Fenris, The Broken Heart of Anred Tirchanus

Choose a hero archetype —Everyman, Classical, Epic, Anti Hero, Byronic or Tragic— you’ve rarely or never used before, and create a character in your world that fits the profile!

The two women stared into the fire as it crackled in the grand hearth. They sat on either side of a small round table set with delicate white jade teacups, the plate of small cakes reduced to a remnant of crumbs.
A companionable, but sorrowful, silence filled the room. It soaked into the books which lined every inch of wall space and skated along the polished pourstone floor, and hushed the ticking of the clock in the hall.
The platinum blonde spoke first, beginning their age old ritual. The two continued to stare into the flames as they spoke, the words flowing unconsciously.
"You're going?"
"You know I have to. Can't afford to put roots down anywhere, again."
"Perhaps it wouldn't be so lonely if we were together."
"We both know how well that worked out when we tried it, Fox."
"Fen, that's in the past. There will always be a place for you here, should you change your mind."
"It's not my mind that needs changing."
"I keep looking, you know. For a way to break the curse."
"I know."
"Will you visit them on the way out?"
"Always."
The librarian rose and crossed the room, her silk skirts sweeping the floor behind her. Her companion rose, stretched, and turned to see the fox-faced Mask returning with her arms full.
"An offering, for your family," she said, handing over a brilliant yellow bouquet, each stem covered in clusters of small fluffy yellow blooms. Then she held out a large quilt with both hands, "and a gift for your travels."
The Wolf tribeswoman accepted the gift and ran a black-clawed hand over the brown and green patchwork. "You're too giving, Fox."
"You're welcome, anytime you want to be."
"Til next time."
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The Wolf walked into the graveyard without looking. She knew the way so well she could- and once had- walked there in her sleep. Instead she gazed at the bouquet she carried, occasionally stroking the blooms and falling into memories.
"It is called wolv'sheart, it's a very important tree. A sacred tree. It gives medicine, and food, and... yes, little one. It's very pretty indeed."
And then she was there. She knelt down and placed the flowers on the little altar, then sat back and read the names to herself. Their faces and voices came to her, still so clear; she breathed in deeply, weathering the pain in her heart, letting it pass. Then she gazed at the blank place beneath them, where her name should be.
Where it would never be.
Her eyes shifted focus. Her reflection was indistinct, smudgy; her skin was darkened from years of living and working outdoors and her hair was the same slate-gray as the polished stone. A ghost looked back at her with disconcertingly sharp golden eyes. It was the most accurate reflection in all the world.
Her howl could be heard for blocks. Those who heard it were chilled to their bones, and swore it was the agonized scream of a wraith haunting the ancient graveyard.
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The inn's common room was something of a rough-and-tumble place. Far from the most dangerous she'd been, and far from the best booze she'd ever drunk, but they were cheap and they were the last alehouse for more than a hundred miles of wilderness.
She sat in a corner by herself, trying to exude as dark an aura as possible. She only wanted to drink and be alone with her thoughts.
One happy drunk wasn't picking up on it. He pulled a chair over to her table and flopped down into it.
"Sheeeeeers, prettty laaaady."
She didn't respond, only glared.
"Wher' yaa hea'in, freeeeeeen?"
"I don't want to be friends," her voice was flat, even, quiet, and low. The threat didn't seem to register for him.
"Wy don' yu smillle, GORgeouuuuuuuz? Yu look liike yu'd be reeeeeeeeeeeeel preddy."
The inn got dead quiet as everyone stared, noticing the sword whose point was currently at the hollow of the drunk's throat. The lady in the corner held it casually, with a confident grace that belied how dispassionately she could kill this fool. Fen's voice did not change timber or cadence, keeping the same level of calm threat as she growled.
"I have lost everything. I have no reason to smile. I do not desire more friends to lose. I despair that I worked so long and so hard just so that fools like you could annoy people in bars and value me based on my beauty. How far we have come. How far we have fallen."
The moron looked as if he were going to respond, but his friends jumped in, dragging him away by the shoulders with their hands clamped over his mouth. Fen sheathed her sword and gestured to the barmaid for another drink.