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 Sigurd Westgaarde, the Hunter » Who are you? Sigurd of Thjod, though I've taken the name Westgaarde as the ages turn. » How long have you been in the city? Of late? Months, no more. I come chasing the hint of a wyrm for the slaying. » How did you become a hunter? The tale is overlong for the telling, but you would not be incorrect to look to the Edda for some measure of truth. I was raised at the court of King Hjálprek, received the sword Gram from the smith Regin, and slew the dragon Fafnir on Gnita-Heath. Much that follows is more exaggeration than reality. My life was rather unhappy, yes, but I cannot say I was slain by an angry valkyrie. » What do you hunt, primarily? That most terrible and avaricious of the creatures that inhabit this realm: dragons. I started with Fafnir, yes, but that is not where I've stopped. The people of the Church, in times past, even knew me by a different name: that of Saint George, Dragonslayer. I care not that they lay claim to my exploits, only that the foul beasts are consigned to the mists of time. » What are their strengths and weaknesses? Ah, is that not the trick of it? Their strengths manifold, their weaknesses carefully hidden. I've developed some tacts that work on the average wyrm, but the slaying of a great dragon is never a simple matter. My blade, Gram, is anathema to dragonkind, but a beast of great wisdom often makes the delivery of blade to heart something of a difficult matter. » What terrible thing have you done to yourself to help even the playing field? That much of the legend is true. When my blade plunged deep into Fafnir, spelling its doom, I was bathed in heartblood that spilled out. It transformed me, then, from a mortal man into something both more and less. I possess puissance and longevity beyond any man. The tongue of animals is known to me, yes, and my skin is as powerful a barrier as any dragon's scales. The changes slowed after the heartblood no longer flowed, but I've felt them progress with the years. It's a creeping thing, to be sure, but one day I will be Fafnir reborn. A great and powerful dragon, free to pillage a world where magic and steel can no longer bring forth the majesty and power of ages past. » How are you like them? Outside the creeping doom that awaits? I suppose you might consider me a hoarder of lives. Gram has drank the blood of many dragons as of yet, the promise of more all that sates it. I listen not when the dragons offer this speech. It enraged me the first time they named me brother and, I must say, it has grown no less offensive to my ears. quote:Name: Sigurd Westgaarde Tricky fucked around with this message at 01:17 on Mar 10, 2019 |
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