Brynhild Svansdottir
Title: The Soothseer of the Scarlet Sworn
Role: War-augur, omenspeaker, and keeper of ill-fortunes
Description:
Brynhild is a woman worn thin by years and by the weight of seeing too much. Her once-dark hair is now bone-white, kept in a single thick braid that falls over her shoulder, tangled with small charms of iron and bone. Her skin bears the soft lines of age but is cross-hatched with the subtle scars of old burns — marks from smoke and ash used in her rites.
Her eyes are her most striking feature: pale grey, nearly colorless, often unfocused, as if looking just beyond the world. Yet when they fix on you, they see too much.
She moves slowly, wrapped in a heavy cloak of deep crimson, though she never wore the Sworn’s fighting garb. Around her neck hangs a rune-wheel of hammered copper, its edges worn smooth by a hundred fingers.
Demeanor:
Brynhild is not a mystic who deals in poetry. Her omens are plainspoken, often brusque, and delivered without softening. She has no patience for those who seek pretty fortunes or flattering lies. What she reads in the smoke, in the bones, she tells — even when the hall would rather not hear it.
Among the Scarlet Sworn, she has long been respected not as a prophet, but as a necessary burden. Her warnings have kept the warband alive more times than remembered, though she’s quick to remind them that the weave of fate cares little for their comfort.
Current Status:
Brynhild is nearing the end of her service. Age and years of breathing deep the smoke of her craft have taken their toll. She speaks of “laying down the wheel” and finding quiet, but none have yet stepped forward to bear the mantle.
Her presence in the hall today is quieter than before — less a crier of omens, more a watcher of endings. She knows the threads are thinning, not just for herself, but for the Sworn.
Relationship to Sigvard and Jorundr:
With Sigvard, there is a quiet understanding. He listens when she speaks, though never asks for comfort. With Jorundr, there is mutual respect — she has seen his death a dozen ways, and he has thanked her for none of them. Still, he watches her when the old bones are cast, as if knowing one day she will not rise from the embers.
Reputation Among the Sworn:
The younger drengars eye her with wary respect, half-afraid of her gaze, half-reliant on her words before raids. To them, she is part of the old bones of the company — one who will be missed, even if none dare admit it.
Role: War-augur, omenspeaker, and keeper of ill-fortunes
Description:
Brynhild is a woman worn thin by years and by the weight of seeing too much. Her once-dark hair is now bone-white, kept in a single thick braid that falls over her shoulder, tangled with small charms of iron and bone. Her skin bears the soft lines of age but is cross-hatched with the subtle scars of old burns — marks from smoke and ash used in her rites.
Her eyes are her most striking feature: pale grey, nearly colorless, often unfocused, as if looking just beyond the world. Yet when they fix on you, they see too much.
She moves slowly, wrapped in a heavy cloak of deep crimson, though she never wore the Sworn’s fighting garb. Around her neck hangs a rune-wheel of hammered copper, its edges worn smooth by a hundred fingers.
Demeanor:
Brynhild is not a mystic who deals in poetry. Her omens are plainspoken, often brusque, and delivered without softening. She has no patience for those who seek pretty fortunes or flattering lies. What she reads in the smoke, in the bones, she tells — even when the hall would rather not hear it.
Among the Scarlet Sworn, she has long been respected not as a prophet, but as a necessary burden. Her warnings have kept the warband alive more times than remembered, though she’s quick to remind them that the weave of fate cares little for their comfort.
Current Status:
Brynhild is nearing the end of her service. Age and years of breathing deep the smoke of her craft have taken their toll. She speaks of “laying down the wheel” and finding quiet, but none have yet stepped forward to bear the mantle.
Her presence in the hall today is quieter than before — less a crier of omens, more a watcher of endings. She knows the threads are thinning, not just for herself, but for the Sworn.
Relationship to Sigvard and Jorundr:
With Sigvard, there is a quiet understanding. He listens when she speaks, though never asks for comfort. With Jorundr, there is mutual respect — she has seen his death a dozen ways, and he has thanked her for none of them. Still, he watches her when the old bones are cast, as if knowing one day she will not rise from the embers.
Reputation Among the Sworn:
The younger drengars eye her with wary respect, half-afraid of her gaze, half-reliant on her words before raids. To them, she is part of the old bones of the company — one who will be missed, even if none dare admit it.
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