Griselda Ermintrude
+One life Character+
This'll be my rare character- As juggling characters is extremely difficult!
[Updates] Indicated by blue color. +One life Character+
This'll be my rare character- As juggling characters is extremely difficult!
[The Basics]
Current Thoughts/Status:
Be companion to Maeve's wishes for exploration. {Darnit Maeve.}
Given Name: Griselda Ermintrude
Full Name: Griselda Issac Yvette Ermintrude
Nickname/Alias: None.
Age: 24 Winters
Gender: Female - “How is that not obvious?”
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Race: Human - of the Norvägen
Height: 5"6
Weight: Light-weight- can be considered a tad round in the cheeks if seen in bright atmospheres.
Hair: Orangish
Eyes: Blue
Skin: Pale
Born: During Avamar when the warmth barely reached the harsh cold lands.
Alignment: Currently Neutral.
Languages Spoken: Common (Fluent). (I'm trying my hands on accents- forgive me if I make mistakes.)
Identifying Marks + Appearance:
Hair is cut-short and mussed up- mimicking the style of men. Combed back from the top, but curls from behind. Though her face still holds a few crude-feminine traits- eyelashes, arched brow, sculpted cheek-bones. Shoulders are more broad than average females.
Attire:
+Blue/Magenta Tunic/Overdress indoors- Brown warm leggings underneath.
+Thick Woolen vest - “It’s bloody cold out here.”
+Thick Heavy boots- thought light enough for her to easily move around in.
+Father’s brown fur coat with a hood attached worn at all times outdoors. She tries her best to keep it fresh and clean- though goes by months without washing.
Carries Pouch containing:
Small leather bound filled with water. (Very small)
Smaller pouch of Radiants.
Bread
A small hatchet
A small dull-dagger upon the waist belt. “Can’t leave home without it.”
Temprements:
Hot Headed. Insecure. "Soft".
Cheerful, Optimistic, Determined.
Beliefs/Follows: Path of Fire and Ice
Home: "Stoarmhahlt"
Profession/Titles:
+Woodcutter's Daughter
Fighting/Weaponry Skills:
Simple - “I can hold my father's sword and strike. What more is there to it?”
Medical Skills:None.
Physical Strength:Not particularly weak- As she's used to chopping wood for work~ Reasonable.
Tv Tropes: Later.Appearance In-Game:
Familial Relationships:
Ida Ermintrude {Younger Sister} : Status - Alive: “Whiny Brat.”
Avina Ermintrude {Younger Sister}: Status - Alive: “Spoiled brat.”
Yvette Ermintrude {Mother}: Status - Alive: .. Usually their conversations revolve around craftwork and needlwork. Griselda is having none of that now. She’d ignore her in any occasion she could.
Issac Ermintrude {Father}: Status - Alive: Being the oldest in the trio of all daughters, Issac would naturally force Griselda into the role of a Son. “Take care of your sisters when you go to the Markets.” .. “Go chop some logs for the fire. I don’t care if it’s Cold outside- Just /do it/.” .. “Skin the hunt, lass- I can’t take care of it all the time. /Learn/.” She used to abhor the chores her sisters never did. But as she grew older, she fell into the rhythm of work. Her father soon took her with him whenever he went out to trade in the markets. She would help load and unload carts with ease- and soon the hoots and whistles of the villagers dubbed her “The Peddler’s Son.” She didn’t care one bit. She looks up to her father and treasures the fur cloak he bought her for her 18th birth year.
Interests:
Serving under The Jarl
Conversations
Likes:
Home - Stormhold
Snow
Ma's Strawberry Pie
Pa's Homemade Mead
Dislikes:
Magic
Divines
Short Term Goal:
[ ] - Take no more free offers without returning debt.
[ ] - Not stay too long in this southern quest of Maeve's
[ ] - Have time to spend with Godric
Long Term Goal:
[ ] - No certain goal.
+Bold are those who effect her due to opinions/how they act/her history with them
Loves: Family to an extent.
Trusts: Maeve
Respects: The Jarl.
At Ease with:
Cares about:
Likes: Godric, Maeve
Neutral: William
The Rude:
Wary of: Magic. Religious folk.
Pities:
Fear of:
Misses:
Background Story Snippet "My Cloak":
The Lands of Avanor were cold and bitter as the frost piled up and up against the shoddy shelters near the outskirts of the stony walls of Stormhold. Stone meshed in stone was stacked high and far to shield from the weather for months now. But soon the rough edges had been covered thick with no way of getting through bar a few entrances that were patrolled for dissolving ice and snow. The house roofs barely peeked above the snow as one or two villagers attempted to trudge through the walkways. The river was barely frozen as the sailors broke the ice under the cold grey mist of the Eve. The pinkish hue of dawn settled across the lands while the roosters croaked upon their coops indoors. Griselda sat up abruptly from the dirty hay bed covered in thick furs of blankets. She would rub her eyes and yawn loudly- lifting the covers and planting her feet upon the ground. The fireplace was already lit- her mother brewing a small porridge from the scent of it. Her stomach grumbled in protest as she stood up and blindly shuffled for the fire. She stopped suddenly, wide-eyed as the wooden door to the house slammed open.
“Griseeeellddaaaa!” His loud booming voice echoed across the room.
“What?!” She retorted in response in equal irritation, tilting her head to him, her long orange curls sweeping back from the cold wind that itched at her dry freckled-face. His eyes looked towards her, gruff-beard covered in frost, and would merely pierce into her eyes. “Get out here /now/. The logs not going to hop into the fireplace itself!” Before she could blink- he was up and out the door, slamming it shut with a slam. She shivered as the cold lingered in the air and continued to drag herself to the fireplace.
“Ye heard yer Pa.” Her mother would remind her as she slumped against the wooden chair. “Yes, Ma.” She’d reply meekly as a bowl of mutton stew was passed towards her- snatching away her attention. Lapping it up quickly- she would throw an old fur coat upon her thick woolen tunic and layer a few stockings before stepping into leather boots. She soon found herself trudging through the snow towards a few stacked logs. Her father stood there, a Hatchet in hand. She’d curse through limited words as she approached him, nabbing the hilt he extended out. He’d ignore her and nod towards the log stacked upright. She took in a deep, cold breath, moving towards it and lifts the Hatchet to arch a few notches behind her. It falls forward quickly- cutting the log in two. The moment she relaxed, another would appear in the same place. She would raise the Hatchet once more.
Chop, Chop, Chop.
Hours strung by as the pile of wood increased. Her breaths grew heavy and scarce. As the sun reached a peak above- she dropped the Hatchet upon the snow and fell back with Flop. The snow seeped into her tunic, mixing with the salty sweat the formed from labor. “Tired..” She wheezed as her Father loomed above her, looking down.
He scoffed with a grin. “Ye did well, Lass. Now get up- the cart isn't going to ride itself to the Market.” A groan escaped her as he disappeared out of sight. “I’m tired!” She would yell- punching the air as she sat up. “Stop pullin' me-” She scanned around the white scenery, Father no where in sight. She stood up, shutting her mouth and snatching up the Hatchet as she lumbered towards the way he may have gone.
“Pa- Don’t you know what day it is?” Catching up- she’d yell out as he strode before her. He wouldn’t look back but she could hear him bellowing in laughter on the inside. “Well?” She’d coax as she attempted to match his long strides. “Ya made me work so hard- aren’t ah getting anythin'?” He’d give her a sly grin and she’d answer it with her own. “Ya got me somethin'!” She’d yelp- jumping to his side and wrapping her arms around him. “Oh good- What is it?”
“Now just a minute there- No spoilin' secrets.” She’d shut her mouth once more, grinning as she shuffled through the snow beside him. They traversed through their way onto stony paved pathways- the Markets roaring with laughter and billowing in smoked meats. The freezing cold ebbed away as the villagers pushed and shoved each other, the heat of the place warming all who approached. She would glance this way and that- following after her Father who quickened his steps towards a small makeshift shop. They entered, the smell of must and dust reaching her nose. She would wrinkle it with a frown, pulling the Hatchet out of sight as her eyes widened to the fur cloaks decorated across the walls. Her mouth was ajar until Father tapped her chin to close it.
“Pick one.” He’d tell her, grinning.
“Any-?”
“Not the expensive ones.” He’d say quickly, cutting her off.
She’d grumble, eyeing the cleanest fur cloak in sight before stepping forward, running her hands up and down the cloaks in reach. “Ma would have a fit. She’d rather you find me a -” She stopped with a frown as she turns to him looking shy. “I- I don’t want to yet-”.
“Not marry'n ya off anytime soon, Griselda. Now pick a coat.” He cuts her off again with a stern look. She gives him a sad smile and a nod- handing him the Hatchet before resuming her search. She slides one off its hook, a brown fur-lined woolen cloak and turns to him as she sweeps it around her shoulders. He’d give her a once-over- striding towards the merchant’s counter to bargain. Feeling elated and blissfully peaceful, she strolled outdoors, stepping into the snow with two cloaks wrapped around her shoulders. She took in a deep breath- exhaling to let the mist form before her mouth.
“How do ya feel?” Father’s gruff voice reached her as he stepped to the side. She grinned up at him- turning to exhale another grey mist before her mouth.
“Warm.”
“Griseeeellddaaaa!” His loud booming voice echoed across the room.
“What?!” She retorted in response in equal irritation, tilting her head to him, her long orange curls sweeping back from the cold wind that itched at her dry freckled-face. His eyes looked towards her, gruff-beard covered in frost, and would merely pierce into her eyes. “Get out here /now/. The logs not going to hop into the fireplace itself!” Before she could blink- he was up and out the door, slamming it shut with a slam. She shivered as the cold lingered in the air and continued to drag herself to the fireplace.
“Ye heard yer Pa.” Her mother would remind her as she slumped against the wooden chair. “Yes, Ma.” She’d reply meekly as a bowl of mutton stew was passed towards her- snatching away her attention. Lapping it up quickly- she would throw an old fur coat upon her thick woolen tunic and layer a few stockings before stepping into leather boots. She soon found herself trudging through the snow towards a few stacked logs. Her father stood there, a Hatchet in hand. She’d curse through limited words as she approached him, nabbing the hilt he extended out. He’d ignore her and nod towards the log stacked upright. She took in a deep, cold breath, moving towards it and lifts the Hatchet to arch a few notches behind her. It falls forward quickly- cutting the log in two. The moment she relaxed, another would appear in the same place. She would raise the Hatchet once more.
Chop, Chop, Chop.
Hours strung by as the pile of wood increased. Her breaths grew heavy and scarce. As the sun reached a peak above- she dropped the Hatchet upon the snow and fell back with Flop. The snow seeped into her tunic, mixing with the salty sweat the formed from labor. “Tired..” She wheezed as her Father loomed above her, looking down.
He scoffed with a grin. “Ye did well, Lass. Now get up- the cart isn't going to ride itself to the Market.” A groan escaped her as he disappeared out of sight. “I’m tired!” She would yell- punching the air as she sat up. “Stop pullin' me-” She scanned around the white scenery, Father no where in sight. She stood up, shutting her mouth and snatching up the Hatchet as she lumbered towards the way he may have gone.
“Pa- Don’t you know what day it is?” Catching up- she’d yell out as he strode before her. He wouldn’t look back but she could hear him bellowing in laughter on the inside. “Well?” She’d coax as she attempted to match his long strides. “Ya made me work so hard- aren’t ah getting anythin'?” He’d give her a sly grin and she’d answer it with her own. “Ya got me somethin'!” She’d yelp- jumping to his side and wrapping her arms around him. “Oh good- What is it?”
“Now just a minute there- No spoilin' secrets.” She’d shut her mouth once more, grinning as she shuffled through the snow beside him. They traversed through their way onto stony paved pathways- the Markets roaring with laughter and billowing in smoked meats. The freezing cold ebbed away as the villagers pushed and shoved each other, the heat of the place warming all who approached. She would glance this way and that- following after her Father who quickened his steps towards a small makeshift shop. They entered, the smell of must and dust reaching her nose. She would wrinkle it with a frown, pulling the Hatchet out of sight as her eyes widened to the fur cloaks decorated across the walls. Her mouth was ajar until Father tapped her chin to close it.
“Pick one.” He’d tell her, grinning.
“Any-?”
“Not the expensive ones.” He’d say quickly, cutting her off.
She’d grumble, eyeing the cleanest fur cloak in sight before stepping forward, running her hands up and down the cloaks in reach. “Ma would have a fit. She’d rather you find me a -” She stopped with a frown as she turns to him looking shy. “I- I don’t want to yet-”.
“Not marry'n ya off anytime soon, Griselda. Now pick a coat.” He cuts her off again with a stern look. She gives him a sad smile and a nod- handing him the Hatchet before resuming her search. She slides one off its hook, a brown fur-lined woolen cloak and turns to him as she sweeps it around her shoulders. He’d give her a once-over- striding towards the merchant’s counter to bargain. Feeling elated and blissfully peaceful, she strolled outdoors, stepping into the snow with two cloaks wrapped around her shoulders. She took in a deep breath- exhaling to let the mist form before her mouth.
“How do ya feel?” Father’s gruff voice reached her as he stepped to the side. She grinned up at him- turning to exhale another grey mist before her mouth.
“Warm.”
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