(Second Disclaimer: The origin story here is subject to change as Tim and I work out our character histories and mesh them together.)
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I've always respected mothers.
My own mother had only one reason to live once her husband had died protecting the village, and it was to raise me. She had given so much over these years to make sure that I was well provided for, and I only wish that the gods will allow me the same chance one day.
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My childhood was as stable as it could have been, considering the circumstances. Plenty of the other villagers took me in as their own, and there were plenty of father figures growing up, but not a father that I could run home to. My mother mated for life, her heart broke that day when the other warriors brought back his sword and his shield. She mounted them above the hearth, and for many years I fell asleep to her crying.
I wanted to be just like my father, or what I had heard about my father, since I had never seen his face. There were many tales of his great deeds, and I wanted to continue the family line of great warriors, since I was his only daughter. The village thought it amusing, I think, giving me lessons and teaching me with wooden swords for long hours, despite my lithe and slight form.
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One night in my young adult life, I was shaken awake in the middle of the night by my mother, who had heard moans and wails from me in my sleep. She stripped away the covers to see what was wrong, and giant pools of blood seeped from between my legs, gleaming in the candlelight. I passed out at the sight.
A meadow, in Autumn. I see the walls, the gates, in the distance. A couple of steps take me distances, and I'm already to the gate. The doors open at my hand's touch, into a great hall. Before me a figure is seated, a woman. Her voice echoes through my head, telling me how I have been branded with her mark, how I've been saved from death only by her whim. She holds out a skeletal hand, which chills me to the bone as I place my hand in hers.
I awoke to the sight of the village's Seiðrkona. Before I could speak, she held a finger to my lips, and had me drink a bitter brew of herbs. I lay back down onto the bed as she told me that I had been out for over a week, bleeding my lifeforce away, and they were afraid of my passing into the afterlife. I told her of what I saw, and she nodded sagely. They had scryed, she said, and saw that I had traveled between the worlds, to visit my true mother, Hel.
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The years afterwards were but a blur - changing my name and vowing my life and duty to Hel and to Helheim. I trained as a warrior as learned what little of the arts that the Seiðrkona deemed necessary for my survival. Ever since that fateful day where I almost bled out, I have been denied the sign of being a proper woman, and some have whispered around the village of me being a barren mate. Of the times that I've asked the Seiðrkona of this phenomenon, they've told me that Hel has a very special purpose for me, and that she wants nothing to stand in the way of her vision.
I became a holy warrior for the Temple of Hel - where they send and directed me was at the whim of Hel and Her seers, and I am but to follow and carry out Her will. I've killed many people, all in Her name. I sailed away countless times with armies - some for protection, others for conquest - but always as Her sword.
I did not expect that at one point, it would also be to find love.
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