Greatest Ambition: To survive, but if not to die fighting as to earn her spot in Valhalla Personal Strengths: Sense of self, ability to act, manipulation of others, ability to protect and kill with her bare hands or with most old weapons, and the ability to hunt. Personal Weaknesses: Ego, ability to act, and her mouth. Personal Skills and Training: Foraging, hunting, fighting, fucking, basically all things Viking. She also can farm.
PB: Freya Mavor Player: Lass
Facially, the most prominent feature is her eyes. Some believe them to be a grey-green, while others believe them to be blue. The truth is they are somewhere in between, but no matter what colour they are; it is their shape and size on her cherubic face that makes them without doubt the epicentre. A set of caterpillar like eyebrows and fleshy cheeks frame her eyes. Filly’s skin tone is pale marked by freckles that quietly cover her entire body. Her long dirty blond locks are fine, but abundant and are a wavy knotty mess most days if left unbraided.
Standing at 5’8, Filly is deceptively tall. Considering that she weights a mere 125 pounds and has virtually no curves, most people consider her to be a small girl until they end up standing next to her and finding out their mistake first hand.
Distinguishing Marks: A whole heck of a lot of freckles and scars is about all there is.
If any one word could describe Filly in the minds of others, it would likely be ‘intimidating‘. Even as a child, Filly was the type of girl that knew what she wanted and went for it no matter what anyone though, or what anyone tried to protect her from. She also never regrets her mistakes, and just calls them learning experiences. Socially she's always known to have a large assortment of friends, though she generally keeps most at an arms distance from knowing the person she really is.
Alfhild was born in the cold winter of 971, in the small rural village of Viborg. She was the daughter of a locally famous warrior, Geirólfr the Fearsome and was born of a prize taken from the British Isles who went by the name Margot. She was born the only daughter of a five, set directly between all of her brothers. Geirólfr spent precious few moments with his daughter, as he worked to sculpt his sons into the warriors he could count on by his side in the coming years. He was a brute of a man with a sharp tongue and the tendency to fight or fuck if you got in his cross hairs depending on your gender or more truthfully his mood.
Alfhild’s mother, on the other hand, was a very quiet woman to begin with, and having been taken by a Viking as a prize bride, who neither spoke her language nor ever tried, made her even quieter. Being quiet had its advantages though. Since she never argued with her captor, he did love her honestly, which did mean that through the years she softened immensely to him. Also because no one paid her much notice, she was privy to many things that would have likely been kept from her. Finally because Geirólfr paid little mind to the women in his family, it gave her the opportunity to mold her daughter into the woman so was not.
Margot raised Alfhild to be brave and quick, completely needless of a man, but not above letting the right kind in. She pushed her toward the sword, and the bow, and the shield, but did not let her forget the need to think before being as rash as her father. "Men will always be stronger, so you must be quicker, smarter and even more decisive."
These were amazing pearls of wisdom for a young woman, but as she grew up there were few in the village who did not recognize that she was more her father’s child than any of his four sons. Not because her brothers were not all strong and brave and able fighters, but because she was rash and had a very sharp tongue, which she used at times she should not have. So when she turned 14 her father started to allow her to spend more and more time training with her brothers. Alfhild was nervous that this might hurt her mother, but the truth was that her mother could not have been more proud. She wanted her daughter to be strong and independent. Two things the Margot would have readily admitted she herself was not.
By the time Alfhild turned 15 it was apparent that she had also inherited her father’s penchant to fuck or fight. She was either brawling with one of the boys in the village, or taking them behind a shed, or both. The same went for a girl, or with both. There was only one she spent her time with when she wasn’t fighting or fucking. Though she did both with him as well and that was Bröndólfr Øybiornsson.
When Alfhild turned 17, after she had come back from her first raid, she married Bröndólfr. Some might have thought a quieter man more of the temperament of her mother would have quieted her down, but Bröndólfr was her equal. They fought and fucked and brought other home any day or night, but there was a tenderness between them that neither had found in another. A calm that settled between their two storms when they were alone together. This was their home.
A raiding party to Moray the year after they wed was a huge success and riding that enjoyment the next summer they decided to go to Greenland, as the infamous Leifr Eiríksson was said the be leading a huge raid toward a new land. The thought enthralled them and as neither were quiet ready for a family they moved swiftly and made it there in time to join in on the adventure.
That adventure turned sour for Alfhild when Bröndólfr was taken by the sea in a great storm during the crossing. When they arrived in Vinland though, things brightened. Life took on new meaning and she believed whole-heartedly that she would meet him again in Valhalla.
Two years later in the summer of 988, things were not going was well as they had all hoped it would. The colony was in constant conflict with the men of the land, the Skraelings. The winters had been harsh, which was not such a large problem but there was much less reinforcement from Greenland then they had expected, so Leifr Eiríksson sent a boat with a crew of twenty to see what lied further South. The voyage was suppose to take around 14 days. Their directive was to travel south for three to six days scouting all the while, then spend the middling days scouting the area they came upon to see how hospitable it was and then travel back and report.
On their 4th day at sea a storm blew in so fast they could not escape it. It had come from the North North West and slowly pushed them further out to sea but five times as quickly southward. Afthild had only seen waves once like this before and that was on their journey to Vinland from Greenland. The journey that had claimed the life of her husband, Bröndólfr.
Just as that storm had claimed lives, so did this one. As the next morning dawned the 5 remaining members found 15 of their party were lost to the sea. Quietly they whispered, "We shall see you in Valhalla." Usually this would be a time to drink a strong ale and rejoice of the brave lives of their fallen, but that day they all new that unless the gods smiled upon them they would all be joining their brethren. So instead of rejoicing they took stock. All but two oars were lost. The sail was torn but could be mended, and thankfully some of their supplies were remaining. Mind you there were not a ton of supplies, but they would do none the less. So they set course West. They new from the "Natives" that Vinland was merely an island off the coast of a very large landmass, thus they hoped that if they tried to continually press West then they would eventually find a bit of it. 10 days later, and with 2 less crew members they did. An island. "The Island".