CHARACTER NAME: Siegfrieda Thorbjorgdottir, Pack Sjóúlfur, Clan Nightriver
OCCUPATION: Skald (warrior and poet)
KNOWN SKILLS: Poetry, Runes, and battle
BIRTHPLACE: Eastern shores of Mardrun, Pack Sjóúlfur
APPEARANCE: Armed well and strong, her clothing is of deep blues and greens popular amongst ulven of Pack Sjóúlfur.
Siegfrieda was born to Pack Sjóúlfur under Clan Nightriver. Her mother is Thorbjorg Egildottir of Pack Sjóúlfur, Hersir of Nightriver a renowned warrior of the Clan. Her father is Storri Bodvarson, a skilled fisher of the Pack.
Growing up in Pack Sjóúlfur was a quiet life for the most part. The pack lived on the Eastern shore of Mardrun on the cliffside, creating a natural defense for the pack. From a young age Siegfrieda began learning how to fight from her mother and how to provide food like her father. When she reached the age of ten, she began showing a talent for skaldic verses, seemingly taking after her grandfather Bodvar. Much like her grandfather, however, she seemed to always find trouble and could often be found picking fights with other willing children of the pack.
Eventually she settled a bit and began helping her father with more of the fishing in his older age. Soon her mother would leave to join the efforts in establishing the Shield of Mardrun. Though her mother would visit as often as she was able to regale her with stories of battles.
Years later, Siegfrieda was out helping her father bring in the fishing nets. She was lost in thought of sword and verse, distracting her from the work. A loose rope in the wrong place and a net slipping lead to her hitting her head and falling overboard, everything going black.
She regained consciousness, crawling from the water onto the shore of a sickly swamp. Clearly not where she had fallen in. Everything was dark but she could barely see a form coming into view through the thick fog.
It was a wolf. Bright with something uncanny about it. The wolf moved with an otherworldliness that was hard to describe, but Siegfrieda knew exactly what it was. It was a fylgja, the spirit given to members of pack Sjóúlfur at birth by the wolf Sjóúlfur, one of the first sons of the Great Wolf.
Siegfrieda had a realization… this must be the spirit Sjóúlfur gifted to her. She reached her hand out to the spirit, which greeted her kindly, resting it’s head against her palm. A name immediately came to Siegfrieda’s mind. Kolbitr… She took a second to think about the name, an old word for “coal bitter” or someone who is lazy. She shrugged before realizing the spirit was trying to get her to move. She nodded and followed the wolf.
After a short trek through the muck of the swamp the two made their way into a clearing on the top of a short cliff. Upon stopping, Kolbitr immediately laid down, pointing their muzzle forward off the cliff. With a sigh, Siegfrieda looked over the edge. It took a moment, but she could make out the shape of white wolf. Suddenly more details came into view. The wolf was running towards a wall of shields, clearly in distress. Dark gray wolves emerged from the fog, surrounding the first one. With a snarl one of the dark gray ones lunged towards the white wolf but it was quick to evade and snapped back, biting down in the top of its neck. More wolves joined in the fray. The white wolf held out for a long time but was tiring. Soon it was too much, and the white wolf lay before the gray ones, lifeless. The gray wolves turned, walking through the wall of shields.
When the scene had finished, Siegfrieda turned to Kolbitr who was now sitting up looking at her. As she was about to ask the spirit a question they opened their mouth and Siegfrieda heard a single phrase in a tired voice.
Siegfrieda awoke to the violent shaking of her father, water spilling forth from her lungs as she coughed and rolled over. She was back on the boat, her father clearly drenched, having jumped in after her. After arriving back home, Siegfrieda sat by the fire warming herself. She couldn’t help but stare at the coals, contemplating the dream she had.
Several weeks of easy work passed by before a messenger came knocking at the door of her home. The traveler clearly had a look of sorrow on their face as they sat down at the table with her father. Siegfrieda stood in the doorway, listening to their conversation, not believing the words she was hearing. Thorbjorg Egilsdottir of Pack Sjóúlfur, Hersir of Nightriver was dead. Killed by Mordok on a scouting mission beyond the Shield of Mardrun along with several others. Siegfrieda’s thoughts went immediately to the dream. In her eyes it could not be a coincidence. Her fylgja has tried to warn her of this and she didn’t listen. Now her mother has paid the price. After talking with her father and the pack leader she set out to fight on the Shield of Mardun, equipped with her mother’s helmet and the resolve to find out what happened to her.