Silverbraid (Pathfinder)

Pathfinder Society Record

• Known Name: Astrid Olofsdotter
  
• Race: Aasimar (Azata-Blooded)
  
• Apparent Age: Mid-20s
  
• Birthday: 18 Neth (November)
  
• Height: 5'11"
  
• Alignment: Chaotic Good
  
• Affiliations: Pathfinder Society
  
• Character Class: Skald
  
• Place of Origin: Halgrim, Battlewall, Ironbound Islands [Lands of the Linnorm Kings]
  
• Player/Type: NPC

Appearance

Astrid is a strikingly attractive woman in her prime. She is taller than most avistani woman, just shy of being 6' tall, although the claims that she is about average height for an ulfen female. Although compared to most women she would be quite muscular, her figure is more toned than bulky, with her overall frame being quite slim, though well built; showing that she is a woman used to living a very active lifestyle and refusal to take an easy way out. She has blue eyes and ash-grey hair so pale that in the sunlight it looks almost white, and pale skin tone common to the ulfen. To all extent and purposes she appears normal human, but in the moonlight her aasimar heritage betrays her, and in moonlight her hair turns an inhuman silver and glows with radiant light. Her hair is usually braided along the sides in ulfen style and self-serves as a knot for her hair to be contained but fall loosely behind her. It is usually maintained around shoulder length.

Astrid usually wears her signature armour, mostly a combination of midnight-blue leathers, chain shirt and mithral breastplate, with cold-weather furs. When there is appropriate need she will change into more socially-appropriate attire but, accustomed to northern lands, is more likely to favour more rugged and practical dresses in the ulfen style than the more slinky and stylish southern-avistani styles.

Background

Origins

Astrid Olofsdotter of Halgrim was born to the creak of timbers and the rattle of oars to a family of warriors and brought up to be a shieldmaiden befitting a woman of her bloodline. In the longhouse she learned numbers on rune-staves and heroes by hearth-song; on the pier she learned to keep her feet on a rocking skiff and her hands quick on wet rope. The elders said she laughed like the surf and listened like the tide.

Longhouse & Early Training

Ulfen childhood makes shieldmaidens early. Astrid’s days ran spear drills, round-shield forms, and watch turns on grey mornings; nights ran sagas and song. When she found her own voice, the old metres took root—the tight, drumbeat bite of dróttkvætt for battle-chants and the rolling, road-tale flow of fornyrðislag for voyages yet to be sung. Winters taught a harsher lesson: de-icing rigging with numb fingers, splicing lines by lantern in sleet, hauling in time with the sea’s hard measure. Those seasons made her steady.

Silver Wake (Adolescence & Awakening)

In early adolescence the blood of an azata ancestor woke. Under moonlight her braid caught a pale, argent gleam; dreams turned to star-roads and wings. Astrid bent knee to Desna, the Starsong, and took the skald’s path—dragon skald by training, wayfarer by temperament—marrying verse to vigilance, courage to mercy.

The First Voyage (4704)

At sixteen she sailed south with her kinswoman White Estrid—no champion yet, but a junior rigger and trainee war-chanter whose job was to steady hands and hearts. She saw the raid on Nisroch and the quick, ruthless run past the Arch of Aroden into Absalom, spray whitening the braids along the rail. In that bright city she stole a glance at the Pathfinder Society’s Grand Lodge and felt an old door open inside her: not a turning from the North, but a widening of it. She returned to Halgrim with a hunger she could not dock.

The Ulfen Skald Years (4705–4712)

Seasons blurred into sagas. Astrid escorted ice-runners through witch-cold channels, hauled survivors from wreck-light shores, and learned that a verse held at the right breath can still a crew faster than a drawn blade. Between voyages she studied at Iceferry Lodge in Kalsgard and at the Grand Lodge; a Wayfinder warmed her palm. She shipped on later expeditions with Estrid’s fleet and at times berthed aboard Shieldmaiden Skjǫldr, a proud hull once in Estrid’s line. The raider’s boast in her throat tempered to a rescuer’s oath: sing first; cut only when need demands.

Starblade & the Sundering of the Old Life (4713–4714)

The Omen on the Jetty

The night before she was due to sign on for another northern run, a strange music found her at Halgrim’s jetty—harp-bright and sea-soft, threading the wind. A figure like a woman in starlit silk and serpent scales stood on the water beyond the piles: a lillend, smiling sadly, one hand to her heart. Astrid could not recall the words when dawn came, only the shape of them: follow the fog to the gate that is not a gate; follow the star that is not in the sky. When the vision faded, a tiny winged herald—mischief-eyed, bell-voiced—sat cross-legged on the mooring post and yawned. “Name’s Spivey,” it said. “You’ll want Varisia.”

The Road to Varisia

They went light, singing for ferries and trading verse for maps. Omens pricked like needles: seven gulls circling a mile marker, a moth that drowsed on Astrid’s knuckles from dusk to noon, the same constellation reappearing at impossible hours. Spivey teased and tugged, but never steered her wrong. The trail narrowed to stories of missing dockhands, strangled prayers to a mother-of-monsters, and a fog that rolled inland as if the sea were breathing down the throat of the land.

The Fog-Hunt

Astrid knew from the vision that the blade she sought would answer starlight—and that it would shine truest where sight failed. So she chose her field. On the fourth night she stood on a tomb-mound above a ravine and sang a low hymn of wayfinding, nine notes for nine stars. Fog took the song like cloth taking dye and poured down into the gullies, thick enough to drink. Lanterns below guttered and died; the cult’s lookouts coughed curses and clutched charms. In that blind world, Astrid moved by breath and rhyme, counting heartbeats between the calls of distant owls that were not owls at all. The fog hid her; it troubled them. That was enough to reach the barrow door.

The Barrow & the Blade

The door would not open for a thief. It wanted a voice. Astrid set her palm to the turf-stone and spoke in the court-metre, offering mercy for service and memory for silence:

Starlit is the road, still as a north-wind,

Heart holds the hymn, hand keeps the peace;

Open to the oath—old is my lineage—

Let blade find bearer; let bitter work cease.

The turf sighed; the stone gave. Inside, braziers smouldered with foul incense; a priestess of Lamashtu knelt before a bier where a longblade lay wrapped in woven night. The priestess hissed a challenge; Astrid answered with a war-chant that struck like oars in unison. Steel met sickle. The fight was close and ugly, all elbows and edges in a room too small for breath—but when Astrid’s hand closed on the hilt, the world changed.

The sword woke.

Blue-white ran along the fuller like dawn under ice. Fog through the doorway brightened, and every cultist charging the threshold showed as a darker shape against a field of stars. Astrid did not think; she answered. The blade moved like a song remembered from childhood—cut, turn, bind, release—each motion a rhyme to the next. Those who had seemed many were suddenly few. Those who had seemed fearsome were suddenly men.

When the last broke and ran, Spivey perched on the bier and kicked her heels. “Told you,” she said. “Meant to be.”

Aftermath

At dawn, Astrid cleaned the blade and sang the old road-blessing. She offered a prayer for the dead who had not chosen evil and burned what could not be carried. The fog thinned to meadow-mist; swifts stitched the air. She walked out of Varisia with Stjarnabrandr at her hip and the old life unwinding behind her like a cut rope. The Society heard the deed before she reached the next lodge. Papers were signed. A field commission found its mark.

Present Standing (4715)

Fresh from the Starblade deed, Astrid is profiled in the special edition of the Pathfinder Chronicles, Women of the North. The article tells of omens and fog, of a barrow opened by verse and a blade that chose. It calls her musetouched and Ulfen both, and she does not quarrel with either name. Now she wanders where the star-road runs—sometimes north with Estrid on lawful work, more often wherever travellers need a song to steady their hands and a bright edge when song no longer suffices. Rumour has her booked from Absalom to Augustana this season; rumour has her turning back on a different wind. Either way, when the night comes in thick and the stars go missing, sailors say they’ve seen a silver braid on the fo’c’sle and a blue-white gleam where the fog is darkest—and then, like a breath released, the channel clears.

Longhouse & Early Training

Ulfen childhood makes shieldmaidens early. Astrid’s days ran spear drills, round-shield forms, and watch turns on grey mornings; nights ran sagas and song. When she found her own voice, the old metres took root—the tight, drumbeat bite of dróttkvætt for battle-chants and the rolling, road-tale flow of fornyrðislag for voyages yet to be sung. Winters taught a harsher lesson: de-icing rigging with numb fingers, splicing lines by lantern in sleet, hauling in time with the sea’s hard measure. Those seasons made her steady.

Silver Wake (Adolescence & Awakening)

In early adolescence the blood of an azata ancestor woke. Under moonlight her braid caught a pale, argent gleam; dreams turned to star-roads and wings. Astrid bent knee to Desna, the Starsong, and took the skald’s path—dragon skald by training, wayfarer by temperament—marrying verse to vigilance, courage to mercy.

The First Voyage (4704)

At sixteen she sailed south with her kinswoman White Estrid—no champion yet, but a junior rigger and trainee war-chanter whose job was to steady hands and hearts. She saw the raid on Nisroch and the quick, ruthless run past the Arch of Aroden into Absalom, spray whitening the braids along the rail. In that bright city she stole a glance at the Pathfinder Society’s Grand Lodge and felt an old door open inside her: not a turning from the North, but a widening of it. She returned to Halgrim with a hunger she could not dock.

The Ulfen Skald Years (4705–4712)

Seasons blurred into sagas. Astrid escorted ice-runners through witch-cold channels, hauled survivors from wreck-light shores, and learned that a verse held at the right breath can still a crew faster than a drawn blade. Between voyages she studied at Iceferry Lodge in Kalsgard and at the Grand Lodge; a Wayfinder warmed her palm. She shipped on later expeditions with Estrid’s fleet and at times berthed aboard Shieldmaiden Skjǫldr, a proud hull once in Estrid’s line. The raider’s boast in her throat tempered to a rescuer’s oath: sing first; cut only when need demands.

Starblade & the Sundering of the Old Life (4713–4714)

The Omen on the Jetty

The night before she was due to sign on for another northern run, a strange music found her at Halgrim’s jetty—harp-bright and sea-soft, threading the wind. A figure like a woman in starlit silk and serpent scales stood on the water beyond the piles: a lillend, smiling sadly, one hand to her heart. Astrid could not recall the words when dawn came, only the shape of them: follow the fog to the gate that is not a gate; follow the star that is not in the sky. When the vision faded, a tiny winged herald—mischief-eyed, bell-voiced—sat cross-legged on the mooring post and yawned. “Name’s Spivey,” it said. “You’ll want Varisia.”

The Road to Varisia

They went light, singing for ferries and trading verse for maps. Omens pricked like needles: seven gulls circling a mile marker, a moth that drowsed on Astrid’s knuckles from dusk to noon, the same constellation reappearing at impossible hours. Spivey teased and tugged, but never steered her wrong. The trail narrowed to stories of missing dockhands, strangled prayers to a mother-of-monsters, and a fog that rolled inland as if the sea were breathing down the throat of the land.

The Fog-Hunt

Astrid knew from the vision that the blade she sought would answer starlight—and that it would shine truest where sight failed. So she chose her field. On the fourth night she stood on a tomb-mound above a ravine and sang a low hymn of wayfinding, nine notes for nine stars. Fog took the song like cloth taking dye and poured down into the gullies, thick enough to drink. Lanterns below guttered and died; the cult’s lookouts coughed curses and clutched charms. In that blind world, Astrid moved by breath and rhyme, counting heartbeats between the calls of distant owls that were not owls at all. The fog hid her; it troubled them. That was enough to reach the barrow door.

The Barrow & the Blade

The door would not open for a thief. It wanted a voice. Astrid set her palm to the turf-stone and spoke in the court-metre, offering mercy for service and memory for silence:

Starlit is the road, still as a north-wind,

Heart holds the hymn, hand keeps the peace;

Open to the oath—old is my lineage—

Let blade find bearer; let bitter work cease.

The turf sighed; the stone gave. Inside, braziers smouldered with foul incense; a priestess of Lamashtu knelt before a bier where a longblade lay wrapped in woven night. The priestess hissed a challenge; Astrid answered with a war-chant that struck like oars in unison. Steel met sickle. The fight was close and ugly, all elbows and edges in a room too small for breath—but when Astrid’s hand closed on the hilt, the world changed.

The sword woke.

Blue-white ran along the fuller like dawn under ice. Fog through the doorway brightened, and every cultist charging the threshold showed as a darker shape against a field of stars. Astrid did not think; she answered. The blade moved like a song remembered from childhood—cut, turn, bind, release—each motion a rhyme to the next. Those who had seemed many were suddenly few. Those who had seemed fearsome were suddenly men.

When the last broke and ran, Spivey perched on the bier and kicked her heels. “Told you,” she said. “Meant to be.”

Aftermath

At dawn, Astrid cleaned the blade and sang the old road-blessing. She offered a prayer for the dead who had not chosen evil and burned what could not be carried. The fog thinned to meadow-mist; swifts stitched the air. She walked out of Varisia with Stjarnabrandr at her hip and the old life unwinding behind her like a cut rope. The Society heard the deed before she reached the next lodge. Papers were signed. A field commission found its mark.

Present Standing (4715)

Fresh from the Starblade deed, Astrid is profiled in the special edition of the Pathfinder Chronicles, Women of the North. The article tells of omens and fog, of a barrow opened by verse and a blade that chose. It calls her musetouched and Ulfen both, and she does not quarrel with either name. Now she wanders where the star-road runs—sometimes north with Estrid on lawful work, more often wherever travellers need a song to steady their hands and a bright edge when song no longer suffices. Rumour has her booked from Absalom to Augustana this season; rumour has her turning back on a different wind. Either way, when the night comes in thick and the stars go missing, sailors say they’ve seen a silver braid on the fo’c’sle and a blue-white gleam where the fog is darkest—and then, like a breath released, the channel clears.

Personality

Astrid is reportedly a free spirit, proud ulfen and dedicated Desnan. As would be expected from a skald, she loves tales and legends, song and poetry, although any who would think this makes her soft would be mistaken. As an ulfen she loves little more than to drink mead, get into physical challenges, and claims that it is not a good party until at least half a dozen people are unconscious... whether due to fighting or drinking is of little consequence. She despises it when avistani people call her a bard, which she will usually respond to with a very un-bardlike (and certainly un-ladylike) string of intense, vulgar expletives. In fact, she is well renown for becoming aggressive and rude, and some have commented that her letting off impressive tirades of humiliating insults is an art form for her. Those with familiarity with ulfen folk will simply state that that is common for ulfen people. As can be expected, patience and subtlety are not her strong points and, although she is capable, it is common to see her bite her lip in frustration when she must do something with finesse that she feels could and should have been resolved faster and easier with a good blow to someone's head.

Astrid loves travel almost as much as she loves song. She rarely has a specific group that she travels with, but has many friends all over the place as she travels often, and with many different short-term companions. She seems incapable of remaining in one place for long and invariably at some point moves on from wherever her current companions are if she feels their movements or area of operation have become too static.

As is common for dedicated Desnans, Astrid has a strong respect for other religions, especially those of good faiths. She particularly enjoys the company of Caydenites and Sarenites. She tries to follow the Desnan belief in avoiding conflict unless there is no choice - but cynics will be quick to point out that it appears the list of what constitutes her having no choice appears rather long and fickle.

Astrid is not known for her patience or subtlety, and tends to make decisions very quickly. People often mistake this as thinking that she is rash and impulsive, although she states that she is neither. She states that there is no point dwelling on the past, and wasting time debating, and that as you never known when opportunities may rise again, opportunities should be enjoyed when presented.

Church of Desna

Astrid doesn't advertise it for the world to hear, but she is a priestess of Desna. When asked she will be quick to point out that she is a priestess, not a cleric, and thus not to expect divine powers from her. As a skald, however, she does have arcane talent and, perhaps because of her lillend ancestry, limited arcane magical healing is within the scope of her abilities.

Although, to quote her Pathfinder Chronicles feature: Just don't call her a bard, or you may end up having a reason to need that healing magic.

Combat Style

Many would assume that as a not-bard, Astrid is likely in combat to stand back and let allies engage the enemy whilst she plays a tune to inspire them, and provide some rear-guard support. They would be wrong, as Astrid is more likely to ask someone to hold her rotte (ulfen lyre) for her whilst she goes and cleaves some gnoll's head in with her longsword. She is a trained shieldmaiden, and in combat primarilly relies on her own skill-at-arms than magic. She principally fights with a light shield and longsword, although she only seems to draw her shield when she feels there is a need. She otherwise prefers not to use it, often intimidating opponents when she brazenly displays an arrogant lack of respect for their credibility as a threat to her that she does not feel the need to use her shield. Whilst she prefers melee combat, she is a competent archer and understands there are times when her hornbow is more valuable - such as whittling down superior numbers of approaching enemies with arrows rather than simply charging at them and facing greater numbers needlessly.

Astrid does commonly sing or otherwise orate during combat - usually heroic tales or other encouraging words - but unlike typical bards that inspire courage or competence, her performances cause the blood to boil and overflow in heroic rage, filling her allies with adrenal passion and nullifying fear. And she does this whilst killing anything that dared threaten her and her companions.

When she does use her magic, it is usually to bolster herself or her allies in combat or provide emergency healing. She has a preference for using bolstering magic before combat, however, and healing after (if required) as opposed to during.

Social Style

Astrid can be very easy to get along with and befriend, or very difficult, depending on a person's temperament and sensitivities. From an ulfen culture, she is brash and aggressive, quick to insult others or physically manhandle them. Many cultured avistani would take offence to this barbaric mannerism, and many others would be intimidated and be wary not to provoke her. But those who know the ulfen know that they respect strength of character, and she will more quickly gain respect for someone who insults her back (especially if they are creative) or is willing to physically engage her, than those who are conciliatory. She has been known to pummel a punter half to death, then buy him drinks the rest of his night and treat him as if a long-time friend. However she will claim there is a fine line between showing courage and character, and being an ass, and the latter will enrage her.

The ulfen lead hard lives with many dangers, and whilst they may argue and fight, they depend on each other as a unit. Astrid likewise respects team-workers and those who put the well being of the troupe over themselves, which is an ironic sentiment for someone who rarely stays with a troup for long. Whilst she has a good heart, she is used to being with people who are less noble, but cannot tolerate those with an evil heart or who oppress others. She sees denying someone their freedom as abhorrent, which some would find hypocritical considering ulfen propensity for (and her acceptance of) taking thralls (though she would claim that thralls and slaves are completely different things - though most would fail to appreciate the difference).

Signature Equipment

Armour & Weapons

• Starsong Breastplate: This midnight-blue suit of breastplate and chain shirt armour is made out of mithral and allows the wearer to cast expeditious retreat once per day, and automatically casts dream feast each night on the wearer whilst they sleep.
• Shieldmaiden Skjǫldr: This light wooden shield once belonged to White Estrid herself and has a reinforced boss for extra durability, as well as specially-designed straps that allow the shield to be drawn or put away much faster than a normal shield whilst moving. It can be magically resized within a few moments to effectively become a buckler or heavy shield for added flexibility or protection as desired.
• Stjarnabrandr: This longsword is made of of sky metal (commonly also known as numerian steel or adamantine) and is unbelievably sharp. It has the words the flash that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night; inscribed in celestial script on the blade. When drawn it is outlined by a pale glow and leaves a trail of starry motes that shed light in her space and trail as strong as common torchlight. When the sword strikes a creature affected by magical means of concealment (such as an invisibility spell) the sword covers the creature in starry motes for a brief period, making them easy to locate for a precious few seconds until the motes fade.
• Ulfen War Axe: this ulfen-style mastercrafted hand axe is commonly employed for utility purposes and as a backup weapon. Although she relies mostly on her longsword, she has been known to employ it as an off-hand or secondary weapon.
• Ulfen Dagger: this ulfen-style mastercrafted dagger is mostly used for utility or emergency purposes, though sometimes used as a quick thrown weapon.
• Ulfen Hornbogi: this mastercrafted ulfen composite horn bow is adjusted to cater for Astrid's respectable strength and would be hard for most average and above average strength users to use.

Magic Items

• Boots of Swift Fury: These boots of heavy, furred hide grant an enhancement to Astrid's land speed, as well as making her harder to hit with attacks of opportunity.
• Wayfinder: given to her by the Kalsgard Lodge when she became a member, this is a traditional magical tool given to members of the Pathfinder Society. At will it can shine light as powerful as a torch, and the mundane compass assists the user in avoiding getting lost. It has an empty slot that can hold one ioun stone, if Astrid ever finds one.

Mundane Items

• The Eight Scrolls (holy text of Desna)
• Silver symbol of Desna
• Ulfen Rotte (lyre-like instrument)
• Cold weather outfit

Signature Quotes

• "I do only fight when there's no choice. He said that ulfen are uncultured heathens... he gave me no choice!"
• "There is a fine line between showing courage and character, and being an ass!"
• "This reminds me of the tale of the legendary King [insert name of yet another Linnorm King]..."
• "Any Troll's arm comes off" - an ulfen saying that if you persist long enough, you will succeed at any task (also cynically used, as troll's regenerate lost limbs, to imply that there is always another task to take its place)
• "Go sow the whitecaps!" - ulfen expression meaning you are wasting your time, so go elsewhere and stop wasting mine!
• "He'd scare the sea away at low tide!" - ulfen expression meaning that a person is either ugly or fearsome; both are usually an insult, although not always
• "A pass is best seen from the top of the mountain" - ulfen saying advising not to look for the easy way out as the wise accept a challenge and learn by reflecting upon the experience.

Gallery

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