Krimhilda the Dragonslayer, The Everlasting Sovereign

Some legends are born, some are made,, and others are forced upon you with the world forced to cope with their magnificence. Such is the case of Krimhilda the Dragonslayer, who shaped the world to the curve of her blade.
The Age of Magic was not birthed in discovery, but in blood and fire. Fear soared through the skies, on the onyx wings of Fafnir the Terrible. Impenetrable to the thousands of arrows that clacked off its hide, hero after hero failed again and again to fell the creature of black stone. Divided by fear and superstition, the world was threatened by the prospect of Everlasting Winter, the ash born from Fafnir's volcanic breathe dared to strangle the world.
Courage became extinct, but only in it's absence did Fafnir's bane rise.
Within the howling winds of Cretaczhira came a child who had neither fear nor courage. Krimhilda the Braveless, climbed the Irisian mountains, and swam through the roaring rapids of Volumetal, to gather that which she would construct the end of the terror of death. From the Cretaczhira crater, came the ore of the cosmos. From the lush overgrowth of Volumetal came the wood from the gods. And on the peaks of the Irisian mountains did lightning strike as she used her own fist to beat the ore into shape.
For nine years, she sought to craft Fafnir's bane, and for nine years, those she encountered along the way thought her plight for naught. And after nine years, she descended from the Irisian mountains with Hrunting. She carried no banner or flag of any country or kingdom. The brimstone of the Terrible's domain cracking underneath the weight of her obligation. Hrunting strung along her back, her powerful bow Caladbolg in her hands, she let her arrows sing through the sky, awakening Fafnir with the indignity of battle.
Krimhilda's attempts to deceive the dragon of her location by soaking the arrows in perfumes failed as soon as the Black Death's wings unfold with the force of a hurricane. Caladbolg's arrows could no longer fly in the winds as strong as these, but Krimhilda would not forgo her offensive. Fleet of foot, she lept over the flow of molten rock that separated Fafnir from all challengers. But the light from Fafnir's maw threatened to blind her, as a lava plume erupted from the belly of the beast, if not for the shield of Rho Aias. The seven layered shield of the oldest magic known to man had been constructed to withstand the greatest threats from the Age of Gods.
Fafnir burned through six of them.
Enraged at his failure, Fafnir swiped at her with his great and terrible claw, the force of it striking the ground erupting a volcano more than a fortnight away. But it did not find Krimhilda's life with that strike. The Dragonslayer scaled the beasts mighty forearm and leapt for the heart beneath it's breast. Her jump was true, Hrunting heavy in her hands as she sought to plunge the steel into the heart of the beast, but it would not be. Like so many blades before it, Hrunting clattered uselessly against the impenetrable skin of Fafnir, and Krimhilda plunged to the unforgiving brimstone below.
Unforgiving to her folly, Fafnir consumed her in a single bite.
This would come to be known as Fafnir's Hubris. For the great dragon had thought the battle over, but found himself alone in that sentiment.
Spurred by her humiliating failure, Krimhilda refused to allow her journey end in the jaws of defeat. Ripping through the endless walls of flesh in feverish pursuit of the beating within she heard. Surviving off of the blood and flesh of her nemesis, she dug through the dragon for thirteen days and twelve knights, before she found her prize. A heart as large as a stronghold, she used the blade of Hrunting to carve the heart out of her foe, who thrashed in pain that he had never before experienced. From the inside out she came with the heart in tact, the blood soaked maiden laughing as she held his heart over her head. Desperate to return it to its rightful place, Fafnir was no longer a stranger to fear.
Razorback wings that had cut through the many sky ships that threatened him, were now ripped off by the sheer force of the Dragonslayers bloodlust. She would feed him his own heart, and with it lodged in his throat, he was but forced to drown in his own blood. The wings of the beast became her greatest sword, Balmung the Unrivaled, which she used to liberate Fafnir's head from his body.
The world would watch on with shock and awe, at the sight of Krimhilda, the head of Fafnir overhead.
On that day, The Age of the Sovereign was born in blood.

Age

600+

Date of Death

Impossible

Circumstances of Death

The End of All Things

Birthplace

Cretaczhira

Place of Death

The End of All Things

Pronouns

Your Highness

Sex

Female

Gender

Female

Presentation

Androgynous

Eyes

Red

Hair

Obsidian

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Ash

Height

6'9