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Description

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Character Information

So you say you’re under a curse? So what? So’s the whole damn world.
- Hayao Miyazaki, Princess Mononoke

Name:        Helfýsir
    Titles:        Ironhide, Úlfrekr, Skati
    Monikers: Hel, Garmr, Svar
    Age:           Adult
    Gender:     Male
    Leaning:    Heteroflexible
    Height:      89cm
    Weight:     47kg
    Build:     Burly
                Built for brute strength and stamina
    Faction:     Stonehaven
    Ranking:    Prime Afflicted; typically aids Keepers or Pathfinders

    Moon:        New Moon: Elder; The Seeker
Familiar: Common Buzzard; communication locked
    Abilities:    Oakflesh ; Mastered

Personality

In the practice of tolerance, one’s enemy is the best teacher. - Dalai Lama

First and foremost, Hel is nothing if not a taciturn creature. It can often be difficult to get to know him simply because of how difficult it is to engage in any form of verbal communication with him. Conversation has never been among his skills despite how often he assumed the role of a teacher in prior years. After years spent at the fringes of the Tundes pack during which he’s avoided all but the most necessary interactions, his ability to hold a dialogue is all but nonexistent.

His austere mannerisms aren’t exactly welcoming, either. Bluntly honest with his opinions and experiences, those who do manage to coax a few words out of the stocky beast aren’t typically rewarded for their efforts. His responses are often flat and without passion and it isn’t atypical for him impart upon his company a slim array of sharp, critical words that leave little room for further conversation.

Unless, of course, his austerity manages to incite a heated rebuttal. Should the recipient of his plain critique express ardent displeasure at length, the Ironhide may either stand his ground or simply walk away from the exchange. The deciding factors can vary exponentially. However, no matter the case, if he is pressed past a thin threshold he will readily expose a bellicose nature. This aggressive streak may appear for a variety of reasons and can be expressed in a number of ways to a number of degrees. No matter the occasion and no matter the reason, he’s certainly never one to back down from a fight and certainly won’t hesitate to start one.

Those who make it past the worst of his traits will find him to be surprisingly patient. Despite his criticisms, he’ll put up with just about anyone so long as they respect his personal boundaries, both moral and physical. While his rare input may often be harsh and unfiltered, he is only well intentioned. His criticism is meant to challenge others to improve and he expects the same in turn.

It may also become clear that his cold shoulders are not a means to keep others away. Rather, his tendency to shut others out is an expression of his grief. Though especially private about personal matters, those who come to know him will recognize he is a remorseful individual wracked with grief.

But he is not beyond reach. Time and gentle persistence will uncover a loyal wolf willing to defy gods in the defense of those who have earned his trust and care. He is especially solicitous about the welfare of his close friends and comrades too, and will go to the ends of the earth to ensure their health and happiness.

Pups are a particular weakness of his. Despite his hulking frame and gruff voice, he becomes tender and paternal when left in the company of youngsters. This gentle proclivity of his often translates through his treatment of loved ones, as well. Once another has found a place in his heart, the Ironhide is surprisingly doting and does well to make his affection known in often small, but obvious ways.

History

Love is a dog from Hell. - Charles Bukowski
Content Warning: violence & filicide

Interim Years

Garmr grew from a rather unremarkable childhood. Born to wolves who paired during the later years of their life, both passed quietly into death during Helfýsir's young adult life. As strict parents, their ideals survived them within their son whom they shaped into an ambitious, determined individual who possessed great physical strength and a tactical mind.

Although he did well to integrate himself into the united pack by frequently offering his skills in group hunts and passing the days tutoring those interested in sparring and physical training, his peers knew him as a strict individual with an almost militant demeanor. Rigid and cold, he was often compared to the unforgiving shores of Cliffside: both merciless as the sea and as severe as the jagged stones piercing its surface. The male's nature made it difficult for the very few interested in doing so to befriend him. Helfýsir knew little of friendship, but his daily tasks and the superficial companionship found therein had always been enough. Or so it was, until he met her.

2014 - 2016

The seeds of their romance were sewn amidst their boisterous arguments. As riotous and free as a windstorm, Atalya buffeted the stony he-wolf with her vulpine wit and countered the thrashing waves of his criticism with fiery comebacks.

Evenly matched in their stubborn oppositions, the two found harmony in each other’s company after the passing of their storms. Each continuously learned from the other and grew to be ever better individuals as their relationship evolved and their fates entangled with the birth of their daughter. For two years, the young family prospered in a life enriched with countless laughs and newly forged friendships. Their love was that of fairy tales: undying and passionate, even when they fought.

Alas, there would be no happily ever after for the sylph and her nix.

Summer 2017

Preoccupied with their love and life, Helfýsir and Atalya remained largely ignorant of Malaysia’s whispers. Concerns surrounding the red wolf were easily brushed away and given little thought. However, the harbinger’s propaganda tantalized their young daughter and her interest in the mythical, magical tales only grew as she did. Soon her parents would not be able to turn a blind eye to the building political storm within the island’s pack.

The more the couple learned, the less they approved of Miela’s increasing desire to join Malaysia’s following. Unfortunately, their daughter inherited her parent’s renowned stubbornness; dissuading her would take far more than Helfýsir’s stern talks or Atalya’s gentle reasoning. In fact, it seemed their disapproval only fueled the young adult’s determination to follow in the footsteps of her crimson idol.

Desperate to keep his progeny safe from what seemed to him nothing more than a violent, bloodthirsty cult, Helfýsir began to resort to extreme measures. In doing so, he invoked the bitter ire of numerous individuals- some of whom cared nothing for Malaysia or her promises. In the dark of a humid summer night, they banded together to attack and silence the bellicose source of their troubles.

Death was never their aim, but more than his blood was spilled that night; life was lost with it. Surprisingly, their bared teeth did not taste the victim’s flesh and none of their own lay dead in the morning light.

Driven to blind rage by the potent concoction of fear for his child and the heckling of the mob, their abuse even after he was restrained amidst a fight, Helfýsir never saw his daughter run to his aid. While she pried his captors off his nape and limbs, he did not understand her motives through the pain of his broken wrist and torn skin and when he was finally free, he could not see her face through the blood in his eyes.

By the time he caught her scent through the metallic stink in his nose, his teeth were already buried in her throat and the deafening ring of his ears only subsided in time to hear her frantic, bubbling death rattles. Miela fell to the ground beyond the help of the pack’s most experienced healers when her father’s jaws released her. As Helfýsir watched the life fade from his daughter’s eyes, the mob left him to his loss.

In the end, the mob accomplished their goal. The months following Miela’s death left Helfýsir quiet and scarce. No longer was he tussling with Malaysia’s advocates or inciting arguments with individuals he found suspect. Once a brutish giant, Helfýsir had been cut down into little more than an overgrown mouse.

Worse yet was the state of his lover. Distraught over her daughter’s death and the circumstances around it, Atalya had turned her ears to Malaysia’s enticing revelations. Though her mate would try to dissuade her, his timid attempts were easily cast aside by the she-wolf’s claims. ‘I’m only listening,’ she would say, ‘I’m doing it for Miela. It’s what she would have wanted.’ But, it was more than that, too. What if the magic described by the Crimson Harbinger could bring their daughter back? It was worth the chance, no matter how unlikely.

Little by little, and then all at once, Atalya committed herself to Malaysia’s cause.

Winter 2017

When Svajone’s men landed, Helfýsir had long since ceased his efforts to protect his mate from Malaysia’s wheedlings. Doing so only furthered the growing distance between them and the last remaining slivers of fight still in him withered to dust at the mention of Miela’s name.

Besides, maybe Atalya was right. Maybe magic could right his wrongs and bring his family together again. He doubted it; he doubted it as much as he doubted himself, but what a beautiful idea. It seemed a sin to diminish his lover’s comforting dream. His efforts to protect his daughter only ended in her death; he would not make the same mistake twice.

So he let her go. From the treeline he watched on as Atalya rushed the beach alongside Malaysia and her followers. He watched with awe and pride to see his fearless partner, so much stronger than himself, paint the sands in ruddy hues. He watched with horror as man’s weapons brought her low and he watched in agony as their blades pierced her heart. As he watched her gasp for her last breath, he broke.

Acting had cost him the life of his daughter. Inaction had cost him the life of his mate.

Though he held nothing but hatred for Malaysia and the deadly allure of her tellings, he joined the red wolf’s massacre and turned his anguished fury against both man and wolf. He killed for Miela and he killed for Atalya. Maybe, just maybe, he could give them magic in death. If he killed men and spilled wolf blood, maybe it would bring them back. And if it didn’t? Then at least they would not be alone. At least his family would not be the first of the believers to perish in the wakening of the isle’s old magic; they would be among their ilk in death.

And maybe, through some kind mercy granted by man, wolf, or any other power of the island, he would join them too. Perhaps through violent death, magic would bring them together after all. Reckless and wild in his carnage, Garmr cared nothing for self-preservation that night. He took needless chances and barreled headlong into the masses, all but offering his life to anyone who would take it.

Yet the morning found him still very much alive. Unworthy of death and with the deep wells of violence finally exhausted, he had nothing left to give. In turning away from that beach, he turned his back on magic and all those who craved its power.

Atalya's corpse was pulled from soft beach sands by the ocean's waves alone.

Spring 2018 - Spring 2020

In the years that followed the beach massacre, Garmr existed as little more than a ghost amidst the newly formed Tundes. Through the blood moon and the peace summit, through the waves of the mysterious deaths and the ensuing plague, the sea wolf has remained in the background of it all. Disconnected and withdrawn, he's been nothing more than a husk of who he used to be.

Or so it was until recently. It seems something, or someone, has begun to draw him back into the light.
________________________________________

Minutiae

• Often carries a strong scent of cedar with faint metallic undertones.

• Prone to occasional limping due to chronic pain and weakness in his right wrist. Suffers frequent tremors in the corresponding paw.

• Certainly doesn't deny the existence of magic, but finds the necessity of blood and sacrifice something to be abhorred. While magic may be as natural as the forests and the skies, it is like a plague in that it takes more than its share and does not make better the simple life of a wolf.

• ....
________________________________________

Player Information
    Contact Preference: Discord, GoogleDocs, or Notes
    Random Events: Opt in

    Timezone: CST

Description

Character Badge

Character Information

So you say you’re under a curse? So what? So’s the whole damn world.
- Hayao Miyazaki, Princess Mononoke

Name:        Helfýsir
    Titles:        Ironhide, Úlfrekr, Skati
    Monikers: Hel, Garmr, Svar
    Age:           Adult
    Gender:     Male
    Leaning:    Heteroflexible
    Height:      89cm
    Weight:     47kg
    Build:     Burly
                Built for brute strength and stamina
    Faction:     Stonehaven
    Ranking:    Prime Afflicted; typically aids Keepers or Pathfinders

    Moon:        New Moon: Elder; The Seeker
Familiar: Common Buzzard; communication locked
    Abilities:    Oakflesh ; Mastered

Personality

In the practice of tolerance, one’s enemy is the best teacher. - Dalai Lama

First and foremost, Hel is nothing if not a taciturn creature. It can often be difficult to get to know him simply because of how difficult it is to engage in any form of verbal communication with him. Conversation has never been among his skills despite how often he assumed the role of a teacher in prior years. After years spent at the fringes of the Tundes pack during which he’s avoided all but the most necessary interactions, his ability to hold a dialogue is all but nonexistent.

His austere mannerisms aren’t exactly welcoming, either. Bluntly honest with his opinions and experiences, those who do manage to coax a few words out of the stocky beast aren’t typically rewarded for their efforts. His responses are often flat and without passion and it isn’t atypical for him impart upon his company a slim array of sharp, critical words that leave little room for further conversation.

Unless, of course, his austerity manages to incite a heated rebuttal. Should the recipient of his plain critique express ardent displeasure at length, the Ironhide may either stand his ground or simply walk away from the exchange. The deciding factors can vary exponentially. However, no matter the case, if he is pressed past a thin threshold he will readily expose a bellicose nature. This aggressive streak may appear for a variety of reasons and can be expressed in a number of ways to a number of degrees. No matter the occasion and no matter the reason, he’s certainly never one to back down from a fight and certainly won’t hesitate to start one.

Those who make it past the worst of his traits will find him to be surprisingly patient. Despite his criticisms, he’ll put up with just about anyone so long as they respect his personal boundaries, both moral and physical. While his rare input may often be harsh and unfiltered, he is only well intentioned. His criticism is meant to challenge others to improve and he expects the same in turn.

It may also become clear that his cold shoulders are not a means to keep others away. Rather, his tendency to shut others out is an expression of his grief. Though especially private about personal matters, those who come to know him will recognize he is a remorseful individual wracked with grief.

But he is not beyond reach. Time and gentle persistence will uncover a loyal wolf willing to defy gods in the defense of those who have earned his trust and care. He is especially solicitous about the welfare of his close friends and comrades too, and will go to the ends of the earth to ensure their health and happiness.

Pups are a particular weakness of his. Despite his hulking frame and gruff voice, he becomes tender and paternal when left in the company of youngsters. This gentle proclivity of his often translates through his treatment of loved ones, as well. Once another has found a place in his heart, the Ironhide is surprisingly doting and does well to make his affection known in often small, but obvious ways.

History

Love is a dog from Hell. - Charles Bukowski
Content Warning: violence & filicide

Interim Years

Garmr grew from a rather unremarkable childhood. Born to wolves who paired during the later years of their life, both passed quietly into death during Helfýsir's young adult life. As strict parents, their ideals survived them within their son whom they shaped into an ambitious, determined individual who possessed great physical strength and a tactical mind.

Although he did well to integrate himself into the united pack by frequently offering his skills in group hunts and passing the days tutoring those interested in sparring and physical training, his peers knew him as a strict individual with an almost militant demeanor. Rigid and cold, he was often compared to the unforgiving shores of Cliffside: both merciless as the sea and as severe as the jagged stones piercing its surface. The male's nature made it difficult for the very few interested in doing so to befriend him. Helfýsir knew little of friendship, but his daily tasks and the superficial companionship found therein had always been enough. Or so it was, until he met her.

2014 - 2016

The seeds of their romance were sewn amidst their boisterous arguments. As riotous and free as a windstorm, Atalya buffeted the stony he-wolf with her vulpine wit and countered the thrashing waves of his criticism with fiery comebacks.

Evenly matched in their stubborn oppositions, the two found harmony in each other’s company after the passing of their storms. Each continuously learned from the other and grew to be ever better individuals as their relationship evolved and their fates entangled with the birth of their daughter. For two years, the young family prospered in a life enriched with countless laughs and newly forged friendships. Their love was that of fairy tales: undying and passionate, even when they fought.

Alas, there would be no happily ever after for the sylph and her nix.

Summer 2017

Preoccupied with their love and life, Helfýsir and Atalya remained largely ignorant of Malaysia’s whispers. Concerns surrounding the red wolf were easily brushed away and given little thought. However, the harbinger’s propaganda tantalized their young daughter and her interest in the mythical, magical tales only grew as she did. Soon her parents would not be able to turn a blind eye to the building political storm within the island’s pack.

The more the couple learned, the less they approved of Miela’s increasing desire to join Malaysia’s following. Unfortunately, their daughter inherited her parent’s renowned stubbornness; dissuading her would take far more than Helfýsir’s stern talks or Atalya’s gentle reasoning. In fact, it seemed their disapproval only fueled the young adult’s determination to follow in the footsteps of her crimson idol.

Desperate to keep his progeny safe from what seemed to him nothing more than a violent, bloodthirsty cult, Helfýsir began to resort to extreme measures. In doing so, he invoked the bitter ire of numerous individuals- some of whom cared nothing for Malaysia or her promises. In the dark of a humid summer night, they banded together to attack and silence the bellicose source of their troubles.

Death was never their aim, but more than his blood was spilled that night; life was lost with it. Surprisingly, their bared teeth did not taste the victim’s flesh and none of their own lay dead in the morning light.

Driven to blind rage by the potent concoction of fear for his child and the heckling of the mob, their abuse even after he was restrained amidst a fight, Helfýsir never saw his daughter run to his aid. While she pried his captors off his nape and limbs, he did not understand her motives through the pain of his broken wrist and torn skin and when he was finally free, he could not see her face through the blood in his eyes.

By the time he caught her scent through the metallic stink in his nose, his teeth were already buried in her throat and the deafening ring of his ears only subsided in time to hear her frantic, bubbling death rattles. Miela fell to the ground beyond the help of the pack’s most experienced healers when her father’s jaws released her. As Helfýsir watched the life fade from his daughter’s eyes, the mob left him to his loss.

In the end, the mob accomplished their goal. The months following Miela’s death left Helfýsir quiet and scarce. No longer was he tussling with Malaysia’s advocates or inciting arguments with individuals he found suspect. Once a brutish giant, Helfýsir had been cut down into little more than an overgrown mouse.

Worse yet was the state of his lover. Distraught over her daughter’s death and the circumstances around it, Atalya had turned her ears to Malaysia’s enticing revelations. Though her mate would try to dissuade her, his timid attempts were easily cast aside by the she-wolf’s claims. ‘I’m only listening,’ she would say, ‘I’m doing it for Miela. It’s what she would have wanted.’ But, it was more than that, too. What if the magic described by the Crimson Harbinger could bring their daughter back? It was worth the chance, no matter how unlikely.

Little by little, and then all at once, Atalya committed herself to Malaysia’s cause.

Winter 2017

When Svajone’s men landed, Helfýsir had long since ceased his efforts to protect his mate from Malaysia’s wheedlings. Doing so only furthered the growing distance between them and the last remaining slivers of fight still in him withered to dust at the mention of Miela’s name.

Besides, maybe Atalya was right. Maybe magic could right his wrongs and bring his family together again. He doubted it; he doubted it as much as he doubted himself, but what a beautiful idea. It seemed a sin to diminish his lover’s comforting dream. His efforts to protect his daughter only ended in her death; he would not make the same mistake twice.

So he let her go. From the treeline he watched on as Atalya rushed the beach alongside Malaysia and her followers. He watched with awe and pride to see his fearless partner, so much stronger than himself, paint the sands in ruddy hues. He watched with horror as man’s weapons brought her low and he watched in agony as their blades pierced her heart. As he watched her gasp for her last breath, he broke.

Acting had cost him the life of his daughter. Inaction had cost him the life of his mate.

Though he held nothing but hatred for Malaysia and the deadly allure of her tellings, he joined the red wolf’s massacre and turned his anguished fury against both man and wolf. He killed for Miela and he killed for Atalya. Maybe, just maybe, he could give them magic in death. If he killed men and spilled wolf blood, maybe it would bring them back. And if it didn’t? Then at least they would not be alone. At least his family would not be the first of the believers to perish in the wakening of the isle’s old magic; they would be among their ilk in death.

And maybe, through some kind mercy granted by man, wolf, or any other power of the island, he would join them too. Perhaps through violent death, magic would bring them together after all. Reckless and wild in his carnage, Garmr cared nothing for self-preservation that night. He took needless chances and barreled headlong into the masses, all but offering his life to anyone who would take it.

Yet the morning found him still very much alive. Unworthy of death and with the deep wells of violence finally exhausted, he had nothing left to give. In turning away from that beach, he turned his back on magic and all those who craved its power.

Atalya's corpse was pulled from soft beach sands by the ocean's waves alone.

Spring 2018 - Spring 2020

In the years that followed the beach massacre, Garmr existed as little more than a ghost amidst the newly formed Tundes. Through the blood moon and the peace summit, through the waves of the mysterious deaths and the ensuing plague, the sea wolf has remained in the background of it all. Disconnected and withdrawn, he's been nothing more than a husk of who he used to be.

Or so it was until recently. It seems something, or someone, has begun to draw him back into the light.
________________________________________

Minutiae

• Often carries a strong scent of cedar with faint metallic undertones.

• Prone to occasional limping due to chronic pain and weakness in his right wrist. Suffers frequent tremors in the corresponding paw.

• Certainly doesn't deny the existence of magic, but finds the necessity of blood and sacrifice something to be abhorred. While magic may be as natural as the forests and the skies, it is like a plague in that it takes more than its share and does not make better the simple life of a wolf.

• ....
________________________________________

Player Information
    Contact Preference: Discord, GoogleDocs, or Notes
    Random Events: Opt in

    Timezone: CST