Gaerwyn Ulfsbane |
|
|---|---|
| Game Information | |
| Game Name | Gaerwyn |
| Nickname(s) | Wyn |
| Race | Cimmerian |
| Class | Ranger |
| Guild | Harlots of the Pirate Isles |
| Professions | Hunter, skinner, mercenary |
| Statistics | |
| Height | 6'0" |
| Weight | 195 pounds |
| Build | Toned and well muscled |
| Gender | Female |
| Hair | Scarlet |
| Eyes | Hazel |
| Age | 20 |
| Alignment | Neutral |
Appearance[]
Standing six feet tall, Gaerwyn towers over many women and even some men. Her features are well proportioned for her size, with an emphasis on fitness. Her arms and thighs in particular are very firm and muscled, the result of years of running, climbing, and swordsmanship.
Her facial features are unusually smooth for a northern woman, with the customary rosy cheeks expected from living a life in cold and temperate forests. Her crimson locks fall to her neck, and are often unadorned. During hunting and battle she restrains her hair inside her helmet, knowing full well they become a liability on the battlefield. Her forehead is marred by a deep scar, the result of a childhood encounter with a misfired arrow.
She has no care for the clothing she wears, feeling any such finery is the province of weak willed fools. Her attire is always determined by what goal she has for an occasion.
(Private Knowledge: Gaerwyn also has a long scare across her chest, the result of a battle with Pict raiders.)
Personality[]
She is brash, impulsive, and excitable. The only daughter in a family of seven brothers, all of whom survived to adulthood, has made her a rough and tumble young woman. She has never had a place in her life for "a woman's" role in life. She lives her life as if it will end tomorrow.
History[]
Her father, Gaeric Yoerikson, was chief of a small tribe in the western reaches of Cimmeria. With his seven sons, and over four dozen tribesmen, he held an area rich in iron and other metals. Himself having travelled to Aquilonia chasing tales of glory, Gaeric had many contacts with which to trade and barter away the minerals.
His daughter, Gaerwyn, began wandering into the woods as young as seven. Her mother, a fearful woman, would send one of her brothers to track her down. This became a daily game for the girl, and honed her skills at hiding. Every day she would wander away from camp, and every day a brother would be sent to find her.
She did not go into the forest to play, she went to practice. Her father had done what any Cimmerian father would do, and taught his child the basics of swordplay and archery. When she asked to learn more he laughed and said that a woman's role was to prepare the meals and clean the tents. She complained to her mother and received nothing but scorn.
Such was Gaerwyn's life for many years, until fate stepped in and wrought its havoc. She had hiked further into the forest that ever before, chasing a large buck. She was nineteen now, and still unmarried, having felt no desire to be anyone's servant girl. Despite the years of telling her such Gaerwyn's father never forced her into a marriage. She thought perhaps he had only said such things to challenge her, in ways his wife could not have interfered in. The sun had fallen, and for the first time she had not been retrieved. Her joy at freedom was quickly replaced with fear.
Cautiously she made her way back to the village. In the distance she could hear guttural voices and napping twigs. Stringing her bow she knocked an arrow and pressed forward, straining for any sight of who was in front of her. From her side an arrow flew past, nicking her arm. she spun and blindly let loose and arrow. She heard a yell, and the forest erupted in sound.
The savage Picts, previously little more than a nuisance, rushed towards her. Gaerwyn's arms moved as fast as she could, pulling arrow after arrow from her quiver. With little time to aim the projectiles still managed to hit several of her assailants, but she did not have nearly enough arrows.
The girl dropped her bow to the ground, and unsheathed her sword and dagger. Luck was with her, as the Picts are not renowned for any semblance of skill or style in combat and these were no different. Slashing with her right, and stabbing with her left she dropped the first of them to reach her. Parrying a spear she rolled to the side and cut the tendons of another. Hearing a branch crack behind her she spun around and raised her sword arm to block the blow, but she was a second too slow. Her eyes widened in shock, not only from the searing pain as the sword blade sliced open her chest, but because she recognized the face of her assailant.
"Hello, dear sister, may Crom judge you worthy." her eldest brother sneared.
With what felt like her dying strength she lunged at him, and in his overconfidence he failed to defend himself. Her vison began to dim, and she lost consciousness. She awoke, startled to even be alive. She moved her arms, and felt the bandages binding her shift painfully. The room she was in swayed uncomfortably.
"Do not try to stand. You have been healed through the might of Mitra, but you are still weak. Where we are going you will not make it if you are weak." a male voice, gentle yet firm, explained to her.
"Where am I? And where are we going?" Gaerwyn asked, her voice a shadow of a whisper.
"That I do not know, but we are slaves now, and only the Gods can help us now." the man said sadly.
Gaerwyn closed her eyes and began to laugh. Her chest burned and she only laughed harder. Despite the man's heartfelt pleading she could not stop laughing. "Then we are damned old man because my god helps no one. Now find me a weapon, I will need to be armed if we are to make it through this."