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 moonlight or under the stars her aasimar heritage betrays her, and 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
They say Astrid Olofsdotter of Halgrim was born to the sound of oars counting time. Born to a family of warriors and brought up to be a shieldmaiden befitting a woman of her bloodline. In the longhouse she learned her numbers on rune-staves and her heroes by hearth-song; on the pier she learned to keep her feet in a rocking skiff and her hands quick on a wet rope. She was a laughing child, stubborn as a winter knot, and when the elders told tales she listened the way the tide listens—quietly, and all the way to the end.
Longhouse & Early Training
Ulfen childhood makes shieldmaidens early. Astrid’s mornings were spear-forms and round-shield drills; her afternoons were watch turns under weather that nipped the ears; her evenings were sagas sung until the smoke made the rafters low. She learned to splice by lantern-light, to haul in sleet without complaint, to trust the clean rhythm of work. The old metres took root as naturally as breathing: the tight, drum-beat bite of dróttkvætt for battle-chants and the rolling, road-tale flow of fornyrðislag for voyages yet to be sung. If you had asked her then what she would be, she would have said, “A shieldmaiden, like my mothers before me,” and meant it with her whole brave heart.
Silver Wake: Adolescence & Choice
Then came the nights when moonlight caught in her braid and would not let go. At first it was only a pale sheen—pretty, the aunties said—but the sheen grew into a soft, argent halo that followed her from water to window. Dreams changed, too. The old war-songs were still there, but now they opened into roads made of starlight and a kindness as wide as the sky.
This is the part where other tales rush and say, “She bent the knee and that was that.” Not so. Astrid argued with herself the way a cliff argues with the sea. Her father, who had the iron of Gorum in him, set out the family shield and said, kindly, “Choose with your feet, not with your fancies.” Her mother, who knew how songs can turn a fear, laid a hand on her hair and said nothing at all. Her grandmother fetched a little tin star from an old chest and told a story about a woman who sang to the heavens until they sang back.
On the coldest night of that winter, Astrid climbed the hill above Halgrim with the shield on her arm and the star in her palm. She waited until the breath smoked from her like incense. “If you would have me,” she said to the sky—not kneeling, but standing, because Ulfen vows are made on your feet—“then teach me to win hearts as well as battles.” The wind turned, and for a moment the constellations looked like a road. That was answer enough. In the morning she told her kin she would take the skald’s path—dragon skald by training, wayfarer by temperament—marrying verse to vigilance, courage to mercy. There were tears, aye, but there were smiles as well. A good family knows when a child’s road has forked and which way the feet are pointing.
The First Voyage (4704)
At sixteen she sailed south with her kinswoman White Estrid—not as a champion, not yet, but as a junior rigger and a war-chant in training, the kind that keeps hands steady when the sea leaps. 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 the City at the Centre of the World she stole a look at the Pathfinder Society’s Grand Lodge and felt a door open inside her. She came home to Halgrim as before, but now the horizon did not stop at the horizon.
The Ulfen Skald Years (4705–4712)
These were the proving seasons, and good ones. 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 any 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. Little by little 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 would have signed for another northern run, Astrid heard harp-bright music braided into the tide. Out beyond the pilings stood Valtyra, her lillend foremother—scales like enamelled dusk, hair full of constellations. Valtyra’s voice came gentle and sure: a star-forged blade of Astrid’s line, sworn to Desna, had been taken long ago when Lamashtu’s servants slew its bearer; since then its light had been turned to wicked use. “Set it back upon the star-road,” said Valtyra. “Find it—the flash that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night—and carry its shine where the night is thick.”
When the vision thinned to ripples, a tiny lyrakien fluttered down to the mooring post—fairy-like, a small woman with gossamer wings and a bell-clear voice. “I’m Spivey, Desna’s errand-soul. I know the back ways west and the old shrines along them. I can read the scratch-marks Lamashtu’s lot leave on rock and bone, and I’ve a traveller’s blessing for if fear bites. You choose the hour and the approach; I’ll fly a little ahead, point out the signs others miss, and keep you from wasting days on the wrong goat tracks.” She tied a blue moth-ribbon into Astrid’s braid for luck, sketched a seven-pointed star in salt, and tapped the routes on a weathered chart—west to Varisia, and up into the high passes.
The Road to Varisia
They travelled light, as the best tales do—singing for ferries, trading verse for maps. Astrid kept one eye on the sky and one on the line of the land: a quick Read Weather to pick fair winds, Know Direction when the fogbanks teased the compass, and Lay of the Land to set the pass in her head before she ever set foot to scree. Spivey earned her ride with bright scraps of temple-lore and the little kindnesses that keep a journey charmed—mending a child’s toy, soothing a mule, pointing to the stone that wasn’t there yesterday. The rumours narrowed to a high saddle where travellers went missing, and to servants of Lamashtu who boasted that a holy blade now lit their caves like a stolen dawn.
The Mountain Pass of Breath and Mist
At dusk the wind fell and the pass grew still. “Now,” Astrid breathed—not to any god, but to her own steadying heart. She set her shield to buckler for speed, hummed Forced Quiet until mail and scabbard forgot to rattle, and waited until the bats took to air. Then she spent her one Spell Kenning for the day on Fog Cloud, calling a bank of mist up from the ravine and over the stones—thick, deliberate, and hers. It would blind her too, aye, but that was the point; there were a dozen of them, and one Astrid.
She marked her orientation with Know Direction, fixed the slope in memory, and stepped into the white world she had made. Shapes moved like thoughts just out of reach. Far ahead, something big moved with the carelessness of power, and in its hands a longblade cast a pale, treacherous glow—the stolen light of a star-forged sword, shining for its rightful bearer even when misheld. Astrid’s breath went tight. Her heart kept a drummer’s time. She set her feet.
The Monster with the Starblade
The wielder proved a priestess of Lamashtu gone bestial—horns pressing through hair, shoulders knotted wrong under ritual scars. Rage made her clumsy; the fog made her blinder than most. Astrid whispered the words to Bladed Dash and burst forward faster than an eye can follow, a straight-line streak through mist and shadow, striking at the instant she arrived. Steel met flesh with the finality of a tolling bell. The creature reeled, chopped at echoes, and the longblade rang on stone—almost free.
Astrid slid in, buckler flared to a broad shield with a twist of the wrist, and put iron where it mattered. The priestess crashed to her knees and the starblade skittered, hissing along the rock until Astrid’s hand closed on its hilt.
The Sword in the Fog
The sword woke.
Blue-white ran along the fuller like dawn beneath ice. The fog itself brightened; every cultist charging from the rocks showed as a black cut-out against a field of stars. The blade answered her grip like a lullaby finally remembered—cut, turn, bind, release—each motion rhyming the next. Those who had seemed many were suddenly few. Those who had seemed fearsome were suddenly men. She was a skald reborn, and the flash that cuts through darkness, the light that breaks the night was in her hands.
Quiet After
When the shouting spent itself, the pass held its breath again. Astrid cleaned the blade, spoke the traveller’s blessing, and burned what should not be carried. The mist thinned to honest weather. She walked out with Stjarnabrandr at her hip and the old life unspooling behind her like a cut rope. By the time she reached the next lodge, the tale had ran ahead of her to the lodges; the Pathfinder Society met it with a field commission, as if the papers had been waiting with her name already written.
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 its bearer. It calls her musetouched and Ulfen both, and she does not quarrel with either name. She wanders where the star-road runs—sometimes north with Estrid on rightful work, more often wherever travellers need a song to steady their hands and a bright edge when song no longer suffices. Sailors swear they have seen a silver braid on the fo’c’sle and a blue-white gleam where the channel is darkest; and then, as if a throat unclenched, the way ahead is clear.
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.