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Thorvaald

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a character in “Chronicles of Domhanda”, as played by gargus.mcalpin

Description

Thorvaald, Jarl of Wolf Tribe
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N a m e s a k e:
Thorvaald
A l i a s:
Just Thorvaald
N u m e r i c a l:
Age: 31 Birth: 2nd of Morning Star
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S o c i o l o g i c a l :
Profession: Jarl of Wolf Tribe Martial Status: Single Homeland: Unclaimed Territories Allegiance: Fearaan Status: Jarl
B i o l o g i c a l :
Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 Ethnicity: Barbarian
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P s y c h o l o g i c a l:
He is generally known to be upbeat and optimistic. He has a great tolerance for people of different cultures, religions, beliefs, and lifestyles. Being adventurous and spontaneous, he is suited to exploring new places. He is not particularly ambitious or proud, which makes him suitable to the Northern warrior culture. These qualities make him liked by most people, and a good drinking companion, although some find him lacking in discipline and sternness required of a leader. One would more often find him at a brothel or passed-out outside a tavern than tending to his duties as Jarl.
P r o f i l e :
His features are in contrast to the tall, fair-haired Fearaani people. His parents were of unnamed barbarian lands that lie in the remote West.
K i n d r e d:
He was an orphan since birth then adopted into Fearaani society; he has no kin related to him by blood.
F e a t s:
He is a talented warrior. It may be said that it was his marvelous skill with weapons that earned him respect from his fellow Fearaani. Having traveled to foreign lands, he is familiar with other fighting techniques and strategies; not only the traditional Fearaani warrior style of axe and round-shield. He is lacking however in matters of intrigue, management, or any specialized knowledge. Fortunately, he has many resourceful followers under his leadership who deeply care for him. He's also pretty capable with diplomacy as he is well-traveled and able to see from different points of views.
A r s e n a l:
He carries two singlehanded double-edged swords. He wears little to no armor; his entire torso is often bare, preferred agility over armor.
A r c h i v e:
After he was adopted into Fearanni society at infancy, he had little difficulty adapting into their culture. He began training as a warrior and was immediately recognized as possessing raw talent. He took to sail with others on raids, explorations, and trading expeditions; learning about and developing a strong interest in foreign cultures. One day, after losing a drinking game with his companions, as a jest they pursuaded him to challenge the then Jarl of Wolf Tribe to a dual. Thorvaald laughed and went along with their punishment. He stumbled across to the Jarl's domicle and challenged him to a dual. As Fearanni society culture of dishonor in declining a dual challenge, the Jarl accepted. To his friends' astonishment Thorvaald had won the dual and was then to be recognized as the new Jarl. The next morning Thorvaald woke with no recognition of what had happened the previous day as he was in a hangover from the drinking.

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So begins...

Thorvaald's Story

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Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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Thorvaald and his followers had disembarked on the shores and set up a temporary camp.
"At last!" said Thorvaald; his eyes gleaming with excitement as he jumped onto land. "The goddess of fortune smiles on us! This land presents itself a thing of sweet opportunites and exotic novelties! Find agreement in my observation Huscarl?
A bearded old Huscarl scurried up to Thorvaald and nodded in agreement. "Perchance two moons til we reach the gates of Baile, my Jarl."
"To move to purpose would prove itself neccessity. That our honored hosts start the party without our welcome presence to empty their wine would make me frown. Hmm... does the elusive Cyra not make herself visible before me? I would have her council." said Thorvaald, looking about over the many vikings unloading crates and barrels off the ships.

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Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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Later by midday, Thorvaald and his companions had come to a hill in view of Hakon's camp by the horizon.
"Good Hakon must be expecting us!" said Thorvaald. "It would be welcome sight to behold his bearded excellence."
Thorvaald raised his arm in salutation as he and his men approached the camp.
"I would share wine and words with your man, good Hakon." said Thorvaald to the camp guards.

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Character Portrait: Hakon Far-Killer Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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Hakon Far-Killer
1409, Third of June/Midday

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It was midday when Thorvaald finally landed on the beach. The two remaining Dragon-Ships deploying the majority of the Fearaani expeditionary force. The majority were raiders and axemen, the men who made up the backbone of the Fearaani shield wall. Along with them came a detachment of longbows and archers; mostly comprised of skilled hunters and loners who roamed the wastes alone, only rejoining the majority of Wolf Tribe society when the horn of war was sounded. They were hard, lonely men. Finally, a small warband of berserkers came on the second Dragon-Ship, they were too rowdy to keep on Thorvaald's flagship. Ferocious, bloodthirsty men who carried no shields and wielded the Great-Axe, wearing only loin-clothes and wolf-skins. They worried Hakon. If anyone was to foil what Thorvaald and he hoped to accomplish here, it would be them.

Chief Thorvaald was brought into the small camp on the beach with praise and gusto, but Hakon could sense the tension in the air. Especially amongst some of the older warriors and Huskarls, there was dissension about Thorvaald. His claim to leadership was perfectly legitimate according to the laws of the Wolf Tribe, but the Old Wolf was loved and respected dearly by the old guard of Wolves. He had led them through the hardest winter ever in living memory, and kept the wolves together in their time of need.

To be usurped by this foreigner, barely more than a whelp at the time? That didn't sit well at all with some. For his own part, Hakon was mostly neutral in his attitude toward his Chief. He respected the title, and anyone who held it, as was custom. However, he had his own doubts about the young Chief. He was a drunkard, for one, and seemed to have little gravity or seriousness in his role as the leader of his people. For the most part, Hakon understood that these were irreconcilable differences. Thorvaald's personality simply did not mesh with his own. But he still wasn't sure about him. This would be the young Chief's first chance to truly show his leadership capabilities.

For his own sake, he hoped Thorvaald was up to the task. Wolves could smell weakness a mile away, and would not hesitate to take the reigns of power away from one undeserving. Hakon greeted his Chief as he strode into the large white tent that had been constructed for him while they waited for the Horse-Lord's envoys. There were no furnishings to speak of, simply a canvas drape to separate the two leaders from the rest of the men while they spoke. Around Hakon stood his closest Huskarls, his bodyguards and sub-commanders. Grim, short for a Fearaani, but hot-tempered and brutal in a fight with his axe. Jokuun, a spiritual viking, he gave sound council and consulted the gods. Hagen, a big man with a big hammer, he could smash a hole into any shield wall. And finally Steinar, the son of one of Hakon's own cousins. He had been taken under Hakon's wing when he was young, and so had grown up to be rather like his adoptive parent. They all stood ready to assist their Chief in whatever way he would ask of them.

"Chief Thorvaald. Decided to join us finally?" He rasped with a hint of a smile. "No doubt the Horse-Lord's saw our pyre, or have been told by someone who did. I don't believe it would be wise for us to move from here until we are greeted by emissaries. I want to minimize our interaction with the people of these outlying settlements."

Steinar nodded in agreement. "The less 'accidents' that happen," He added. "the more smoothly our time here will go. Whatever you decide on with the Lord of Glasliugh, we need to make sure that your diplomacy is not destroyed by a foolish raid or burning of a village by our own over-eager youngsters."

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Character Portrait: Hakon Far-Killer Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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"It lifts heart to have eyes fall upon good Hakon once more!" said Thorvaald heartily. "Your presence alone instills caution on the pups; they will cast down thoughts of needless aggression while we are at our host's mercy. Come! Let us catch up on recent events while we wait for him to send us his greetings. I would break words with an old friend towards concerns that must be addressed and decisions that must be weighed. What has caught good Hakon's attention as of late?"

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Character Portrait: Hakon Far-Killer Character Portrait: Cyra Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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Hakon Far-Killer
1409, Third of June/Midday

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"It lifts heart to have eyes fall upon good Hakon once more!" said Thorvaald heartily. "Your presence alone instills caution on the pups; they will cast down thoughts of needless aggression while we are at our host's mercy. Come! Let us catch up on recent events while we wait for him to send us his greetings. I would break words with an old friend towards concerns that must be addressed and decisions that must be weighed. What has caught good Hakon's attention as of late?"

Hakon grunted in response and gestured outside. He led Thorvaald from beneath the tent into the midday sun. It was warm here, a pleasant, northern summer. Glasliugh often made him wonder what Fearaan would look like without the perpetual layers of ice and snow over its interior. To be sure, the Southern coasts of Fearaan were often without snow in the summer, the entirety of the island's livestock and crop farming was conducted on the wide coasts there. But only a few miles inland, there was a layer of winter all year round. The mountains of Fearaan had been encrusted with ice from the moment they rose out of the sea in the Before Time. Still, if the snow was gone, and the ice melted away, Hakon imagined Fearaan would look very similar to this land of the Horse-Lords. He leaned on the haft of his axe as he spoke.

"The city of Baile lies there." He pointed towards the mighty mountain range in the distance. "Right at the base of what they call 'The Spine'. I have never been inside the city myself, but I have seen its walls, and it is a mighty holdfast. I do not believe that we could take it if you so desired, not unless we joined our forces with the Elk to share in the plunder. However, even then it would be almost unfeasible, and I doubt the chances of cooperation with the Elk."

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the air. Hakon spun to see Cyra leap off the side of Thorvaald's flagship. She stomped around in the muddy turf of the beach, swearing and stripping. Hakon was not surprised. He did not believe that the girl had ever been this far south in her life before. I must have felt like the sun had dropped out of the sky and hung right above her. He remembered that feeling, the first time he had sailed from Fearaan. Though it had not affected him to this degree. Still, he felt a pang of compassion for the she-wolf. He glanced at Thorvaald before stalking towards her. He kept his axe in hand, in case she decided to lash out in her confusion. She was only a little better than naked by the time Hakon reached her.

"Damn She-Wolf, do you whimper at the touch of a little sun? Do you cower at his glare?" He rasped. He wondered if she could even hear his broken voice above her own swearing. At that moment, Saks returned from flying overhead. The raven perched on his shoulder and cawed at her.

"Sun... SUN!" The jet black bird mocked.

"You're lucky this isn't the true South-Lands she-wolf. The lands of sand and ash and fire. The land of Surt and the Fire-Demons. I have been there, she-wolf, and you should not complain. When your skin boils and falls off your flesh, when the very air you breathe is a dry, arid fume, then you can scream to me." He growled, with a hint of a smile.

Hakon pointed at the white tent.

"Now run along under the sheet, she-wolf. Hide from the sun if you like, but you will never feel better unless you grapple it head on."

Hakon looked back towards Thorvaald, and the mountains in the distance. He could only wonder what the situation was like in Baile. For the Duke to ask for their aid, to offer the hand of friendship, Aenerin must be in dire straits indeed. Hakon understood that the man did not disguise his or his country's open hostility with the raiders of Fearaani, so things had to be bad indeed.

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Character Portrait: Hakon Far-Killer Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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"I would lend hand to this Duke's cause," said Thorvaald towards Hakon. "If reward for our services outweighs that we would profit of unleashing Viking fury upon his coasts. Whichever may see path cleared for the prosperity of my Fearaani. You and I have known only battle and blood. Yet frankly, I am reluctant to raise sword against these people. I would learn more about them; of their culture; of their beliefs; of knowledge we may yet be absent. And I would have honest reply, if my words sound absent proper mind. I ask you, Hakon: would you put aside raiding in favor of friendly relations with our foreign neighbors; trading; perhaps settle our people on distant shores, in fertile lands?"

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Hakon Far-Killer Character Portrait: Cyra Character Portrait: Thorvaald

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#, as written by Layla
CYRA
1409, Third of June | Midday.

Cyra could see no reason for the scowling Viking's personhood in this dimension besides to serve as the bane of her existence. Never in all her time with the Wolf Tribe had she seen his lips so much as twitch toward an approximation of a smile. He incited fear where he stepped, his heart quaking nature and skill with the long axe rippling from his every step like a black death. She found the hushed warnings of his extensive killing sprees and the wide mouthed awe of his comrades, enemies and admirers pitiful. He was nothing more than a grouchy old man who'd long outlived his purpose. He was irritably calm, unconscientious in his brutality and colder still than the wiry spikes of Fearnaan's ice giants. In short, he pissed her off, and she was quite fond of him.

Cyra would sooner driver her own axe through her spine than admit it, of course. Just as being depressing was his life's purpose, making his job of existing as uncomfortable as inhumanly possible was hers. He insisted on disrupting her fun and so she would insist on having more of what she considered "fun," like freeing all of the Wolf Tribe's sled dogs, dripping honey into his ample beard, painstakingly unravelling the crude seams of his garments, eavesdropping on his every conversation, lacing his drinks with hallucinogenics, bribing whores to extract his deepest desires and woes - they all failed, unfortunately for them - and strutting about nude to distract his soldiers. He was her greatest obstacle and her greatest pleasure.

The tribe's midwife had once warned the "little wolf" not to bite the hand that fed her. Hakon was, after all, the one who'd not only cared for her but taught her to wield her axes with the strength, ferocity and skill she did. In reply, she'd said, "I am not ungrateful. My gratitude simply surpasses any ordinary gestures of affection. I am a complicated and disturbed child in desperate need of acceptance, moyardor." Cyra had even accompanied her proclamations with a hand to her forehead and the respectful word for the older midwife. "Hakon, he understands my love for him." The midwife had given her a sagely nod and patted her arm, saying that she understood as well. Idiot. Cyra had dabbed away a droplet in the corner of her eye and praised her astounding skills in lie formation.

"Damn She-Wolf, do you whimper at the touch of a little sun? Do you cower at his glare?" Whimper? Cower? Oh, he'd challenged her indeed. She tilted her head upwards and fixed her face into a haughty expression as she planned his inevitable demise. "You're lucky this isn't the true South-Lands she-wolf. The lands of sand and ash and fire. The land of Surt and the Fire-Demons. I have been there, she-wolf, and you should not complain. When your skin boils and falls off your flesh, when the very air you breathe is a dry, arid fume, then you can scream to me."

All of the tribe and beyond knew of his endeavours and achievements beyond the frozen lands of Fearnaan. That was not to say he had to show off. One day, Cyra promised herself the Nordic deities above. In particular, Freyja, whom she had been pledged. The Goddess was praised for her beauty and sensuality and many a foolish man had been fooled by her deceptive sweetness. They paid the greatest price for their ignorance, for she imparted death and war upon mortal men. Hakon would pay a hefty price for his condescending arrogance. Perhaps she would fill his head with lice.

"Now run along under the sheet, she-wolf. Hide from the sun if you like, but you will never feel better unless you grapple it head on." Fine, she thought with a glance and devious grin at Hakon's men. She would "grapple it head on." She was the greatest tracker Fearnaan had ever seen, she could make rabbits out of rocks and speak to the animals as if she were one of them herself. Cyra the Wolfspirit was also nuts. Peanut brittle had nothing on her.

Striding in front of Hakon, she quickly stripped herself of the rest of her clothing, revealing toned legs that stretched through mountains and rivers and met wide, feminine hips. She wore nothing but a simple loincloth, her breasts full and visibly buoyant with every step. Hakon and Thorvaald's men stared blatantly, calling indecencies and whistling wildly. Even some of the women chimed in. Cyra grinned and strutted along the shores with pride and glory. The Fearaani were not a shy people and Cyra was the queen of exhibitionism. She was aware of her gifts and she made sure everyone else was aware of them too. The unrelenting sun caught the sheen of her golden hair and cast a halo around her head. She spun around and tossed Hakon a wink, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips.

"As you can see, I am 'grappling' the fire," she declared. It was then that she saw the chief of the Wolf tribe, the only human being she could and would ever even mildly enjoy the company of. Despite being the leader of a barbaric people - herself included, although her reasons for savagery were just, where the other two-legged fools were simply ridiculous - he was a honourable, kind and charming man.

"Thorvaald!" she called out, completely ignoring Hakon's existence now that half the reason for her journey across the oceans in the storage room of a ship was present. Cyra dashed at Thorvaald and crushed the man to her bare chest. At six feet tall, she was abnormal even for a Fearaani and stood above the strongly built chief of the Wolf tribe. She pressed her entire body against his as her large wolf huffed beside her, nudging her away from the man he so disliked with his head. Yet it was Thorvaald who allowed Din Din to continue to be her equal companion when all others demanded he be killed or enslaved.