BeastA Night to Remember
Firebird's ChildThe Wolf
Hardest of HeartsPatron Saint Hunter

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P H Y S I C A L I T Y

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M E N T A L I T Y

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Personality
Do humans have a purpose when they are born? Do daemons? Important duties, dreams and ambitions they wish to fulfill. A reason for living and something close to their hearts they wish to keep chasing even when their circumstances seem bleak—these are things that keep Signe from staggering. These are the questions that keep her firmly planted, immovable. Perhaps, most dangerous of all, is her steely determination to achieve her dream. In a world where villains seem much more honorable, Signe is certainly not above employing violence and trickery to get what she wants, what she needs. Blood calls for blood, and she will spill it until she forces the world to change: for her people, for everyone who suffers. Make no mistake, she has little compunction about killing someone: anyone, to move forward. If it's strategically sound, then she will dirty her hands with little hesitation at all. She also understands the transience of life, she knows the cost of taking a life, and so her ability is tempered with a significant amount of discipline and control. The wildling draws a fine distinction between control and duty; a leader must be willing to throw away her humanity to overcome greater monsters.

Say what you want about her abrasive methods, but she already knows what she wants and is not afraid to actively seek it out. Like a hound sniffing out a bone or galloping after a hare, Signe is relentless in her pursuits. Hardly anything will deter her. Though, behind that tough exterior, she does care about those who serve her enough to make decisions based on their well-being. Safely retreating to regroup or recovering from an impossible battle may seem weak to her and even to those who fight alongside her, Signe will do what she must. She is not foolish while carrying the lives of many, for it is a burden she is honored to bear. Few question her orders, fewer still have lived to refuse. She commands a great deal of respect, acts often of her own volition, and refuses to be cowed by others. Etiquette and manners are lost on her, and very difficult to instill. She doesn't stand on formality and loathes the hierarchical power structures that strictly define the relationships between superiors and subordinates, therefore, Signe treats her fellow nobles, soldiers, and citizens as equals, standing on the same platform. It may be why she's so popular in her homeland. If anyone has any useful opinions, or pertinent information, then they're encouraged to step up.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, an evil for an evil. While Signe's beliefs may be strictly black-and-white, she is capable of bending and shifting her viewpoints, though it takes much to achieve such a feat. Admitting that she made a mistake is like pulling teeth, but she'll yield if her fault is impossible to ignore. She is the full embodiment of extremes and intensity. She is a very deep and intense person, there is always more than meets the eye. The wildling presents a cool, detached and unemotional air to the world, while lying underneath is tremendous power, extreme strength, intense passion and a strong will and a persistent drive. She is a box of surprises: mostly unpleasant. Few can attest to weathering her weighty personality. Or tolerate her unintentional rudeness for longer than a few minutes. Others have learned that there are simply ways she operates.

Signe is not naturally in tune with the feelings of others or even with her own feelings. She has trouble communicating her emotions, and when she does she does it best through actions rather than words. Struggling to spit out well-meaning words and mangling them in the process only flusters her further. She can come across as anything from stiff to completely insensitive. There is, however, often little malice behind her behaviour in these situations: she truly does care about others, but often finds the intricacies of emotion rather puzzling and illogical, especially when it comes to toning down her blunt manner of speaking. She is open to listening and can be made to understand others’ emotional needs with some slow explanation, though this does not necessarily mean she will accommodate them. If it is beyond her means, and she does not feel comfortable, Signe won't budge an inch. She's not a showy peacock—or a political chameleon, and sometimes, she just sucks at bonding when feelings are involved.

Moral Alignment
Neutral Evil

Motivation
All men and women are not created equally.That is what her world has taught her. Some are born stronger, swifter or with greater beauty and privilege; while others may be born into poverty or into shackles, feeble or weak. Every person is treated inherently different—separated by birth, by race, by country and gender. She wishes to erase all of those distinctions. Gnash her teeth into everything that separates them, and pave a new path for everyone. She would be lying if she said that she hadn't been directly motivated because of how daemon's are treated, but Signe's goals have evolved over the years. Now, she only wishes for change.

Fears

• Claustrophobic—she is not particularly fond of enclosed areas. Caves or caverns and smalls houses. Open spaces and wide fields are where she thrives. She shies away from stuffy buildings. Even castles can seem restricting unless they have wide hallways and tall ceilings. They make her feel as if she can't breathe properly.
  
• Don't be a letdown—while she may never show or speak of it, she's absolutely terrified of letting those she cares about down. She fears failing her mission and failing her people so completely that she's forced to take drastic measures. Or make horrible sacrifices. She fears being the cause of countless deaths, of squandering the lives of those who are loyal to her. She fears making mistakes. Failure is not an option. It never was.
• Abandonment and betrayal—that sickly feeling swilling in the pit of your stomach. She will never forget it, and wants nothing more to never experience it again. She is overly cautious of those who call her friend, and wonders when they, too, will leave her behind.





Likes

• Great displays of strength, showy abilities.
  
• Sacred dances; circle, grass and drumming.
• Independent women.
• Unexpected bouts of courage.
• The art and skill required of hunting.
• Walking bare feet.
• Tattoos and unusual markings.
• Rough-housing.

Dislikes

• Half measures and unfinished business.
  
• Intrigue, politics and baldfaced-liars.
• Weakness and cowardice.
• Oppression and being controlled.
• Crowded places.
• Inaction, boredom.

Strengths
Persistent bugger—she's widely renown for being strong-willed, incredibly persistent and brave. She endures where others crumble, and shakes off her mistakes as if they were fleas, and moves on with a better understanding of things. If she starts something then she's sure to finish it. Half measures are for the lazy. Honestly, Signe is persistent in all things. Friendships, relationships, business dealings, political affairs. Sometimes, she doesn't know how to take no for an answer.

No judgments here—Signe is considerably nonjudgmental. She's tolerant and accepting of all gender, races, beliefs and whatever else that is considered different (lest it involves hurting someone else for no reason). She has no qualms with the manner in which people live, which is why she's a particularly good political leader. She yearns for a much fairer world where everyone can walk on equal grounds, and is willing to bite her tongue to get there.

Loyal to the end—while it's initially difficult to befriend her, particularly because she's so strange, once the deed is accomplished there is no greater ally. Staunch and reliable. If you called for her anywhere, she would make it a point to come find you. Favors? No problem. Signe's loyalty is not something that can be easily shaken off. Arguments, squabbles, or fallout's don't matter at all. If she considers you a friend or family, she has your back until she death claims her.

Weaknesses
What did you say, bastard—admittedly, she's impulsive and hotheaded. Those two facets of her personality can be overpowering and they often leave the subtler, and more important details of the wildlings psyche markedly unnoticed. She's reckless with her own life and far too stubborn to stand down when she should.

Unsocial noble—this is a blaring weakness when you're trying to navigate treacherous political waters, and as a daemon countess trying to scramble for credibility among the other races, Signe is constantly struggling to gather her wits about her in the games they often play. Small talk isn't really her thing and trying to flatter someone when your tongue refuses to bend around the words, often leaves people red-faced and offended. Sociability and niceties are lost to her.

Oh, paranoia—there are enemies, and eyes, everywhere and because of this, Signe is prone to bouts of suspicion and steps on toes to confront them immediately. It may have to do with her agenda, but she can't help but feel as if she's being watched by those she intends to damage. She's constantly alert and somewhat twitchy. Suspecting enemies where there isn't any. Incurring her wrath is not a hard task and if you venture to openly spit in her eye, she will make it a personal mission of hers to see those insults returned back to you ten-fold.

Poor sleep habits—because of one particular assassination attempt that left her bedridden for months, Signe has trouble sleeping properly. This goes hand in hand with her suspicions. She tends to sleep in broken intervals, and wakes up grumpy and listless. She's been known to doze off in boring debates, meetings, and other events.





Is your character literate? In what languages?
Only common.



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C O M B A T || P R O W E S S

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Rating System
[Perfect] - [Excellent] - [Good] - [Above Average] - [Average] - [Below Average] - [Poor] - [Very Poor]

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Combativeness
Hand-to-Hand Combat: [Good] Signe is a wild, snarling monk. A mixture of extremes. Everyone, in her opinion, should be proficient in unarmed combat. They have two arms, two hands, and two legs after all. She has her own unique style, though it appears unrefined and undisciplined to anyone who is watching. She is capable of doing great harm with her body: one which she has crafted into a living weapon focused towards defense and utilizing her opponents momentum. It is always life and death in her eyes, unless it is a friendly duel. Either way, she's just as likely to throw in cheap shots, purely out of habit.

Melee Combat: [Above Average] This is more of an experiment more than anything conventional: wielding a poleaxe. She's fully capable of hooking vulnerable parts to throw her enemies off balance. Compelling her enemies to move in the direction she wants to by hooking it around their necks. Pulling away shields, hooking ankles, piercing throats and disorientation by using the flat end of her axe. Her weapon has many uses, including chopping wood. Her preferences are clear, but she does not feel restricted. The arena's of Hohak have taught her a valuable lesson: be fluid in your weapon choices, adapt and conquer.

Ranged Combat: [Average] She is impressively accurate when throwing spears and axes, while she's only sub-par when notching and loosing arrows. With practice, she's sure that she'll improve in the archery department, but her poleaxe has never let her down thus far. Errant spears usually find their mark.

Magic Combat: [Very Poor] Magical abilities? What's that? There isn't a magical bone in her body. Her capabilities are nearly nonexistent. Unfortunately, she did not acquire any of these abilities from her late-mother. Though, she is still besot at the idea of conjuring fire from her fingertips. Obviously, she has no qualms against mages or witches or the use of magic either.

Mounted Combat: [Good] What can she say? Horses warm to her rather quickly. True horsemanship relies solely on your relationship with the horse in question. Everything else, she believes, simply falls into place. How anyone can dislike riding is beyond her. She feels like she's flying in full gallop. Warfare on horseback only makes sense, and while she prefers using her axes on the ground for maneuverability's sake, Signe can switch things up and use throwing spears.

Class Skills

Herbalism Knowledge: [Average] Poisoning a victim is as effective as stabbing them, but with very little mess or chance of failure. The poisons she keeps on her person are mostly organic based and harvested from the woods. Some are taken from animals. Poisonous toads, blow fish bought from the fish market and particular fungi. Spiders and scorpions. But plants such as rhubarb and tomato leaves, in large concentrations, also work just as well. Her favorite is the amanita phalloides: a deadly mushroom. Ingesting the mushroom means certain death. Simple to slip into any meal. While she does not employ these skills often, Signe has no qualms using them to exterminate irritations.

Silent Stalker: [Good] When someone says that you may not notice Signe sneaking up on you in the dead of the night or that you just may never wake up in the first place, it isn't that far from the truth. Covering herself in charcoal paints and wearing leafy-clothes, or disguising herself as a peasant-girl is not beyond her capabilities. She is quiet. She is determined. She does not give up once she's given chase. She understands how animals stalk and move, pushing their prey onto uncertain grounds and striking when weaknesses arise.



Racial Abilities

Enhanced Strength: [Above Average] There are certain advantages to being someone with mixed blood. Daemons are unusually strong. She has the incredible ability to defy weight limitations for someone of her stature. Capable of lifting twice her weight and maintaining a comfortable walking pace, Signe does not mind being treated as a mule. Dense, lengthy, or overweight items are easy to move and simple to use in nearly any manner. She can crush, lift, throw, or catch items of great weight—in comparison to a human, in any case.

Hardheaded: [Average] Signe can and will headbutt you if you're close enough. Now, that might not seem very threatening if you didn't know that the horns attached to her helmet were actually coming out of her skull. Those gracefully twirling horns can easily impale someone should she crane her neck a certain way and charge into her enemies exposed face or midsection. They're certainly sharp enough to pierce through flesh. Discrimination aside, they have their uses.

Wilderness Survival: [Good] Signe has lived, for the most part of her life, in and out of civilization. She much prefers rugged terrain and an honest living to being bundled up in a stuffy city. Over the years, she has learned to tell time by studying where the sun lies in the sky, and usually, predict when the weather is about to change. She utilizes her sense of hearing, smell, and sight to get a feel for the environment and is able to determine the pattern of the area and get a feel for what is going on around her. She's familiar with animal and bird noises. It's useful when she's out and about.



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E Q U I P M E N T

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Items

• A jasper charm molded into the shape of a leaf.
  
• An assortment of small carved bone animals; namely jaguar, wolf and hawk. Bobcat claws, wolf claws, bear teeth, leather-bound feathers, eagle claws, tufts of fur and a rabbits paw.
• Small glass vials with a mixture of smelly herbs, clay powders in varying colors and scented oils.

Accessories

• Handmade leather water bottle, crafted by her mother, with plaited leather shoulder straps and a wooden stopper, hard-boiled and lined with beeswax. Brown in colour and decorated with bright beads.
  
• A round leather pouch is tucked into her tunic, holding whatever coin she needs. She also carries a much larger rectangular pouch which she keeps on her person; filled with unknown materials.
• A small bull's horn bugle as well as a medium-sized drinking horn; polished and fitted with a leather shoulder strap.

Weapon
Weapon Name: Vegeir (meaning, great sacrifice)
Weapon Type: Bearded Axe
Material: Steel
Length: 27 inches
Weight: 4lbs
Weapon Description/Info: Nothing out of the ordinary. It has served her well—a steel battleaxe, incredibly worn with its fair share of nicks and scars. She cannot remember where, exactly, she acquired it, but it has peculiar designs etched into the shaft. It is hardly legible though.

Weapon Name: Wyborn (meaning, war bear)
Weapon Type: Battle Axe
Material: Steel
Length: 28 inches
Weight: 4lbs
Weapon Description/Info: Much more ornate than it's brother-axe, Signe received Wyborn in a tournament of strength and valor. Proudly won in Ruhar in her youth, it has already tasted many battles. The designs, and structure, are obviously made by daemon hands. Swirling markings in the steel and a curved shaft designed for easy handling. Beautifully crafted, indeed.

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B A C K G R O U N D

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Group Affiliation
Dorelith Nobility

Marital Status
Very single, very noncommittal

Relatives
Aekkif Solveigdottir – Alive – Mother
Dailo Solveigdottir – Alive – Father

Origin
Syper, Dunlath

Social Rank
Lady of the Solveigdottir Household
and Third Lord of the Council

Occupation
Dorelith Councilwoman
Black-handed Warlord

Bio/History
It seems, all good things come to an end.

Born in the rugged city of Syper, nestled in Dunlath, and raised by her loving mother and father, Aekkif and Dailo. She wanted for nothing and learned much between the two. Some may have called her mother a traitor for leaving her homeland behind and consorting with a monster, but they loved each other. And she supposed they wouldn't have wanted her wandering their lands, anyhow. She was a daemon witch, and he: a human nobleman. Her mother was allowed to live within the Syper alongside her husband because of Dailo's nobility. The Solveigdottir family name bore a heavy weight within Dunlath. It was allowed. They lived within Syper's ever-growing fortress, where her father worked to expand the city's influence, and walls, and her mother lived in general immunity. She cared not only about her family but people as a whole, after all. She sought change, even if some of their citizens still spit at their feet as she passed.

Whispers would never cease. The nobleman and the witch-woman with horns. An ugly, informal dalliance. It was what would eventually tear them apart.

Such a small creature had been capable of bringing her father to tears. Bright-eyed and groping for everything that neared her crib, she reached out with clawed fingers and hardly ever cried. They named her Signe, after Aekkif's great-grandmother: a warrior-woman in her own right. The misty morning Signe Solveigkottir was born, her mother would say, the earth trembled with joy. The skies cheered so enthusiastically that it rained and the seas danced against the shoreline. The winds themselves sang through their windows. And carrying with them were all of the spirits that made up the forests, the seas, the skies and all of its creatures. Death and life, she would say, did not mean ceasing to exist or to begin anew. It meant to pass on: once someone had grown too full of greatness, they would jump and fly on the strongest breeze and pass on their gifts.

She remembers her mothers voice most of all. Singing gentle lullabies when she woke in the middle of the night. She chased her nightmares away, promised that as soon as she was finished kissing her knuckles that all of her monsters would disappear. She'd chased them out the windows. Kept them away with her chanties. Never in her life had she felt so worn out: so tired, dirty and happy. She swore that half the time she wasn't sure what she was doing or maybe she wasn't doing it right—or maybe this, maybe that. It didn't matter. They were a family, finally. And to Dailo, having his own daughter and a wife by his side, he couldn't have been a happier man. She was beauty and she was hope, she was the life-giving rain on his dry earth. Before meeting her, he'd been a wandering soul. He had many material things, but no purpose, no direction. People disliked daemons wherever they went because they were afraid. He'd been different.

Even as a young girl, Signe had never been much of a lady. No one understood that better than her mother. It would never come naturally to her. However, not behaving like a lady posed problems. In a community that hardly followed the same principles of nobility and hierarchical structures as daemons did, Aekkif often argued with her husband. There would be marriage proposals when she grew up, if it was at all possible. She needed to behave properly. Fit the shoe she was destined to wear. But her father always bent for Signe. Snuffed off her future responsibilities, because he wanted her shoulders to be as light, for as long, as possible. She was his only daughter. There were no other children after Signe. They were content dealing with one scraggly-wolverine ripping things to shreds and attempting to climb on everything she wasn't supposed to. They had their hands full with one, so they focused their efforts on teaching her how to be kind, how to defend herself, how people may judge her for her appearance and how to handle that. She took to any lessons involving physical activity, which her father mainly dolled out. What his own father had taught him about warfare, strategies, and the like would do for now. Trades, political affairs, and etiquette would come later.

She was a trouble maker as a child, always getting into things she shouldn't and causing problems because of her lack of caring what others though of her and how she spent his time. Scampering barefoot through the streets, always knocking barrels and crates over as she went. She would sneak into places and frequently get into fistfights: mostly losing but always coming back with a brimming (albeit bloody) grin. Really, as much as Signe followed the rules she broke them. It was her mother who mostly kept her in line. Or out of trouble, rather. Corralled her away from the streets and into the woods, where she plied her sacred arts, and passed on the things she'd learned throughout her travels. Taught her how the trees strained to listen and speak to the winds that blew through their leaves, taught her how to track animals and decipher their own peculiar voices. She taught her how to differentiate different plants, in order to create tinctures, powders, and useful potions. Seeing how she hadn't inherited her mothers magical abilities, she could only go so far. But they enjoyed the time they spent together.

Her father occasionally took her outside of Syper's broad gates on his own errands, in order to expose her to the world outside. There was much to learn. Especially when it came to differing opinions. Dailo first brought Signe to a neighboring city: Nydoecia. All races, of varying age and backgrounds, congregated there to prove themselves in the bloody arena. The Pits. The humans here did not tiptoe around her feelings for fear of angering her family. Warriors did not care for nobility. Initially upset by the sour name-calling, Signe was too mesmerized by the arena to spit and snarl back at them. Huge, lumbering warriors with axes bigger than she was. Leather-clad rogues quick as vipers, blades swiping out like fangs. Some had horned helms. Others has horns themselves. And everyone stood on equal grounds. She promised, then and there, that she would someday fight in the bloody pits. That she would become a great warrior.

She supposed there were many instances leading to her mothers desertion. She supposed that she should have seen it coming the older she got. Her mothers bitterness bubbled like bile, contempt snatching her hands into fists. The severity of Aekkif and Dailo's arguments rose and fell and bolstered into clattering plates and vase-throwing. At times, she'd come back to the estate, wild-haired and eyes red-rimmed and so angry. Telling him what had happened today. The occurrences were more frequent. She'd been cornered in the marketplace by unknown men. They threatened her. Said she didn't deserve her station. Called her daughter a wretched bastard. A misfortune that befell the Solveigdottir name. Rattled her around. And Dailo admitted there was nothing he could do but send guards to shadow her steps, encroach on her privacy. They could not live as she wanted. But they would accept Signe. He would make sure of it. For Aekkif, it would never be enough. She tried to take Signe away, but Dailo would have none of it. And just like that, she left them both: leaving only a letter behind. Hidden away by her father before Signe ever had a chance to read it.

Abandonment has a strange way of twisting how you see things. Signe believed that her mother did not want them. Did not want her, either. That she'd simply grew tired and bored of the walls and political affairs. Dailo did not correct her thoughts, did not say that she'd been driven away by the people he governed. Instead, Dailo began taking his daughter along with him to Citha, grooming her to take his place on the Council. And she clung to all of those things, desperate to distract herself. Unbeknownst to Signe, Dailo had been in frequent contact with the Messiah Queen. He wanted his daughters position assured when she came of age, and in return, he would offer his allegiance and resources. Important trade markets and a formidable army in the Southern region of Dorelith. She agreed.

She finally took part in one of Ruhar's tournaments with her fathers permission. A gift for her name day, before she had to travel to Citha to meet the Messiah Queen. She did fairly well until she faced a much larger man who knocked off her helmet and pinned her to the ground. Blade at her throat. Instead of killing her, he spat in her face. Not worth killing, he said. Dirty monster, he said. It would taint his blade, he said. She hated him, hated the way he walked away from her, even though it had resulted in her life being spared. Hated how it made her feel, squirming out of the dirt. She would not forget that slight. She left Ruhar with a feeble promise whispering from her bruised lips. Meeting the Messiah Queen did soother some of her animosity.

How unusual the woman was. Like a piece of brilliant gold—enveloping the room with light and grace and wonder. She did not shy away from her, nor did she comment on her appearance. Horns, black hands, be damned. The Messiah Queen did not care. Only drew up her gnarled hands, called her child, and promised her that she truly belonged to the Solveigdottir household and that she would always have a place here.

In womanhood, Signe would become Dorelith's angry blade, striking down her foes. Taking what was rightfully theirs. In the name of Aule. She never understood what that meant. Never really understood what He was. She learned much more about her father when she visited Citha. He was a great warlord in a line of great warlords. Noble warriors. She learned about the things he'd done. Ugly acts. She convinced herself that these were necessary things. She, too, might have to make difficult decisions, if the Messiah Queen ever needed them again. And before she could profess being ready to take on such a large responsibility, she officially became the Third Lord Councilor of Dorelith while her father remained behind to run the household.

It was there, that she began to take notice. Listened to whispers and allowed contempt to curl her hands into fists.