Eithne (Eth-nee)
Eithne Skau
Best you don't let your guard down around this one, otherwise you'll find out for yourself why she's called "The Ball Breaker" first hand...by Anithecutie
Physical Description
Body Features
She is covered in a tapestry of scars and battle wounds all over her body. Mottled brown freckles cover her face and also extend to her shoulders, breasts and loins And she has two distinctive Beauty spots: one on the left butt cheek, the other on the right hip.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Born bloodied and squalling fiercely into a place of deep winter and where intense cold often lasts the entire year. She came into the world surrounded by the sounds of horses stamping, and the heady scent of pine smoke. Her father's hall was made of logs and skins, and her mother's bed was a pile of furs. Eithne was small and pale with a shock of ginger hair and eyes the colour of the dark amber.
Her mother had just given birth and lay in the centre of the lodge, swaddled in layers of fur, and still shivering as sweat trickled down her skin.
The midwife looked down into the cradle at the mewling infant and shook her head in wonder.
"What a strange child..." murmured the midwife, an old woman with the scars of battle on her face and hands.
"I have never seen a baby born with such dark eyes among our people." The midwife leaned down and gently stroked the tiny face. The child's cries abated and the midwife sighed in relief.
"Perhaps... they will turn blue later." panted the mother between gasped breaths, but she did not sound all convinced.
The midwife lifted the babe from its cradle of dried moss that had been placed beside the birthing furs, she peered over at the child's mother.
"I don't think so, my dear." The midwife's lips curled upwards in sad smile, and then she was gone, her duty fulfilled.
As she shuffled out of the lodge and disappeared out into the frosty forest night, the mother began to sing softly, her voice carried clearly through the walls of their lodge, as if it had only need of an echo to carry it. It was a song of hope for her child, a gift of good fortune that it would grow strong and healthy, that it would live long in the harsh winters ahead. It was a wish, like that of the first starlings to return each spring from their faraway places.
Soon after, coaxed by the melodious voice within, her husband came into the lodge. He shed the thick cloak of fur and took up his position beside his wife and he stood silently, regarding the babes' unusual eyes with an unreadable expression.
"Strange indeed," he said, and he looked down at the infant who seemed to take offence to the wild shaggy figure and began to wail once again, "but I have always been told that the eyes of your children are a true indicator of their destiny."
"Well, it looks like the little one is destined to be a warrior," he winced, "and she has a set of fierce lungs and a battle cry."
The child's cries died away, and she stared at the strange man with wide eyes.
"I am sorry," he said with a humoured tone, "I didn't mean to upset you little one."
The years passed, and the child grew, and she became a strong and spirited girl, and she was the last of the three children and the only daughter. Her father often teased her, calling her 'Runt', She did not mind though, and she fought back, and she was happy when her father finally named her Eithne, which meant 'Little Fire'.
The family was happy for many years after Eithne's birth and they thrived. The people of the village were good to them and her mother's songs and tales entertained the adults, but also held something of magic for the younger folk. Her songs and stories of battles won and lost thrilled young and old alike, but most of all they inspired fear in the hearts of the enemies and respect amongst their kin. But it was on a bright and frosty morning that things took an ominous turn for the young girl.
During the spring of her seventh year, little Eithne witnessed her first battle when she watched her brothers and parents defend their home from a raiding party who had come to take away their horses and their women.. Eithne had been carefully stowed away amungst the hearth furs whilst her family armed themselves and took to the offence. Eithne hid behind a pile of furs until the sounds of battle had started, then she crept out and stood by the door of the hall, watching the action.
Her mother was a fierce warrior, quick and nimble. She had a hunting knife in her hand, and she used it to good effect, slashing at the legs of the first two raiders to approach her and she looked as though she would be a match for any foe, and indeed, she was. Eithne's mother killed three of the raiders before they overwhelmed her, but then her father stepped in front of her, and he swung his axe and killed one of the raiders before giving his wife a moment to recover herself before he charged off and slew four more of the raiders. Eithne's brother, Aurelius who was several years older than she, fought well, swinging his sword in great sweeps and hacking at the raiders who sought to kill him. But he was no match for the strength of the enemy, and so was wounded in his thigh, but he fought on, alongside her other brothers. Eithne watched in awe as they felled one after another of the invaders, until only one remained. The last raider was a tall and powerfully built man with a scarred face and a large curved blade in his hand.
The raider raised his sword and rushed at her father, intent upon killing him.
But her father was faster than he looked. He sidestepped the blow and brought his own sword down on the raider's wrist. The raider howled in pain and dropped his weapon, but then he drew a short sword from his hip and swung it at her father again, he staggered back, the raider's blade bit deep into his side. Her brothers went to help their father, but he held them back with a look of grim determination. He raised himself slowly to face the enemy, drawing a knife from his belt, and with a mighty swing, cut through the neck of the raider, spilling blood onto the floor.
Eithne stood there, shocked. Her father was a strong and powerful man, but she knew that he was in a lot of pain. She looked to the others for help, but her mother had fallen and could not rise. Her brothers were all around her, but she could see that they too were in pain.
Aurelius was in a bad way, and her brothers had all been hurt, and barely survived the fight - but they had won.
Eithne's heart thudded in her chest, she wanted to run to him, but she stayed where she was, and she watched as her father slump to the ground.
"Father..." Eithne called, fear and concern etched on her young features. "Is he going to die?"
Her eldest brothers darted to their father on the floor trying to shoulder his weight and move him into the lodge as Aurelius held onto his little sister tightly to keep her from escaping the hall. She cried out for her father, tears running freely down her cheeks.
"Let me go!" she sobbed as her writhing little frame fought for freedom.
"Stop it Eithne, it won't help." her brother hugged her back tighter and turned his attention to their mother unconsious on the floor.
As time passed, her parents were lain on the floor of the hall and Eithne wept uncontrollably for what seemed an eternity, her brothers hovered over their wounded father and mother, tending them as best they could. Their father was dying and all they could do was watch over him and try to ease his passing. Eventually the pain grew too much for him and he died during the night surrounded by his family. Eithne awoke that morning nestled into her still sleeping and weakened mother, her brothers and the remaining villagers were already awake and busy preparing her fathers body for its last journey. For days afterwards Eithne wandered aimlessly about the house, crying inconsolably, refusing food or drink. When finally her tears dried and her grief abated somewhat, she went to the bed where her mother lay to recover and lay down beside her. She laid her head on her mothers breast and closed her eyes, and she fell asleep.
The funeral took place a day later, and the whole village attended. The sun was warm and the sky clear as if it had never known rain or cloud. The procession set out at the break of dawn with boys and men bearing the bodies of the dead warriors, each in a shroud of white linen with their weapons placed before them. Women, children and elderly lined the route to watch as they slowly carried their departed ones toward the forest for burial.
Her eldest brothers bore the bulk of her father's remains. It was a great honour for them and they took it with pride despite their sorrow. They did not speak, but they walked solemnly behind their mother who was also dressed in white with their father's weapons and cloak. Eithne walked alongside her brother Aurelius, who was still wounded, leaning heavily upon a carved walking stick he held with one hand. his leg would never be right again, she felt terrible sympathy for him. He was pale, and he looked older than his years, and he stared morosely ahead, not making eye contact with anyone.
The funerary rites were brief. A horn blew and a single warrior emerged from the forest to announce that all was ready, then two others joined him and carried away the first bier. Then, as each of the men fell back, the next came forward in turn carrying their fallen comrades and so the line advanced with every step the biers were given passage into the heart of the forest, mournful notes of funeral hymns rose up into the sky. The wind had risen and whipped about the trees and clouds now drifted across the bright blue of the morning sky. The sun shone, its rays glistening on the snow in the forest, which looked like it was alive with the spirits of the dead as they journeyed from life into death.
Finally the procession stopped at a clearing at the base of a steep slope. There they laid their burden of death, and there, as the last note of a long funeral dirge sounded in the distance, the villagers began the process of digging their loved ones into their final resting place in the great barrow.
As the late afternoon drew in and the sun became to dwindle on the horizon, the villagers returned to together in the main hall, sitting at tables laden with meat pies and ale, bread and cheese, fruits and vegetables, sweetmeats and cakes. Eithne had no appetite at all, but forced herself to eat anyway, although she couldn't keep any food down and resorted to rolling this piece and that around her dish. Her brothers ate heartily, and drank heavily, even her mother; who had become quite frail after the battle, but she looked pale and tired, and Eithne thought she might pass out.
She pushed aside her plate and tried to get up from the table. Only Aurelius took notice of his sister's distress. He stood up from his chair and came over to her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, gently touching her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she replied, "but I can't eat anymore."
"Of course you can't," he said, "you've been through a lot. But it's alright."
"There's... something I need to tell you, can we speak, alone?" He murmured quietly he asked if he could speak to her privately.
She agreed and followed him to a corner near the hearth where they would be undisturbed.
"What's wrong?" he asked again.
They sat facing each other, neither saying anything for a time. Finally Eithne looked up at her brother and sighed.
"How can everyone eat, drink and be merry... He's dead." She stared at her hands lying limp atop her knees, unable to meet her older sibling's gaze.
"I'm just supposed to act as if everything's fine?" Tears started welling up in her eyes.
"Yes," he answered simply. "And I know it isn't easy for you. But Father wouldn't want us moping about. We're going to honour our father and our fallen brothers and sisters tonight with feasting and drinking and dancing. He died a warrior's death, it's a good death."
His words brought some measure of comfort, but Eithne didn't feel better. She just wanted her father back.
"Absalon, Sune and I will be leaving soon to join the host that is going into the raiders territory, we'll pay them back ten-fold for what they did, I promise."
Eithne felt a glimmer of hope return to her soul. She knew her brother would make good on his word. It wasn't in his nature to break promises.
And so it was, not long after all of her brothers left for war, leaving Eithne and her mother to fend for themselves. While she missed her brothers dearly, she was glad to see them off, knowing that she would never forget the look of pride in their faces as they mounted their horses and rode forth.
Her mother has been changed after the loss of her husband, her spirit was broken, and while she worked tirelessly to ensure the house ran smoothly, she seemed subdued, almost sad, and Eithne feared that she'd lost her zest for life altogether. She no longer sang her songs or told tales to the children of the village.
But as she became more accustomed to the role of household leader, a part of her began to come back to her. She had a new strength that allowed her to carry on, and Eithne admired that determination and the courage of her mother's will.
As winter passed and spring came again, a yearning for something, perhaps adventure, drove Eithne to seek out new experiences; she was too young to have any sort of interest in love and romance, and having grown up with rowdy brothers had a habit of acting more like a son than a daughter, but she still dreamed of being able to do things that boys and men of her age were doing.
She went to see her father's old friend, the smith, to see if he might be able to teach her to wield a sword, and to train her to defend herself. With most of the boys and men of fighting age off at war, it left the village with too few people who could fight. Despite the smiths initial reluctance, Eithnes' persistence eventually paid off.
"You're just a little thing," he said, "but you have the heart of a warrior, and I'll teach you what I can."
And so he did, he taught her how to wield a sword and shield, and how to use a spear, and how to fight in close quarters.
She practised diligently, and as the following years came and went, she grew stronger. By the time she was fifteen, she was able to hold her own in sparring matches with the boys her age and nearing manhood, and the smith declared she was ready to join the men when the raiders came again.
One evening, after supper, Eithne mentioned that she wished to go and see the world beyond her home. She'd heard stories from her father and other men about distant lands, where they had never heard of her village, where they had no idea that men lived in the forests and valleys of her homeland.
Her mother didn't agreed that it would be a good opportunity for Eithne to see the world beyond the valley, but Eithne did not give up easily.
"When you turn one and eight, you will be old enough then that I cannot stop you even if I wish you to stay." She sighed, resigned to the inevitable, she would not deny her daughter her dream, even knowing how dangerous it might prove.
Eithne went to her mother's side and hugged her gently, her young eyes looking into her mother's tired ones.
It had been years since her brothers had left for war with the men of the village to pay back what was owed to the invaders of their homeland, but none had returned. Eithne was budding into maturity quickly and her boyish figure began to change, she was nearing womanhood.
Rumour and gossip swirled through the town that they would soon return home, for no man, woman or child would forget that they were coming back victorious with great spoils and tribute for the whole land. She knew in her heart that her brothers would return as mighty warriors and heroes, but she also knew they would have fought many battles, and so many that some would have been lost. In such a situation it was possible for a lone warrior to die without any others knowing it, and she hoped that her brothers were all still alive somewhere.
A short time before Harvest Eve, a message came to the village from a traveller, a man of a different clan who was passing through on his way back from an alliance meeting in the city of Arkanath. The news was shocking. Her elder brother, Absalon was among those killed in a skirmish with enemy forces while trying to relieve a besieged town. It was rumoured that he died heroically, but Eithne had seen enough battles to know that men rarely died as they tell in the songs.. The truth was usually much darker: she just hoped that Sune and Aurelius were at his side to ease his passing.
On the eve of Harvest Festival, Eithne and her mother made their way down the hill into the village centre for the annual celebration of the harvest. The village had gathered by torchlight beneath the great hall's open roof and filled with song and merriment. Many were merry, celebrating the news of recent victory, but there were others whose spirits were heavy, mourning their loved ones who would not return from their conquest into enemy territory.
The villagers sang songs of honouring those who had gone before them into the fields and woods, praising their bravery and valour in the battle against the raiders and urging them on to fight bravely in the field of battle for all their descendants and loved ones to enjoy the fruits of their labour in peace.
After a while, Eithne found herself drifting towards a table where several of the older men sat talking quietly. When she approached they invited her to sit down and join them and she listened as they recounted various anecdotes about times past; stories of battles won and lost and heroic deeds performed with honour and glory in order to bring honour to themselves and their tribe. Some of the tales were exaggerated or embellished, but the mood was light-hearted and cheerful. The younger boys now in their mid-teens and early twenties had gathered around them like children listening to the old men reminisce.
When one of the elders noticed her looking on with curiosity he motioned for her to join them and she nodded gratefully. As she settled down at the table she looked around at the men who gathered around her. They were all bearded with deep lines etched across their faces. Most of them were grey haired and wiry built but still possessed an energy that belied their age.
One of the elder men, a grizzled warrior who seemed like the ring-leader of this group spoke up.
"What brings you here, pup?" He asked her curiously, noticing Eithne's interest in their conversation.
"I've always wanted to go on an adventure and learn to fight properly." She admitted boldly. "What adventures have you been on?"
"We have been to places beyond your imagination, far away from these humble hamlets," answered the warrior named Torgon, "and we have seen strange lands, exotic cities and wondrous temples of the gods." He looked around at his comrades who laughed knowingly.
"You're young, pup, you shouldn't waste your time on notions of wars and adventure." His smile faded quickly when he saw Eithnes expression fall.
"No," he added more gently, "it is not a bad thing to dream of, only...do not let it consume you."
Eithne's eyes flashed with indignation,
"If it consumes me then it should be my choice!" She declared loudly enough that all eyes turned to look at her.
Torgon raised his hands defensively.
"No offence intended," he apologised.
"I just meant that it is not for everyone, and you are not yet old enough to make such decisions." The old warrior seemed eager to placate her.
"You're a fine young lass, don't you want to find a man and start your own family?." He asked quietly, trying to appeal to her womanly nature.
Eithne's cheeks flushed red with anger at his suggestion that she hadn't thought about it. She rose up suddenly from the bench she was sitting on and stormed away angrily towards the edge of the village square where she could be alone and think over what had been said. Her mind was reeling with thoughts about her family and friends, the future ahead and all the plans laid out before her. She felt as if she had taken a step forward on the path that would lead her onto unknown lands where she might encounter new peoples and cultures and see sights she had only ever dreamed about. All she needed to do now was decide on the direction she would take when she stepped foot out of this place for the first time.
Her mother followed her from the square and caught up to her as she strode out into a copse of trees by the outskirts of the village where Eithne stopped suddenly and turned away from her mother and stared out across the valley in front of them.
"What is wrong, Eithne?" she asked softly as her daughter stood stock-still and watched the moon slowly rise from behind a bank of low lying cloud which was creeping across the landscape.
"Have I done something?"
Eithne turned slowly to face her mother once more, tears forming in her eyes.
"No Mother," she whispered hoarsely, "this is because I am becoming a woman."
She sniffled slightly as she wiped the tear that ran down her cheek,
"I need to leave here." She said simply. Her voice trembled with uncertainty.
"Leave?" her mother's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "But why? You're just a young girl, you shouldn't..."
But Eithne cut her mother off harshly,
"Don't you think I know that!" She interrupted her furiously. "This isn't about me needing a man, it's about me wanting to explore, see more! I will not be confined by this place forever!" She stamped a foot angrily.
Her mother had just given birth and lay in the centre of the lodge, swaddled in layers of fur, and still shivering as sweat trickled down her skin.
The midwife looked down into the cradle at the mewling infant and shook her head in wonder.
"What a strange child..." murmured the midwife, an old woman with the scars of battle on her face and hands.
"I have never seen a baby born with such dark eyes among our people." The midwife leaned down and gently stroked the tiny face. The child's cries abated and the midwife sighed in relief.
"Perhaps... they will turn blue later." panted the mother between gasped breaths, but she did not sound all convinced.
The midwife lifted the babe from its cradle of dried moss that had been placed beside the birthing furs, she peered over at the child's mother.
"I don't think so, my dear." The midwife's lips curled upwards in sad smile, and then she was gone, her duty fulfilled.
As she shuffled out of the lodge and disappeared out into the frosty forest night, the mother began to sing softly, her voice carried clearly through the walls of their lodge, as if it had only need of an echo to carry it. It was a song of hope for her child, a gift of good fortune that it would grow strong and healthy, that it would live long in the harsh winters ahead. It was a wish, like that of the first starlings to return each spring from their faraway places.
Soon after, coaxed by the melodious voice within, her husband came into the lodge. He shed the thick cloak of fur and took up his position beside his wife and he stood silently, regarding the babes' unusual eyes with an unreadable expression.
"Strange indeed," he said, and he looked down at the infant who seemed to take offence to the wild shaggy figure and began to wail once again, "but I have always been told that the eyes of your children are a true indicator of their destiny."
"Well, it looks like the little one is destined to be a warrior," he winced, "and she has a set of fierce lungs and a battle cry."
The child's cries died away, and she stared at the strange man with wide eyes.
"I am sorry," he said with a humoured tone, "I didn't mean to upset you little one."
The years passed, and the child grew, and she became a strong and spirited girl, and she was the last of the three children and the only daughter. Her father often teased her, calling her 'Runt', She did not mind though, and she fought back, and she was happy when her father finally named her Eithne, which meant 'Little Fire'.
The family was happy for many years after Eithne's birth and they thrived. The people of the village were good to them and her mother's songs and tales entertained the adults, but also held something of magic for the younger folk. Her songs and stories of battles won and lost thrilled young and old alike, but most of all they inspired fear in the hearts of the enemies and respect amongst their kin. But it was on a bright and frosty morning that things took an ominous turn for the young girl.
During the spring of her seventh year, little Eithne witnessed her first battle when she watched her brothers and parents defend their home from a raiding party who had come to take away their horses and their women.. Eithne had been carefully stowed away amungst the hearth furs whilst her family armed themselves and took to the offence. Eithne hid behind a pile of furs until the sounds of battle had started, then she crept out and stood by the door of the hall, watching the action.
Her mother was a fierce warrior, quick and nimble. She had a hunting knife in her hand, and she used it to good effect, slashing at the legs of the first two raiders to approach her and she looked as though she would be a match for any foe, and indeed, she was. Eithne's mother killed three of the raiders before they overwhelmed her, but then her father stepped in front of her, and he swung his axe and killed one of the raiders before giving his wife a moment to recover herself before he charged off and slew four more of the raiders. Eithne's brother, Aurelius who was several years older than she, fought well, swinging his sword in great sweeps and hacking at the raiders who sought to kill him. But he was no match for the strength of the enemy, and so was wounded in his thigh, but he fought on, alongside her other brothers. Eithne watched in awe as they felled one after another of the invaders, until only one remained. The last raider was a tall and powerfully built man with a scarred face and a large curved blade in his hand.
The raider raised his sword and rushed at her father, intent upon killing him.
But her father was faster than he looked. He sidestepped the blow and brought his own sword down on the raider's wrist. The raider howled in pain and dropped his weapon, but then he drew a short sword from his hip and swung it at her father again, he staggered back, the raider's blade bit deep into his side. Her brothers went to help their father, but he held them back with a look of grim determination. He raised himself slowly to face the enemy, drawing a knife from his belt, and with a mighty swing, cut through the neck of the raider, spilling blood onto the floor.
Eithne stood there, shocked. Her father was a strong and powerful man, but she knew that he was in a lot of pain. She looked to the others for help, but her mother had fallen and could not rise. Her brothers were all around her, but she could see that they too were in pain.
Aurelius was in a bad way, and her brothers had all been hurt, and barely survived the fight - but they had won.
Eithne's heart thudded in her chest, she wanted to run to him, but she stayed where she was, and she watched as her father slump to the ground.
"Father..." Eithne called, fear and concern etched on her young features. "Is he going to die?"
Her eldest brothers darted to their father on the floor trying to shoulder his weight and move him into the lodge as Aurelius held onto his little sister tightly to keep her from escaping the hall. She cried out for her father, tears running freely down her cheeks.
"Let me go!" she sobbed as her writhing little frame fought for freedom.
"Stop it Eithne, it won't help." her brother hugged her back tighter and turned his attention to their mother unconsious on the floor.
As time passed, her parents were lain on the floor of the hall and Eithne wept uncontrollably for what seemed an eternity, her brothers hovered over their wounded father and mother, tending them as best they could. Their father was dying and all they could do was watch over him and try to ease his passing. Eventually the pain grew too much for him and he died during the night surrounded by his family. Eithne awoke that morning nestled into her still sleeping and weakened mother, her brothers and the remaining villagers were already awake and busy preparing her fathers body for its last journey. For days afterwards Eithne wandered aimlessly about the house, crying inconsolably, refusing food or drink. When finally her tears dried and her grief abated somewhat, she went to the bed where her mother lay to recover and lay down beside her. She laid her head on her mothers breast and closed her eyes, and she fell asleep.
The funeral took place a day later, and the whole village attended. The sun was warm and the sky clear as if it had never known rain or cloud. The procession set out at the break of dawn with boys and men bearing the bodies of the dead warriors, each in a shroud of white linen with their weapons placed before them. Women, children and elderly lined the route to watch as they slowly carried their departed ones toward the forest for burial.
Her eldest brothers bore the bulk of her father's remains. It was a great honour for them and they took it with pride despite their sorrow. They did not speak, but they walked solemnly behind their mother who was also dressed in white with their father's weapons and cloak. Eithne walked alongside her brother Aurelius, who was still wounded, leaning heavily upon a carved walking stick he held with one hand. his leg would never be right again, she felt terrible sympathy for him. He was pale, and he looked older than his years, and he stared morosely ahead, not making eye contact with anyone.
The funerary rites were brief. A horn blew and a single warrior emerged from the forest to announce that all was ready, then two others joined him and carried away the first bier. Then, as each of the men fell back, the next came forward in turn carrying their fallen comrades and so the line advanced with every step the biers were given passage into the heart of the forest, mournful notes of funeral hymns rose up into the sky. The wind had risen and whipped about the trees and clouds now drifted across the bright blue of the morning sky. The sun shone, its rays glistening on the snow in the forest, which looked like it was alive with the spirits of the dead as they journeyed from life into death.
Finally the procession stopped at a clearing at the base of a steep slope. There they laid their burden of death, and there, as the last note of a long funeral dirge sounded in the distance, the villagers began the process of digging their loved ones into their final resting place in the great barrow.
As the late afternoon drew in and the sun became to dwindle on the horizon, the villagers returned to together in the main hall, sitting at tables laden with meat pies and ale, bread and cheese, fruits and vegetables, sweetmeats and cakes. Eithne had no appetite at all, but forced herself to eat anyway, although she couldn't keep any food down and resorted to rolling this piece and that around her dish. Her brothers ate heartily, and drank heavily, even her mother; who had become quite frail after the battle, but she looked pale and tired, and Eithne thought she might pass out.
She pushed aside her plate and tried to get up from the table. Only Aurelius took notice of his sister's distress. He stood up from his chair and came over to her.
"What's wrong?" he asked, gently touching her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she replied, "but I can't eat anymore."
"Of course you can't," he said, "you've been through a lot. But it's alright."
"There's... something I need to tell you, can we speak, alone?" He murmured quietly he asked if he could speak to her privately.
She agreed and followed him to a corner near the hearth where they would be undisturbed.
"What's wrong?" he asked again.
They sat facing each other, neither saying anything for a time. Finally Eithne looked up at her brother and sighed.
"How can everyone eat, drink and be merry... He's dead." She stared at her hands lying limp atop her knees, unable to meet her older sibling's gaze.
"I'm just supposed to act as if everything's fine?" Tears started welling up in her eyes.
"Yes," he answered simply. "And I know it isn't easy for you. But Father wouldn't want us moping about. We're going to honour our father and our fallen brothers and sisters tonight with feasting and drinking and dancing. He died a warrior's death, it's a good death."
His words brought some measure of comfort, but Eithne didn't feel better. She just wanted her father back.
"Absalon, Sune and I will be leaving soon to join the host that is going into the raiders territory, we'll pay them back ten-fold for what they did, I promise."
Eithne felt a glimmer of hope return to her soul. She knew her brother would make good on his word. It wasn't in his nature to break promises.
And so it was, not long after all of her brothers left for war, leaving Eithne and her mother to fend for themselves. While she missed her brothers dearly, she was glad to see them off, knowing that she would never forget the look of pride in their faces as they mounted their horses and rode forth.
Her mother has been changed after the loss of her husband, her spirit was broken, and while she worked tirelessly to ensure the house ran smoothly, she seemed subdued, almost sad, and Eithne feared that she'd lost her zest for life altogether. She no longer sang her songs or told tales to the children of the village.
But as she became more accustomed to the role of household leader, a part of her began to come back to her. She had a new strength that allowed her to carry on, and Eithne admired that determination and the courage of her mother's will.
As winter passed and spring came again, a yearning for something, perhaps adventure, drove Eithne to seek out new experiences; she was too young to have any sort of interest in love and romance, and having grown up with rowdy brothers had a habit of acting more like a son than a daughter, but she still dreamed of being able to do things that boys and men of her age were doing.
She went to see her father's old friend, the smith, to see if he might be able to teach her to wield a sword, and to train her to defend herself. With most of the boys and men of fighting age off at war, it left the village with too few people who could fight. Despite the smiths initial reluctance, Eithnes' persistence eventually paid off.
"You're just a little thing," he said, "but you have the heart of a warrior, and I'll teach you what I can."
And so he did, he taught her how to wield a sword and shield, and how to use a spear, and how to fight in close quarters.
She practised diligently, and as the following years came and went, she grew stronger. By the time she was fifteen, she was able to hold her own in sparring matches with the boys her age and nearing manhood, and the smith declared she was ready to join the men when the raiders came again.
One evening, after supper, Eithne mentioned that she wished to go and see the world beyond her home. She'd heard stories from her father and other men about distant lands, where they had never heard of her village, where they had no idea that men lived in the forests and valleys of her homeland.
Her mother didn't agreed that it would be a good opportunity for Eithne to see the world beyond the valley, but Eithne did not give up easily.
"When you turn one and eight, you will be old enough then that I cannot stop you even if I wish you to stay." She sighed, resigned to the inevitable, she would not deny her daughter her dream, even knowing how dangerous it might prove.
Eithne went to her mother's side and hugged her gently, her young eyes looking into her mother's tired ones.
It had been years since her brothers had left for war with the men of the village to pay back what was owed to the invaders of their homeland, but none had returned. Eithne was budding into maturity quickly and her boyish figure began to change, she was nearing womanhood.
Rumour and gossip swirled through the town that they would soon return home, for no man, woman or child would forget that they were coming back victorious with great spoils and tribute for the whole land. She knew in her heart that her brothers would return as mighty warriors and heroes, but she also knew they would have fought many battles, and so many that some would have been lost. In such a situation it was possible for a lone warrior to die without any others knowing it, and she hoped that her brothers were all still alive somewhere.
A short time before Harvest Eve, a message came to the village from a traveller, a man of a different clan who was passing through on his way back from an alliance meeting in the city of Arkanath. The news was shocking. Her elder brother, Absalon was among those killed in a skirmish with enemy forces while trying to relieve a besieged town. It was rumoured that he died heroically, but Eithne had seen enough battles to know that men rarely died as they tell in the songs.. The truth was usually much darker: she just hoped that Sune and Aurelius were at his side to ease his passing.
On the eve of Harvest Festival, Eithne and her mother made their way down the hill into the village centre for the annual celebration of the harvest. The village had gathered by torchlight beneath the great hall's open roof and filled with song and merriment. Many were merry, celebrating the news of recent victory, but there were others whose spirits were heavy, mourning their loved ones who would not return from their conquest into enemy territory.
The villagers sang songs of honouring those who had gone before them into the fields and woods, praising their bravery and valour in the battle against the raiders and urging them on to fight bravely in the field of battle for all their descendants and loved ones to enjoy the fruits of their labour in peace.
After a while, Eithne found herself drifting towards a table where several of the older men sat talking quietly. When she approached they invited her to sit down and join them and she listened as they recounted various anecdotes about times past; stories of battles won and lost and heroic deeds performed with honour and glory in order to bring honour to themselves and their tribe. Some of the tales were exaggerated or embellished, but the mood was light-hearted and cheerful. The younger boys now in their mid-teens and early twenties had gathered around them like children listening to the old men reminisce.
When one of the elders noticed her looking on with curiosity he motioned for her to join them and she nodded gratefully. As she settled down at the table she looked around at the men who gathered around her. They were all bearded with deep lines etched across their faces. Most of them were grey haired and wiry built but still possessed an energy that belied their age.
One of the elder men, a grizzled warrior who seemed like the ring-leader of this group spoke up.
"What brings you here, pup?" He asked her curiously, noticing Eithne's interest in their conversation.
"I've always wanted to go on an adventure and learn to fight properly." She admitted boldly. "What adventures have you been on?"
"We have been to places beyond your imagination, far away from these humble hamlets," answered the warrior named Torgon, "and we have seen strange lands, exotic cities and wondrous temples of the gods." He looked around at his comrades who laughed knowingly.
"You're young, pup, you shouldn't waste your time on notions of wars and adventure." His smile faded quickly when he saw Eithnes expression fall.
"No," he added more gently, "it is not a bad thing to dream of, only...do not let it consume you."
Eithne's eyes flashed with indignation,
"If it consumes me then it should be my choice!" She declared loudly enough that all eyes turned to look at her.
Torgon raised his hands defensively.
"No offence intended," he apologised.
"I just meant that it is not for everyone, and you are not yet old enough to make such decisions." The old warrior seemed eager to placate her.
"You're a fine young lass, don't you want to find a man and start your own family?." He asked quietly, trying to appeal to her womanly nature.
Eithne's cheeks flushed red with anger at his suggestion that she hadn't thought about it. She rose up suddenly from the bench she was sitting on and stormed away angrily towards the edge of the village square where she could be alone and think over what had been said. Her mind was reeling with thoughts about her family and friends, the future ahead and all the plans laid out before her. She felt as if she had taken a step forward on the path that would lead her onto unknown lands where she might encounter new peoples and cultures and see sights she had only ever dreamed about. All she needed to do now was decide on the direction she would take when she stepped foot out of this place for the first time.
Her mother followed her from the square and caught up to her as she strode out into a copse of trees by the outskirts of the village where Eithne stopped suddenly and turned away from her mother and stared out across the valley in front of them.
"What is wrong, Eithne?" she asked softly as her daughter stood stock-still and watched the moon slowly rise from behind a bank of low lying cloud which was creeping across the landscape.
"Have I done something?"
Eithne turned slowly to face her mother once more, tears forming in her eyes.
"No Mother," she whispered hoarsely, "this is because I am becoming a woman."
She sniffled slightly as she wiped the tear that ran down her cheek,
"I need to leave here." She said simply. Her voice trembled with uncertainty.
"Leave?" her mother's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "But why? You're just a young girl, you shouldn't..."
But Eithne cut her mother off harshly,
"Don't you think I know that!" She interrupted her furiously. "This isn't about me needing a man, it's about me wanting to explore, see more! I will not be confined by this place forever!" She stamped a foot angrily.
Gender Identity
She understands that the world is bigoted and unfavourable to those of the fairer sex. She also understands how easy it is to use this to her advantage in a fight.
Sexuality
Straight
Education
Left to fend for herself, she had to learn on her own. Perhaps it was through negligence or necessity, her knowledge of the world was learned through the harsh winters and bitter battles. As a child she trained with weapons, practised riding a horse and wielding a bow, her mother tried hard to teach her the ways of the skald but Eithne preferred the sound of battle than of melody. Her formal education came later and was taught to her in times of distress or under duress, mostly men who felt they could "civilise" the woman and make her worth coin to sell or bed and wife. In all, Eithne learned how to read and write and do basic mathematics.
Employment
Eithne has made a living as a fighter in one way or another, she takes great pride in her martial prowess. Her skill at swordplay grew so advanced that many a noble lord in the city paid large sums for her to accompany him on jaunts across the countryside, even if it was simply for the curiosity of being a foreign barbaian woman.
Mental Trauma
Her Fears and Phobias…
►Commitment and trust (Through every experience of putting trust and faith into others Eithne has either been betrayed or abandoned which is why she has no inclinations towards trusting anyone and will actively sabotage most positive experiences herself )►Physical relations (After the violations she has experienced the woman is both disgusted by and terrified of intimacy of any form)
►Dying out of battle (Strongly believes that death in battle is the only honourable way to die)
►Being perceived as weak or less than because she is a woman (actively acts upon this through sheer aggression towards men especially. The very thought of submitting herself or her will to another causes her immense anger and pain)
Morality & Philosophy
Eithne is only as loyal as a person is useful - she greatly struggles with acts of selflessness or kindness.
She will always think with her rage and her fists first - she is destructive and unpredictable in times of war and combat and will never willingly surrender or stand down.
She will always think with her rage and her fists first - she is destructive and unpredictable in times of war and combat and will never willingly surrender or stand down.
Personality Characteristics
Virtues & Personality perks
ZEST - Approaching life with excitement and energy; not doing things halfway or half heartedly; living life as an adventure; feeling alive and activated.
BRAVERY - Not shrinking from threat, challenge, difficulty, or pain; speaking up for what is right even if there is opposition; acting on convictions even if unpopular; includes physical bravery but is not limited to it.
PERSPECTIVE - Being able to provide wise counsel to others; having ways of looking at the world that make sense to oneself and to other people.
COURAGE – Emotional strengths that involve the exercise of will to accomplish goals in the face of opposition, external or internal.
Vices & Personality flaws
BLUNT – Characterised by the directness in manner or speech; without subtlety or evasion. Can be often considered as: frank, callous, insensitive, brusque.
TEMPERAMENTAL – Prone to mood swings and flux in temperment, otherwise known as: moody, irritable, excitable, volatile, or emotional.
HARD – A person who is difficult to deal with, manage, control, overcome, or understand. Hard emotions, hard hearted.
FIERCE – Marked by extreme intensity of emotions or convictions; inclined to react violently; fervid.
FICKLE – Erratic, changeable, unstable – especially with regard to affections or attachments; capricious.
RECKLESS – Heedless. Headstrong. Foolhardy. Unthinking boldness, wild carelessness and disregard for consequence.
TEMPERAMENTAL – Prone to mood swings and flux in temperment, otherwise known as: moody, irritable, excitable, volatile, or emotional.
HARD – A person who is difficult to deal with, manage, control, overcome, or understand. Hard emotions, hard hearted.
FIERCE – Marked by extreme intensity of emotions or convictions; inclined to react violently; fervid.
FICKLE – Erratic, changeable, unstable – especially with regard to affections or attachments; capricious.
RECKLESS – Heedless. Headstrong. Foolhardy. Unthinking boldness, wild carelessness and disregard for consequence.
Personality Quirks
Eithne is renown for uising physical violence and hostility as an emotional shield.
She has a distinct lack of bodily awareness when it comes to being publically nude - doesn’t see what the big deal is about bare flesh but HATES being touched.
Drinks excessively, has a very high alcohol tolerance.
She has a distinct lack of bodily awareness when it comes to being publically nude - doesn’t see what the big deal is about bare flesh but HATES being touched.
Drinks excessively, has a very high alcohol tolerance.
Hygiene
She is not unclean by any means but is not one for elaborate bathing rituals. Though secretly, she loves citrus fragrances.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Elander… Her Father, she recalls being teased often for her fiery temper and diminutive size and the many tales of his exploits beyond the frigid lands that she grew upin. He died early in her life in a traumatic manner which left a lasting bitterness of outsiders in her heart.
Jódís… Eithne does not remember more than a handful of moments she shared with her birth mother: splinters of a childhood marred in the struggles of civility. She remembers before her family fell apart being doted on and cared for tenderly… And after…. A mere shell of a woman, a ghost of her former self.
Ásmundr… Her captor, her bond-Master and more so her saviour from the shackles of civilisation. Eithne was only around twelve when the city of Torvaldsland was ransacked by his men; she remembers the smouldering skyline, the pungent aroma of fire and his merciless face against this backdrop of bloodshed.
She among many of the fertile girls were taken as trophies and bond maidens to serve under his command as vessels for their pleasure and eventually mothers to their bastard sons. Eithne always scrapped with the other girls and fended off the men and their lechery, often being beaten and baited for her lack of submission - It took her years to prove herself to be more than just another ‘girl’ but by the gods did she fight for it - she can recount every fight, every loss and every scar she earned with Asmundr. She eventually became an invaluable fighter to his campaigns and would sit with the men in the feast halls, for a time she almost forgot she had grown into a woman.
That was until Asmundr demanded her subservience and her womb for entertaining her ‘delusions of glory’ for so many years; something that Eithne refused to give to him. The two feuded violently and it was at this time she murdered him with his own axe and exiled herself from the lands she had always known as home and headed south into warmer climates.
Octavius… She remembers the long road they shared with nothing but misery and pain; this man whom she would have laid down her life for. This soldier is the savages’ former commander and lover. She recalls their first encounter; how the seasoned general underestimated this woman and was swiftly brought to his knees by her. He always said he had ‘faith’ he could tame her, and in a way he was right - he spoke her language far better than she cared to ever admit and it wore down her defences after the trials and tribulations they faced together. Eithne could never understand why the man clung so desperately to his society, to his rules and regulations when she knew what bubbled beneath his stiff exterior - and she would constantly challenge him about such things. Truly she felt love for the first time, trust in another soul. She threw herself in defence and aid for him in many battles and thought nothing of self-sacrifice as she had devoted herself to this man with every ounce of her being. One such occasion is cemented in her mind; a failure to save his life… It haunts her still seeing his face after he had been sold into slavery and wore the shackles his own people once controlled… The agony that contorted his face… It was at that time she vowed to free him. They roved the lands in search of freedom - and freedom they indeed found. Travelling across the Western seas until they found themselves joining the mercenary army of the Black Sun. After the battles were fought the survivors retreated into the wilderness to lick their wounds and settle in the bloodsoaked lands. The pair had become inseparable, Eithne became his loyal hound and devoted lover; and despite never seeking such from her, she always desired to submit that final part of herself to him. Octavius claimed a small strip of land under his name, gathered men to follow his command and set about creating a home in this unforgiving land -- then he upped and left without trace, abandoning her in a strange land with men loyal not to her, but him... These events lead to her exile
Jódís… Eithne does not remember more than a handful of moments she shared with her birth mother: splinters of a childhood marred in the struggles of civility. She remembers before her family fell apart being doted on and cared for tenderly… And after…. A mere shell of a woman, a ghost of her former self.
Ásmundr… Her captor, her bond-Master and more so her saviour from the shackles of civilisation. Eithne was only around twelve when the city of Torvaldsland was ransacked by his men; she remembers the smouldering skyline, the pungent aroma of fire and his merciless face against this backdrop of bloodshed.
She among many of the fertile girls were taken as trophies and bond maidens to serve under his command as vessels for their pleasure and eventually mothers to their bastard sons. Eithne always scrapped with the other girls and fended off the men and their lechery, often being beaten and baited for her lack of submission - It took her years to prove herself to be more than just another ‘girl’ but by the gods did she fight for it - she can recount every fight, every loss and every scar she earned with Asmundr. She eventually became an invaluable fighter to his campaigns and would sit with the men in the feast halls, for a time she almost forgot she had grown into a woman.
That was until Asmundr demanded her subservience and her womb for entertaining her ‘delusions of glory’ for so many years; something that Eithne refused to give to him. The two feuded violently and it was at this time she murdered him with his own axe and exiled herself from the lands she had always known as home and headed south into warmer climates.
Octavius… She remembers the long road they shared with nothing but misery and pain; this man whom she would have laid down her life for. This soldier is the savages’ former commander and lover. She recalls their first encounter; how the seasoned general underestimated this woman and was swiftly brought to his knees by her. He always said he had ‘faith’ he could tame her, and in a way he was right - he spoke her language far better than she cared to ever admit and it wore down her defences after the trials and tribulations they faced together. Eithne could never understand why the man clung so desperately to his society, to his rules and regulations when she knew what bubbled beneath his stiff exterior - and she would constantly challenge him about such things. Truly she felt love for the first time, trust in another soul. She threw herself in defence and aid for him in many battles and thought nothing of self-sacrifice as she had devoted herself to this man with every ounce of her being. One such occasion is cemented in her mind; a failure to save his life… It haunts her still seeing his face after he had been sold into slavery and wore the shackles his own people once controlled… The agony that contorted his face… It was at that time she vowed to free him. They roved the lands in search of freedom - and freedom they indeed found. Travelling across the Western seas until they found themselves joining the mercenary army of the Black Sun. After the battles were fought the survivors retreated into the wilderness to lick their wounds and settle in the bloodsoaked lands. The pair had become inseparable, Eithne became his loyal hound and devoted lover; and despite never seeking such from her, she always desired to submit that final part of herself to him. Octavius claimed a small strip of land under his name, gathered men to follow his command and set about creating a home in this unforgiving land -- then he upped and left without trace, abandoning her in a strange land with men loyal not to her, but him... These events lead to her exile
Species
Age
30
Children
Pronouns
She/Her
Sex
female
Gender
female
Presentation
Barbarian standard - exposure knows not the bounds of gender
Eyes
Dark amber with hooded lids, most often framed in a glare
Hair
naturally curly, unkempt nest of ginger, when the mood takes her she braids the sides back and wears a high ponytail.
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
milk white skin with a ruddy complexion, marred by a constellation of scars and freckles
Height
5'11
Weight
60 - 65kg (133 - 143lbs)
I was led to the Chronicles of Evalaw by the "Ball Breaker" but managed to sidestep her and start exploring. Reading the Welcome to Evalaw is a reminder of balance. Simply put a little text, art, image, map and style comes together to give you a hint and glimpse at what is to come. Not too much, not too little, just the right amount to show you greatness and grab your interest. This reminds me of one of my favorite settings Exalted by White Wolf/Paradox. I am pleased to have found this world, well done!