Kjellfrid Battleborn
Daughter of None Kjellfrid Battleborn (a.k.a. Valkyrie (but never to her face))
Kjellfrid Battleborn is a myth made flesh. Discovered on a fog-shrouded battlefield 9 years ago by Ragnbjǫrg, a priestess of Frīa, her origins are a mystery. Ragnbjǫrg took her in, named her, and saw to her education. Kjellfrid's connection to the gods of the Ostmen was quickly uncovered and 2 years ago, when she reached the age of majority, she was inducted as a priestess of Vatun, Valfreyja, and Haljarūna who jointly share authority over the dead. These gods are served by the valkyrja, a mythical host of beautiful female warriors. Called endlessly to battle, the Ost believe that Kjellfrid is a valkyrja made flesh. She is a Human Duskwalker Oracle who draws power from the Mystery of Battle.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
6 feet tall in her bare feet, muscular and athletic.
Facial Features
Cobalt blue eyes with a band of eyeblack from temple to temple across the bridge of her nose.
Aside from the eyeblack, she wears no makeup unless preparing for a ritual or a visit to Heiða-býr.
Identifying Characteristics
Iridescent gray-blue skin that has been heavily tattooed in black and brown inks. One can make out Norrǿna runes, a raven, and a dragon or sea serpent.
Apparel & Accessories
Armored in a mixture of sturdy hides, leather, and furs with calf-high, brown leather boots and a warm, wool cloak dyed a deep and vibrant red. A simple copper torc adorns her neck, her wrists bear wide pewter cuffs, and a braided copper band wraps each of her upper arms.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Discovered by Ragnbjǫrg, a priestess of Frīa, wandering near the eastern edge of the Ostmen lands. The tribe’s warriors, gathered under King Harald, had just defeated a tribe of frost giants and their trained cave bears and dire wolves and the priestesses, Ragnbjǫrg leading them, were scouring the battlefield for survivors and mystical relics. As Ragnbjǫrg collected the claws from a large cave bear, she spied an ashen-skinned child through the cold mist. The girl was naked, looked to be about 8 years old, and aside from her unnatural skin, had the brightest blue eyes and palest blonde hair. Also, despite her presence on what had been a scene of carnage and slaughter for more than an hour, the child was perfectly clean except for her muddy feet. Her hair was freshly washed and braided and she looked perfectly healthy. She spoke Norrǿna as well as any 8 year old child of a jarl or craftsman, but knew neither her name nor how she came to be there. He first memory was of a dented steel helmet and seeing Ragnbjǫrg through the fog.
Education
Ragnbjǫrg took charge of the girl and her education, naming her Kjellfrid, for she was both a strikingly beautiful child and utterly enamored with a dented, steel helmet she found upon the battlefield. Her mystical abilities quickly became apparent and Ragnbjǫrg taught her what little the Ostmen knew of duskwalkers and the quite a lot that they knew about the gods.
Unlike other priestesses, Kjellfrid also felt a calling to war. Recognizing this, King Harald allowed her to train with theshield maidens, an elite cadre of women warriors led by Lagertha. She is initially treated no better or worse than any of the other shield maidens but as her skill and ability became apparent, Lagertha took to training her personally.
Employment
Since becoming an adult, she has been a priestess and seer for her people, living most of her time in the forest a few hours east of Heiða-býr with her mentor, Ragnbjǫrg.
Accomplishments & Achievements
Kjellfrid grew quickly and proved adept with spear and axe. As she grew in both stature and beauty, legends spread among the Ostmen that she was one of the valkyrja made flesh in the mortal world, especially when her oracular visions of battle became known.
Mental Trauma
Kjellfrid returned to this world as an 8 year old child with unnatural grey-blue skin and no idea who she was or why she was. The dreams began the very same night that Ragnbjǫrg found her. A vast hall, long tables stacked with roasts and massive mugs of mead; a field where ethereal warriors sparred endlessly; a cold, dimly lit keep haunted by tortured screams. She knows that before being reborn, she was in the afterlife. What she doesn't know is whether it was Valhǫll or Fólkvangr, where the spirits of those who die in battle are sent, or Helle-wīzi, where the spirits of all other Ostmen reside. Kjellfrid has no idea who she was before her death and rebirth and no idea which of the gods of death has chosen her as their conduit. She has no idea even what she is.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Kjellfrid sets out on her path 9 years after being found (roughly age 17) after receiving a powerful vision of great battles to come in the south.
Likes & Dislikes
Loves jewelry, specifically bangles, cuffs, arm rings, and necklaces.
Dislikes crowds, but loves people.
Personality Quirks
Among her possessions is a dented steel helmet. It is her first and most treasured possession. She does not wear it, but if packing for a trip, it goes into her backpack.
Kjellfrid wears a natural cedar & fir scented perfume, just enough to be noticeable.
She wants to talk to everyone she encounters
If it ever gets overly quiet, she starts singing softly to herself in Norrǿna (unless she's trying to be sneaky)
If you're standing or sitting close to her, you would swear that you can hear faint sounds of battle around her and you occasionally catch the scent of blood, too
Hygiene
Despite the Ostmen's reputation, Kjellfrid bathes regularly, washes her face and hair daily, and keeps her clothes clean.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Ragnbjǫrg: Priestess of Frīa, advisor to King Harald Sigurdsson, and Kjellfrid's mentor and mother-figure.
Lagertha: Commander of the shield maidens, an elite unit of all-female warriors specializing in the spear and axe. Lagertha eventually took over Kjellfrid's martial training personally. Kjellfrid sees her as an older sister.
Wealth & Financial state
Kjellfrid feels well-equipped to begin her quest, but is not wealthy. Her jewelry is pewter and copper with the exception of her silver holy symbol. Despite this, she has a number of prized possessions:
- The wolf pelt she wears across her shoulders. Kjellfrid hunted and slew the wolf following a vision bestowed upon her and skinned and tanned the hide.
- A dented steel helmet with ear flaps and nose protector. The first thing Kjellfrid remembers is seeing this helmet on the battlefield in the aftermath of King Harald’s defeat of a tribe of frost giants and their warg and cave bear pets. When Ragnbjǫrg took her away, Kjellfrid insisted on bringing the helmet with her and she has kept it ever since. The helmet belonged to Þórunn (Thorunn) Egilsdóttir, a shield maiden killed in the battle against the frost giants.
- A copper torc and braided copper bicep bands. Purchased from a craftsman in Heiða-býr with the honorarium from her first service as a priestess of the Ostmen (delivering the child of Gunnarr and Valdís Áshildr, a healthy baby girl named Inga).
- A silver holy symbol. A gift from Ragnbjǫrg upon Kjellfrid reaching adulthood (2 years ago), it is shaped like Donar’s hammer and engraved with a pair of ravens, Vatun’s face, and a number of Norrǿna runes. She wears it on a braided leather cord.
- Battle axe, "Threadcutter". A gift from Lagertha, the most experienced of King Harald’s shield maidens, a unit of elite female warriors, upon Kjellfrid’s adulthood. The runes are prayers to Donar and calls to the valkyrja to witness the wielder’s bravery and skill. She named the axe after using it to slay an ogre in single combat.
- Spear, "Heartseeker". Kjellfrid has used this spear since beginning her training with the shield maidens 7 years ago. She earned her first kill with it, the wolf whose pelt she now wears, before she'd even reached adulthood. She named this spear after using it to kill a large wolf with a single thrust
Alignment
Chaotic Good
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Vísendakona (priestess) and Seiðkonur (prophetess)
Age
17
Date of Birth
Unknown
Birthplace
The eastern lands of the Ostmen
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Cobalt Blue
Hair
Platinum blonde, kept in a thick braid
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Iridescent grey-blue
Height
6 ft
Weight
170 lbs
Quotes & Catchphrases
- Luck often enough, will save a warrior, if her courage hold.
- The Allfather wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing.
- Until the star-break.
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
A Curious Captain
Nov. 7, CY0
The officers of the fort are all on the young side. Not much experience in evidence. They all live in the 2-story building. The entrance to the captain’s quarters is a double door that’s been carved and painted and looks expensive. The lieutenant knocks, is told to enter, and ushers us in. It’s a combination office and quarters. He’s got a small bed, a heavy, iron-bound chest, and a nice desk. He doesn’t look any older than me! But he’s got very fancy plate armor on, even as he does paperwork. And he doesn’t seem to respect his subordinates, either.
He compliments each of us in turn as he introduces himself to us 1 at a time. For me, it’s my axe. He seems familiar with Truffle’s family/grandmother. Apparently her family are local to Thildwen.
He seems surprised that the Sergeant didn’t tell us the truth of the assignment. Orders the lieutenant to travel to Thildwen and send the sergeant back for discipline and take over duties in Thildwen. She really doesn’t want to go for some reason.
The captain orders her to see to the barge’s departure before we hand over the sliver from Cragton and get paid for it. He’s very secretive about the sliver. After he’s sure we’re not being spied on, he goes to the chest, waves a hand over it, and speaks a short incantation (that I hear). The lock dissolves and he opens it. The contents look like neatly stacked rolls of paper and pouches. After retrieving what he wants, he closes it, doesn’t lock it. Pays us our 25gp each plus the 75gp bonus, which we split evenly.
The captain says there were accounting irregularities in the funding of the camp’s build. He grabs the stack of scrolls and hands them out. The scrolls are full of stacked gold coins, 40 per roll. He apparently has more money than he's supposed to and despite us being unable to know that if he hadn't told us, he told us and now wants to bribe us to not tell anyone. I'm not sure what he's after and I'm not sure if he even knows what he's after.
He’s waiting on a specialist and supplies and would like us to be prepared to hunt down and kill the last 2 river drakes. The specialist should arrive on the 10th. Would like us to return here on the 11th. Offers us 100gp per drake. Tristana negotiates for more and gets him to agree to 125gp per drake and we can keep their hides and corpses.
Nov. 8-10
We have 3 days of downtime in Thildwen. Tristana busks as an acrobat. She's surprisingly nimble for someone even bigger than me. Truffle makes some alchemical concoctions. Rune tries to gather info about Thildwen. I try to figure out from the lieutenant what’s going on with the sliver of material.
The lieutenant’s excuses for why she doesn’t want to be here seem flimsy. She just seems to think the captain is distracted. She’s able to tell me info that the foreman told us in secret (that it broke tools, etc.). She met us at the dock when we first put into the camp and had very little time to interrogate the crew or the miners escorting us, so it would seem that she has some other source of intelligence on activities in Cragton.
Rune finds out from some sailors that the river drakes only appeared in the river after Cragton got some extra miners and equipment in to dig something up in the mines there. They were definitely from Calennen, but no idea where in the kingdom.
I get the purple pearl appraised. Fil is seemingly the only expert in this town, I’m sent to him to evaluate it. Doesn’t seem to be from around here. Maybe 15-20gp.
Then I get the drake hide looked at. Nobody here feels confident appraising it.
Hamish tries to make some elixirs but has bad luck. Rune also does some hunting.
I buy a horse, tack, and saddlebags.
Nov. 11
We get transport back to the camp without issue. I have Sigur with me this time. Rune asks for one of his shed feathers and draws him. It's quite good.
When we get to Camp Kargoth, there’s a barge that’s being loaded with things for sending back to Thildwen. The guards direct us to the warehouse, the other large building in the camp, where a smithy has been set up. The smithy’s tools are magical. The smith is a runesmith. The Captain has notified the smith to let us purchase what we can afford and affix them to our gear.
In our absence, the Captain has had a stock constructed and confined the Sergeant to it. He’s been given food and water, but he’s been left exposed to the elements for a few days. When we meet with the Captain, Tristana loses her shit. I don't know what in the world she's thinking, but she insults and belittles him, challenges his authority, and is seemingly intent on starting a fight. I guess she's not familiar with how armies work. To be frank, I don't think much of the Captain's leadership, but I was impressed that he didn't simply have Tristana thrown into a stock alongside the Sergeant.
Tristana checks on the sergeant before we head out on the drake hunt. She wants to know why he didn’t give us the details. He just wanted the job done and he’d had trouble filling it with telling the truth. He’s pissed off at us and the Captain, both.
It’s a 2 hour trek to the drakes’ den. A small group of camp scouts guide us. The den is in swampy terrain, but we don’t recall any swamp on our previous trip. The scouts will take us close, then leave us to handle the drakes.
Going up river
Nov. 5, CY0
Staying at the Mangy Mutt and drinking at the North Star. Spending a lot of time at the Iron Suds. Been here for about 2 weeks.
Sergeant Maynar Royce at the Dockmistress’ office at the docks is offering work. Short-haired, older, and out of shape.
Truffle is only 3’8” tall.
Captain Slait of the Main Course, headed for Cragton at 1pm, guard the barge/ship. Loading up in Cragton and immediately returning. Collect a package from the foreman at Cragton and drop it at Camp Kargoth (75gp bonus to split). 25gp each up front, 25gp upon safe return of barge. He’s over-paying for the work he describes. He treats his squire/page like shit.
The dockmistress is raising a ruckus at somebody in her office.
I rush off to spend 5gp with Fil (Filament), the smith, to buy silver bracelets and arm cuffs. I find Tristana at the Iron Suds when I go there after buying jewelry.
6 men on the barge, 5 nearly identical. 1 older guy with a scruffy beard and a hat who yells at the rest. The water at the bow is churning with some sort of magical effect.
The ship is a rotten, barely seaworthy heap. Tristana is funny.
The churning water moves away from the ship and is attached to the ship with ropes that pull it along. The boat is pulled by 4 elemental brine sharks.
Activity at Camp Kargoth is heavy. The camp is still being reinforced, the troops are drilling, and so on. A guard calls out a warning to one of the brothers (Roy), that something came out of the water last night and ate some of the camp’s horses.
We get into the lake around 6pm and go on watch. The captain wants us watching the Entwall side in particular.
Hamish spots a couple of wakes approach from behind and the ship is rammed.
A winged beast leaps out of the water and decapitates one of the sailors (Roy) before landing in the water on the other side of the ship. Serpent-like, winged, with silver scales. Another one kills Richard with an acid spittle attack. Another attacks the captain.
Tristana misses one with her hand crossbow. Hamish hits with 2 shurikens but doesn’t hurt it. The captain stabs it. The drake kills the captain.
The drake 1-shots Hamish and nearly 1-shots Truffle. We kill it.
I sew the dead crewmen into their hammocks for their brothers, heal the party, and we continue the journey. Riley is the brother who manages the propulsion and lookout duties. I help with the lookout. Takes about an hour to cross the lake. There’s a gem in the bow of the ship that summons and maintains the elemental brine sharks.
We approach Cragton as dawn arrives. Ray is still alive. He takes the rest of the group into the cabin and retrieves a gemstone from the captain’s chest and gives it to us. It looks like a 1” purple-ish pearl.
The sun is up as we reach the Cragton docks. The body of the river drake attracts a crowd. It’s maybe 10 feet long with a 15 foot wingspan.
The boss comes down and takes the others to his office for the package to deliver to Camp Kargoth. I skin the river drake after Hamish thinks the hide and scales could be valuable.
The boss is secretive and locks his door before getting the package out. It’s a sliver of black metal/ore/stone of some sort. It’s all they could gather with their tools and took days and broke a lot of tools. I use Detect Magic, it’s not magical.
We get to rest and recuperate the rest of the 6th
Nov. 7, CY0
We leave Cragton at dawn. The foreman sends 12 men with us as extra guards.
The return to Camp Kargoth is uneventful during the day. The river drakes appear to be nocturnal. The cargo is ore, mostly iron and silver, and some gems.
We reach Camp Kargoth around noon. Lieutenant Nidiya al-Mir greets us. The soldiers arm the miners with crossbows. The Lieutenant leads us to the camp commander.
The commander’s quarters are a 2 story building that’s nicely appointed and decorated. The lieutenant doesn’t seem pleased about there being any package. She’s happy that the foreman said they could only obtain a very little bit of it and it being hard to gather.
Apocalypse
March, CY
Kjellfrid had been making either Lagertha or Ragnbjǫrg take her here each year since her discovery. The last three trips, since her majority, she’d come alone. Today she knelt in the shadow of the ancient tree stump where she’d appeared out of the fog nine years ago. It was mid-afternoon now and although the sun had burned off the fog and taken the chill out of the air, it wouldn’t be long before both creeped back into this blasted field of stumps and boulders.
She’d never yet discovered anything new about herself or her divine connection on these visits, but the compulsion to come here on the anniversary of her appearance had never lessened. The last few years had been especially frustrating, because although her oracular visions had begun to lead her places and involve her in events, she had never had so much as a fragment of a vision here in the place of her birth. In a near trance, the sounds and smells of battle washed over her. They never receded entirely but at times like this, they were impossible to ignore even if she wanted to. But far from trying to ignore the shouts of the victors, the cries of the vanquished, or the smell of blood and fire filling her nose, she embraced the sensations in the hope of sparking something. She silently mouthed prayers to the All-Father, to Valfreyja, and to Haljarūna, entreating them to share their wisdom, to reveal her purpose.
The deep, sonorous croak of a raven launched her out of her reverie. Kjellfrid’s eyes flew open and she was greeted by the sight of a large raven perched on the tree trunk not three feet from her face. Ravens were curious by nature, but she had never encountered one so fearless as to approach within arm’s reach of a person. The bird cocked its head and appeared to be studying her. She stared back, holding her kneeling pose so as not to frighten it off. Seconds passed as they stared at each other. Suddenly the raven whipped its head around, unleashed a strident cry of alarm, and took flight.
Kjellfrid leaned around the stump, peering in the direction the raven had looked, and silently cursed. Not 100 feet away, an ogre was standing in the shadows at the edge of the field. She cautiously eased back behind cover. Even a single ogre represented a significant threat to a lone warrior of her ability and ogres frequently traveled in packs. She waited and listened, trying to determine if it was alone. After a few seconds, she was convinced it was alone, although she couldn’t point to any one thing that gave her that impression. If it was alone, she had a chance. Not much of one, mind, especially since at this distance, she probably couldn’t outrun it if she simply chose to flee.
She heard the ogre enter the clearing and resolved that she would have to make her stand. Moving carefully, she picked up her shield and gripped her axe. Silently thanking Lagertha and Ragnbjǫrg for their training, she rose to her feet with death in her eyes and a song on her lips. The ogre was closer and responded quickly, roaring a challenge in reply as it charged. Kjellfrid channeled the will of the gods into her axe and raised her shield. The ogre’s massive pick was poised to swing, but Kjellfrid swung first, connecting with its hip and drawing from it a gout of black blood and a roar of pain. After that, thought was gone, subsumed by the exhilaration of battle and the primal urge to survive.
It ended with Kjellfrid’s axe buried in the ogre’s throat, cutting off its final cry with a wet gurgle. She sagged against a boulder that was steaming in the cold spring air from the spray of human and ogre blood across its surface as the ogre collapsed on its side. Drawing a ragged breath, she retrieved her axe and took stock of her wounds. The ogre’s pick had destroyed her shield and torn a deep furrow across her left side. Her right leg would barely take her weight and she was pretty sure she had some broken ribs and a broken left arm.
As her senses returned, the immediate priorities were clear. The sounds of battle and smell of blood were bound to attract attention. In her current state, she didn’t like her chances against a puppy, let alone a wolf or pack of wolves, or more ogres. She needed to bind her wounds and stop any bleeding, then put some distance between herself and this battlefield. Then she needed to find a safe enough place to make camp, which a glance at the sky told her she’d probably be doing after dark.
With a groan, she fetched her pack and the healer’s kit within it and set to work. Ten minutes later she was no longer bleeding, she’d got her left arm in a sling, and was ready to set off, using the butt of Heartseeker to support her weight on her right side. It was slow going, made slower by the need to conceal her tracks as she went, but after 3 hours, she was confident she’d moved far enough. As expected, the sun had already gone down. Thanks to her darkvision, it was only the cold of a spring night in the mountains and her injuries that made pitching camp more difficult.
She was exhausted by the time she crawled into her tent, but her work wasn’t yet done. Getting out her healer’s kit again, this time she stripped off her armor, cleaned her wounds thoroughly, and rebound them. Then she leaned on her magic to clean her weapons, armor, and clothes and to heat water to wash her face and hands. Her hair would have to wait for now. Finally, she ate an extra large meal of smoked reindeer and dried fish before collapsing, exhausted, in her bedroll.
Kjellfrid fell quickly and deeply asleep and dreamed of battle. The very elements were at war. She saw pillars of fire, gale-force winds, and tidal waves battering a green and verdant land. Knights in shining armor. Great eagles and lions. Foul beasts and darkness. At first she thought that this must be fimbulvetr, the time of great strife that will precede the end of the world, but that wasn’t right. There was a creeping sense of dread, disorder, and wrongness. A feeling that this war should not be happening, that it must not be allowed to happen. The dream ended suddenly in emeralds and feathers: White, red, and black.
She awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Kjellfrid was a devoted journaler, recording her thoughts, experiences, and dreams since she was a child, but she knew that she would not have to write a single word about this dream. It was seared into her memory, into her very being, and she would be able to recall every aspect of it, in detail, until she drew her final breath. As her heart rate returned to normal, she sipped some water and eased open the flap of her tent. A pretty, late morning spring day greeted her and she crawled out of the tent to begin her daily preparations.
After checking her wounds, stretching, washing, and dressing, she settled down to pray. The familiar prayers were a balm that soothed the unease of her vision. Her focus returned and the sound and smell of battle receded. She felt stronger this morning, more in tune with the gods. When her final prayer ended and she opened her eyes, Kjellfrid was startled to discover a large raven perched on the end of the deadfall she’d pitched her tent against. It studied her quietly and she studied it in return. She couldn’t say why, but she was certain that this was the same raven that alerted her to the ogre yesterday.
Moving slowly and deliberately, she retrieved a strip of dried fish from her pouch and offered it to the bird. It started walking down the log towards her before her arm was fully extended, but waited for her to complete the motion before taking the fish from her fingers and gulping it down. With a start, Kjellfrid realized the mild hunger she’d been feeling had vanished. The raven hopped from the log to land on her knees where she knelt. It was tall, easily more than two feet, but it still had to look up to watch her face. They studied each other that way. Minutes passed. Finally, she asked it, “What is your name?” The raven let out a short bark and then responded in creaky Norrǿna, “Sigur (victory), my kýsur (chooser).”
Kjellfrid’s eyes widened in shock. Kýsur was the Norrǿna word for chooser and one of the two root words of valkyrja. Calming herself, she asked another question, “Sigur, do you have a message for me?” The bird laughed– it actually laughed, “You received your message before waking, kýsur. We are joined now. Where you go, I go.”
The Wolf Pelt
December CY-3
Kjellfrid received a vision of a name, a blood-spattered rune stone, and the howls of wolves. Her investigation led her to a farmstead in a remote glen more than a day’s travel from the home she shared with Ragnbjǫrg. She came upon the farmstead just after sundown, knowing she’d come to the right place when she found Thorgil Arnaldsson dead by the runestone that marked the edge of his land. His hatchet was still in his hand and he had collapsed atop the corpse of a wolf; the rune stone was covered by an uneven spray of both their bloods, congealing and freezing in the winter air.
Readying herself for battle, she advanced towards the house with her shield up and her spear out. Before she could sight the longhouse, she could hear the other wolves. It sounded like some were feeding while others were snuffling, whining, and pawing at wood. As the house came into view, she could also hear the family’s sheep panicking from somewhere within the building. She charged into the clearing with a fierce roar that scattered the pack and her keen eyes took in the scene: A young man was dead in the yard and a woman was sprawled in the open doorway. Several of the wolves in the yard were injured and they kept their distance.
Her war cry summoned three more wolves from within the house. The two yearlings didn’t concern her, but the big male, his face red with gore, demanded her full attention. She carefully shifted her position to put the family’s large woodpile at her back, giving one of the juveniles a long wound to its flank when it got careless. From this position they couldn’t swarm her. The big male came on and the familiar calm settled over Kjellfrid. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she was meant for this, for battle against axe and sword or tooth and claw. It was all the same and she was precisely where she was supposed to be. The end was almost a let-down.
Empowered by the will of the gods, her spear glowed with divine power. The big wolf snarled and leapt and Kjellfrid struck true. At the same time, she battered aside the jaws of one of the juveniles with her shield, the animal’s fangs drawing long grooves through the red- and white-painted wood. The alpha male wheezed its dying breath on the frozen mud of the farmyard. Another fierce cry sent the remaining wolves scattering into the moonlit woods, whining and snarling.
Kjellfrid scanned the farmstead cautiously, not wanting to be caught out by a particularly cunning and revenge-minded wolf. Convinced that the pack had fled, at least for now, she approached the long house. The door was intact, the woman dead. It looked like she’d tried to get inside and been overwhelmed. The family’s fire had burned down; it still shed some light, but barely enough to even throw shadows. Kjellfrid thanked the gods again for her dark vision as she looked around. It looked like every other small farmhouse she’d seen. The wolves had been pawing at the door at the far end, where the family penned their sheep at night. The animals had calmed down after the wolves’ departure and as she approached the door, she heard the sounds of whimpering children.
Stopping at the door, she called out in a clear, strong voice, “I am Kjellfrid Battleborn. The wolves are gone now, little ones. Please un-bar the door.” After a moment, she heard movement and scraping and then the door opened. A tow-headed boy of about eight glared fiercely from the gap, brandishing a knife. He squinted in the near-darkness and Kjellfrid said softly, “Lower your gaze a moment, I will make light.” The boy dutifully ducked his head and Kjellfrid cast Light on the boss of her shield. At that, the child looked up again and asked, “Where are my parents or my brother?” Kjellfrid mostly succeeded in keeping the pity from her voice when she replied, “I’m sorry, boy, they’re dead. We’re going to have to stay the night here, the wolves might set upon us again if we leave now.” She found a lamp, got it lit, and gave it to the boy, “Now stay here while I get firewood and see to their bodies.”
The boy dutifully retreated into the animal pen and closed the door again. Kjellfrid quickly moved the corpses of the mother and oldest son into the family’s shed, then gathered enough wood from the pile to make it through the night. She closed the longhouse door securely and then retrieved the corpse of Thorgil Arnaldsson, as well. Finally, she skinned the alpha wolf. Something told her that this was right and proper. Then, the night’s hard labor complete, she returned to the longhouse, barred the door, and summoned the boy. When he emerged from the pen, he was trailing a sister of about six years. Kjellfrid built up the fire, fed the children, and heard their story. After, the three of them bedded down for the night with the boy, Kori, and the girl, Asgerd, huddled tight to either side of her.
She set out from the farmstead late the next morning, having helped both children pack their essentials and the family’s meager valuables. Neither child complained about the journey or their hardship and they both thanked her formally, by name, when she delivered them safely to their jarl, Geirlaug Ragnhildsdottir.
After handing them off, Kjellfrid offered to see to the funeral rites for the victims. Despite not yet being a fully-initiated priestess or even an adult, Geirlaug accepted the offer and sent her back to the Arnaldsson homestead with a couple of warriors and a team of laborers. The laborers chopped wood and built the funeral pyres (burial was out of the question at this time of year) and Kjellfrid saw Thorgil Arnaldsson, his wife Osk Smaragd, and their oldest son Herlaug Thorgilsson into the next life.
After she returned to Ragnbjǫrg, she tanned the wolfhide herself, then brought it to a craftsman in Heiða-býr to have him add bindings and ties to it. Since then, she has worn the pelt across her shoulders, atop her armor and cloak.
Comments