail, Svanhild. You march like a wounded wolf hastening to its own death."

The girl did not look up. Her advance proceeded unfaltering, even as pain gnawed deep into her muscles and tore at the inner skin of her lungs. She could not slow down, could never slow down, not when one missed step would earn her a beating or lose her a precious meal. In a way this was lucky for her: once she was grown there would be no such merciful punishments for her mistakes.

"I am yet alive, mother," she said, between one ragged breath and the next. The top of the hill seemed so distant, further away with every passing moment, and she knew countless more lay beyond it. She spoke for her own sake, to summon up strength where none remained. "The cold and the beasts could not end me, and not once have I ever faltered. When I fall, my journey will live on in hallowed tales, and in the scars I leave upon the world. They will weep for my passing; they will sing my name to the endless heavens."

She truly believed it, even after all this time. Wanted to believe, enough that it burned her inside.

Her only answer was a laugh like the cracking of ice. "And who will weep for you, daughter? Who will sing?" The giant's gaze was unrelenting, a pitiless light that glared through to her very soul. "There is no one left to follow you, and you have nowhere left to go. You live in the dark, broken and lost, and you are alone." That laughter again, echoing from everywhere at once. Svanhild's mother was gone, and in her place stood a black and bloodied spear, its tip stabbed through a maimed and blue-skinned head that cackled ceaselessly at the girl as a fresh wind stained the landscape red.

"You are alone!"

---

Awareness returned to her by degrees, a slow and grinding inevitability. Corrupt and fetid air, that lapped against her skin with a sickly warmth incomparable to the chill of her homeland. Voices, hateful voices, speaking a language foreign and foul. Even before she opened her eyes she could guess at the truth of her surroundings, and only with great reluctance did she finally pry her lids apart to greet the sorry sight that awaited.

The woman. Svanhild would not grace her with her title, though even calling her a living thing felt somehow wrong. Regent of this accursed pit, architect of perpetual despair, slave to the crown and enslaver of all who fell into this abyss: the giantess had every reason to want this creature dead, and now she stood no more than a stride or two before her. In that moment Svanhild wanted nothing more than to lunge forward and snap that monster in half, break her like a twig and dash her brains out across the hard stone floor. Only honed instincts stayed her hand, informing her that if she were to try, she would be dead before she made it a single step.

Instead she lifted her muscular arms, and folded them across her chest. Let her attention turn to some of the others in the chamber, without ever taking her eyes off her despised foe.

She hadn't met all of them before, but rumors had a way of traveling through the Maw, and she could identify most of these people by reputation alone. The savage ogre, a crass brute even taller than Svanhild herself, though she wagered the beast had barely half of her brains. A rotting corpse of a human, who had well earned his evocative nickname. A vile elven witch and a reckless pyromaniac, each seeking to outdo the other in the field of insanity. Not a one of them was worth more than the filth that lined their cells, but their collective presence told her much about the nature of this meeting. Dangerous prisoners, all potential flight risks... Only a fool would gather them together like this for a common execution.

No, this was something special. They were needed for something.

Svanhild did not waste her breath on pointless words. Unlike many in this room, she could exhibit actual patience, a quality she proved by waiting in silence without moving a millimeter further. Her gaze remained fixed upon her ghastly captor, an unflinching blue glare filled with all the bitter defiance of a monarch trapped in hell.

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Anne Mayer

Aventon

It still felt odd to hear terms like 'magical goods' brought up so casually in conversation, but Anne did her best to play along with the local superstitions. Unfortunately, the merchants didn't know much that could help her identify the contents of her 'gift box,' and she could only glean a little from their vague answers to her inquiries. At least she now knew that such items could be created with some degree of reliability, a tidbit that immediately filled up her mind with fresh questions and ideas. The moment she found someone more knowledgeable to ask about all this, she was going to drag them aside and either bribe or browbeat them into spilling every detail they knew, until she discovered a way to replicate the process herself.

In the meantime, she quietly set her professional curiosity aside and moved on to the rest of the items. A careful survey found no signs of advanced engineering, but the quantity of food available and the presence of luxuries such as toys indicated that this kingdom was doing pretty well for itself regardless. In fact, the rich variety in local fauna hinted at a thriving biosphere unlike any she'd seen before. The idea of a planet this lush, this peaceful, wholly untouched by the interstellar scourge of the Beasts—Anne could only describe such a place as paradise itself.

Why would humans ever wage war, living in a place like this? She cast her eyes back towards the freshly repaired village, caught for a moment between wonder and despair. None of them know. None of them understand just how lucky they are. Even the other strangers, plucked from faraway worlds, seemed to take this peace for granted, as though it were the natural state of things.

For Anne, it had been the ruined and broken village that felt most familiar. These mercenaries, too, who clung to their weapons and inflated martial pride. She wanted to ask about the books, maybe even barter for a couple of them, but her attention soon drifted back to the guards, and the escalating tensions surrounding them.

"Don't mind those girls too much. They like to joke around." With her hands in her coat pockets, the Knight ambled right up to the group of sellswords and addressed them directly. "But you've made me curious now: for your employer to speak of you so highly, you all must have quite the credentials." Maybe they were even strong enough to protect a certain village for a few weeks, while someone else took up their duties guarding the caravan. Already Anne could see the outline of a mutually beneficial exchange—but first she needed to verify that these soldiers of fortune were more than paper tigers.

Rerun: Blackguards!

The Winter Storm

Svanhild Skardottir

---

---

Name: Svanhild Skardottir
Race: Frost Giant
Gender: Female
Age: 26 years

Appearance:
Svanhild stands nearly nine feet tall, with shoulders broader than even the largest of human males. Her skin is a pale blue from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and her long hair is pure white as a field of freshly fallen snow. Pale markings run like rivers all across her body, beginning from the corners of her eyes and flowing across her cheekbones before they snake down her neck and trace countless faded paths across fields of hardened muscle and long-healed battle scars. The severity of her features recalls the harshness of her homeland, the stony beauty of a mountain peak that kills any who dare ascend.

Personality:
For a giant, Svanhild is surprisingly quiet. She smiles rarely, laughs almost never, and speaks in soft tones that somehow carry all the more weight for it. Time and experience have humbled her youthful ambitions, but her pride remains unbroken, and her every footstep still carries the unshakable authority of a living force of nature.

It is a common fancy among the smaller races that giants are oafish by nature; Svanhild is living proof of the opposite. She approaches situations with a calm pragmatism, and is every bit as willing to resolve matters through cunning and diplomacy as through brute force. Much has been said of her unflinching gaze, always judging and evaluating the world around her like a game board covered in carved stone pieces. Her respect is not given lightly, and this she makes quite clear: those around her must prove themselves worthy before she's willing to extend them even a sliver of her trust.

Her deeper feelings remain carefully concealed. Both kindness and brutality come easily to her, and it's often difficult to tell when she may veer one way or the other. She enjoys material pleasures and worldly possessions, but only when she feels she has earned them; the barren life of the Maw is to her a just reward for having ended up there in the first place.

Background:
Born to a giant chieftain in the coldest reaches of the distant highlands, Svanhild was raised to be the fittest and fiercest among her already mighty race. Though tradition dictated that she should inherit the role of clan leader from her mother, the position could only be maintained through proven strength and cunning, and other families lurked like waiting wolves to pounce on any moment of weakness and install their own heirs. Thus, as soon as she had learned to walk and speak, she was taught how to hunt, how to fight, how to barter and negotiate, how to crush her own fears and stand firm in the face of any danger. She learned the icy magics of her people, and the equally potent powers of raw strength and discipline, each one reinforcing and shoring up the weaknesses of the other. Even as her young heart hardened and hid itself away within an invincible shell of frost, a fire began to burn deep within, a flame of ambition that urged her not only to command her clan but to lead them to new heights of greatness and influence.

Fate had other plans, however. The ever-growing Kingdom and its people were encroaching further and further into the highlands, and their plump forts and settlements proved a target too tempting to ignore. An ill-advised raid ended in a one-sided slaughter, and Svanhild's mother ended up with her head mounted on a pike at the hands of the White Tiger's soldiers. The remnants of the clan were forced to scatter and flee, seeking refuge with other giant tribes lest they be killed or taken as slaves by the ever-advancing tides of civilization.

Just as she had been taught, Svanhild swallowed her grief and froze over her pain, never accepting defeat. She joined ranks with another clan, and quickly proved her mettle there, offering up the fresh carcasses of fierce beasts she had broken with her own hands. The young chieftain took a liking to her, and she entertained his fantasies, slowly seducing him with the promise of a strong and beautiful wife. When he finally demanded her hand, she challenged him to win it from her in a barehanded contest of strength—and proceeded to mercilessly thrash him with his entire tribe as witness.

With a new clan now at her back, the giantess sought out allies. She rode across the highlands and parleyed with a dozen other nomad leaders, winning them over with generous gifts and careful flattery while emphasizing the imminent danger of the Tiger's expanding Kingdom. They could unite and make a stand here, or be slowly swallowed and subsumed by the beast of civilization: which would it be?

A loose alliance formed, rival clans of giants and others amassing into an impressive barbarian horde. They surged forth across the highlands and spilled deep into the kingdom, burning and looting as they went. Their sheer speed and numbers briefly overwhelmed the opposing forces, and for a moment Svanhild's dream seemed nearly within reach—she could use this momentum to consolidate power, unite the tribes beneath her, and ride forth with an unstoppable army to conquer the entire kingdom, taking back what it had stolen from her a thousand times over.

Unfortunately for her, the White Tiger's generals were already well-versed in the suppression of upstart savages. Recognizing the threat, they acted before it could fully manifest, and used spies and sleeper agents to sow dissent among their enemies. Chaos erupted between the clans, as old grudges suddenly resurfaced and naked greed formed new divides. Some struck out on their own, others turned on each other, and none were prepared when the Kingdom swooped in with a methodical and well-organized force that cut through orcs and giants like a scythe through so much wheat. Svanhild met them head-on, and drenched herself in the blood of pulverized soldiers, but no amount of skill or vengeful fury could save her from the weight of numbers arrayed against her. On the verge of death, she was chained up and dragged from her home, a suitably impressive spoil of war to be caged up and paraded before the citizenry.

It took just two days before she pulled a nearly successful escape attempt, and took the life of several guards in the process. The incident made it clear there were only two ways left to deal with her: chop off her head and be done with it, or throw her somewhere deep and dark enough that even a giant could never break out. Protocol dictated that a large-scale threat like her ought to be properly disposed of, but an unstoppable living battering ram was bound to come in handy someday... And really, where was the downside? Death itself would release her from its clutches before the Maw ever did.

Talents:
Even the feeblest of frost giants can snap a man in half like a twig, and Svanhild is a monster among her kind. She can plow through brick walls and crack open stone fortifications with raw strength alone, all while maneuvering her enormous body with a terrifying swiftness and agility. Trained to hunt and fight from the early days of childhood, she applies this overwhelming power with devastating precision, and is equally proficient at squaring off against opponents her own size as she is at squashing swarms of irritating little bugs. Her sheer mass and size make her incredibly difficult to put down, and lend her an imposing presence that draws attention and strikes fear in equal measure.

The giantess is far more than a simple powerhouse, however. She’s an experienced commander versed in battlefield tactics, group operations, and diplomacy, as well as an exotic variant of frost magic that can conjure up tools, weapons, and armor of enchanted ice. It’s a simple, practical spell that can be cast on the fly to equip her for any kind of situation—she can even arm her allies, assuming they don’t mind the cold.

Flaws:
Number one downside to being an enormous blue woman: it makes you stick out like a sore thumb. Stealth is nearly impossible for a being like Svanhild, and her presence tends to set people on edge and make them paranoid for their own safety. It’s obvious to anyone that she’s from the far frontiers, and though she’s picked up the local dialect during her time in the Maw, she hasn’t had the chance to learn much of the Kingdom and its ways in person.

Though her prior defeat and capture taught her a sore lesson about underestimating humans and their cunning, she still clings onto her pride as a leader by birthright, and chafes at being forced to follow orders. She considers herself superior to everyone around her, and it’s hard for her to recognize anyone as a true equal without also seeing them as competition to be surpassed. She also likes to take trophies from her victories, particularly important and valuable things, and doesn’t pay much mind to the fact that people might come after her for whatever she stole.

Equipment:
Her boots and clothing, ornate and striking yet far tougher than any threads woven by human hands.

From Realms Beyond — An Isekai Crossover RP (Now Accepting)

Anne Mayer

Aventon

A brother and sister, reunited at last. No matter what else Anne had failed to save, she had at least helped accomplish this much.

The Knight wisely kept her mouth shut as the children fell into each other's arms, and took a step back to give them some space. The sight of their joy and relief warmed her heart, and even drew out a brief smile, though she knew better than to linger too long. By the time she turned away Anne's eyes had already become murky and unreadable, and a visible tremor shot through her left arm. She blinked hard and clutched at her left wrist, as though shrugging off the grasp of a ghost that had begun to possess her.

Even after all this time, her thoughts kept straying back to her own sister, who had loved her just as Alvin and Millie so deeply cared for one another. Of course, Pray was dead now, and every memory of their time together seemed tainted by the echoes of that loss. Rather than think on it, and let grief and regret bring her to her knees, the tired woman hardened her heart again and threw herself into a sober discussion with Kendrick.

She had plenty to share. Millie's dreams, the barriers between worlds, the warning about the capital. When the other Strangers returned from the forest Anne would tell them all as well, starting with Joker and Sanae. Those two were the ones she saw as being the most reliable and trustworthy, but she gave a general summary to Lewa and Rayne as well, along with the white-haired swordswoman Youmu. Mokou might be able to glean some details off her if she asked directly, but the Knight seemed to view Frankenstein with barely masked suspicion from the moment she laid eyes on the horned girl. She never acted on it or said anything openly, but always seemed to tense up when the Servant was in the vicinity, as though prepared to cut her down at a moment's notice.

The days passed, and Anne did what she could to assist. Watching over Millie, mainly, and doting on the girl where she could. Making sure Alvin was okay. She tried her hand at some of the manual labor, but proved clumsy and quick to tire, hardly any more useful than the ordinary villagers in that respect. Instead, she focused more on making use of her experience and going over battle plans with Kendrick, plotting out defensive tactics and evacuation routes in the event of a second attack. Her health seemed to be gradually improving as well, with the surface-level injuries from just before her summoning all but vanished now. Only the deeper issues remained, and so long as the peace held those weren't an immediate problem.

So, when the caravan arrived, the Knight was right there in the middle of the village along with just about everyone else in town. One eye kept watch over the children, who were doubtless caught up in the all the excitement surrounding the event as well, but things seemed safe enough for Anne to idly browse over the wares on display and look for anything that could be useful. Mainly she was searching for books or scrolls, anything that contained written information, as well as strange and out-of-place items that might have unique properties like that Herald necklace. In general, though, just glancing over what they had would give her a firmer idea of this nation's level of technology, and whether it really was all as rudimentary as what she'd come to know in Aventon.

Rerun: Blackguards!

Sounds interesting! Looking forward to seeing the CS!

@Red Wizard

Voila. Let me know if this works :)

The Winter Storm

Svanhild Skardottir

---

---

Name: Svanhild Skardottir
Race: Frost Giant
Gender: Female
Age: 26 years

Appearance:
Svanhild stands nearly nine feet tall, with shoulders broader than even the largest of human males. Her skin is a pale blue from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and her long hair is pure white as a field of freshly fallen snow. Pale markings run like rivers all across her body, beginning from the corners of her eyes and flowing across her cheekbones before they snake down her neck and trace countless faded paths across fields of hardened muscle and long-healed battle scars. The severity of her features recalls the harshness of her homeland, the stony beauty of a mountain peak that kills any who dare ascend.

Personality:
For a giant, Svanhild is surprisingly quiet. She smiles rarely, laughs almost never, and speaks in soft tones that somehow carry all the more weight for it. Time and experience have humbled her youthful ambitions, but her pride remains unbroken, and her every footstep still carries the unshakable authority of a living force of nature.

It is a common fancy among the smaller races that giants are oafish by nature; Svanhild is living proof of the opposite. She approaches situations with a calm pragmatism, and is every bit as willing to resolve matters through cunning and diplomacy as through brute force. Much has been said of her unflinching gaze, always judging and evaluating the world around her like a game board covered in carved stone pieces. Her respect is not given lightly, and this she makes quite clear: those around her must prove themselves worthy before she's willing to extend them even a sliver of her trust.

Her deeper feelings remain carefully concealed. Both kindness and brutality come easily to her, and it's often difficult to tell when she may veer one way or the other. She enjoys material pleasures and worldly possessions, but only when she feels she has earned them; the barren life of the Maw is to her a just reward for having ended up there in the first place.

Background:
Born to a giant chieftain in the coldest reaches of the distant highlands, Svanhild was raised to be the fittest and fiercest among her already mighty race. Though tradition dictated that she should inherit the role of clan leader from her mother, the position could only be maintained through proven strength and cunning, and other families lurked like waiting wolves to pounce on any moment of weakness and install their own heirs. Thus, as soon as she had learned to walk and speak, she was taught how to hunt, how to fight, how to barter and negotiate, how to crush her own fears and stand firm in the face of any danger. She learned the icy magics of her people, and the equally potent powers of raw strength and discipline, each one reinforcing and shoring up the weaknesses of the other. Even as her young heart hardened and hid itself away within an invincible shell of frost, a fire began to burn deep within, a flame of ambition that urged her not only to command her clan but to lead them to new heights of greatness and influence.

Fate had other plans, however. The ever-growing Kingdom and its people were encroaching further and further into the highlands, and their plump forts and settlements proved a target too tempting to ignore. An ill-advised raid ended in a one-sided slaughter, and Svanhild's mother ended up with her head mounted on a pike at the hands of the White Tiger's soldiers. The remnants of the clan were forced to scatter and flee, seeking refuge with other giant tribes lest they be killed or taken as slaves by the ever-advancing tides of civilization.

Just as she had been taught, Svanhild swallowed her grief and froze over her pain, never accepting defeat. She joined ranks with another clan, and quickly proved her mettle there, offering up the fresh carcasses of fierce beasts she had broken with her own hands. The young chieftain took a liking to her, and she entertained his fantasies, slowly seducing him with the promise of a strong and beautiful wife. When he finally demanded her hand, she challenged him to win it from her in a barehanded contest of strength—and proceeded to mercilessly thrash him with his entire tribe as witness.

With a new clan now at her back, the giantess sought out allies. She rode across the highlands and parleyed with a dozen other nomad leaders, winning them over with generous gifts and careful flattery while emphasizing the imminent danger of the Tiger's expanding Kingdom. They could unite and make a stand here, or be slowly swallowed and subsumed by the beast of civilization: which would it be?

A loose alliance formed, rival clans of giants and others amassing into an impressive barbarian horde. They surged forth across the highlands and spilled deep into the kingdom, burning and looting as they went. Their sheer speed and numbers briefly overwhelmed the opposing forces, and for a moment Svanhild's dream seemed nearly within reach—she could use this momentum to consolidate power, unite the tribes beneath her, and ride forth with an unstoppable army to conquer the entire kingdom, taking back what it had stolen from her a thousand times over.

Unfortunately for her, the White Tiger's generals were already well-versed in the suppression of upstart savages. Recognizing the threat, they acted before it could fully manifest, and used spies and sleeper agents to sow dissent among their enemies. Chaos erupted between the clans, as old grudges suddenly resurfaced and naked greed formed new divides. Some struck out on their own, others turned on each other, and none were prepared when the Kingdom swooped in with a methodical and well-organized force that cut through orcs and giants like a scythe through so much wheat. Svanhild met them head-on, and drenched herself in the blood of pulverized soldiers, but no amount of skill or vengeful fury could save her from the weight of numbers arrayed against her. On the verge of death, she was chained up and dragged from her home, a suitably impressive spoil of war to be caged up and paraded before the citizenry.

It took just two days before she pulled a nearly successful escape attempt, and took the life of several guards in the process. The incident made it clear there were only two ways left to deal with her: chop off her head and be done with it, or throw her somewhere deep and dark enough that even a giant could never break out. Protocol dictated that a large-scale threat like her ought to be properly disposed of, but an unstoppable living battering ram was bound to come in handy someday... And really, where was the downside? Death itself would release her from its clutches before the Maw ever did.

Talents:
Even the feeblest of frost giants can snap a man in half like a twig, and Svanhild is a monster among her kind. She can plow through brick walls and crack open stone fortifications with raw strength alone, all while maneuvering her enormous body with a terrifying swiftness and agility. Trained to hunt and fight from the early days of childhood, she applies this overwhelming power with devastating precision, and is equally proficient at squaring off against opponents her own size as she is at squashing swarms of irritating little bugs. Her sheer mass and size make her incredibly difficult to put down, and lend her an imposing presence that draws attention and strikes fear in equal measure.

The giantess is far more than a simple powerhouse, however. She’s an experienced commander versed in battlefield tactics, group operations, and diplomacy, as well as an exotic variant of frost magic that can conjure up tools, weapons, and armor of enchanted ice. It’s a simple, practical spell that can be cast on the fly to equip her for any kind of situation—she can even arm her allies, assuming they don’t mind the cold.

Flaws:
Number one downside to being an enormous blue woman: it makes you stick out like a sore thumb. Stealth is nearly impossible for a being like Svanhild, and her presence tends to set people on edge and make them paranoid for their own safety. It’s obvious to anyone that she’s from the far frontiers, and though she’s picked up the local dialect during her time in the Maw, she hasn’t had the chance to learn much of the Kingdom and its ways in person.

Though her prior defeat and capture taught her a sore lesson about underestimating humans and their cunning, she still clings onto her pride as a leader by birthright, and chafes at being forced to follow orders. She considers herself superior to everyone around her, and it’s hard for her to recognize anyone as a true equal without also seeing them as competition to be surpassed. She also likes to take trophies from her victories, particularly important and valuable things, and doesn’t pay much mind to the fact that people might come after her for whatever she stole.

Equipment:
Her boots and clothing, ornate and striking yet far tougher than any threads woven by human hands.

Rerun: Blackguards!

I’m interested! Thinking I’ll keep it simple and make a Girl Who Punches Things Real Good. Possibly with fire.