"Ósnotr maðr þykist allt vita.”

(The unwise man thinks that he understands all things.) 

I hail from a people who name Odin and Thor in their prayers and oaths. We are a people of songs, of stories and legends, of hunger and famine, of survival upon a fierce land with fiercer people. Mine is a land of gods and of men, of war and peace, of trade, and of harsh beauty. I myself am a creature of this mountainous region called Torvaldsland.  Though born and thought to be the  youngest daughter of Harald, the wealthy Lumber Merchant of Kassua and Voice of the High Jarl of AesirFjord.  Unlike my siblings  I seldom spent time with my father.  It  was  my older  twin sisters Sybilla and Astithr, and  older brother Sigarr  who spent their childhood years with him  in the confines of  the city.   It was with Harald's  brother Rook and my paternal grandparents  in  a  small inlet, the last before the frozen north claims the land with its blanket of frozen glacier, that the child I was became a woman.

 I am Kyri, a woman with eyes the blue of the deep fjords, and clear northern skies.  I am of shorter height for a woman, epescially one  of my people, for  it is said that those of Torvaldsland stand taller than most.  My hair is the color of the silvery moonlight,  a gift from my beautiful mother, the faint occasionally glimpsed golden streaks  must have been from my father's seed's contribution.  My locks are said to be like the verr  often as unruly as the temperament of those tenacious beasts. Most times  braided in an array of twisted lengths, or sometimes free fall of tangles and snarls.  Yet always do  I wear bits of bone, feathers, shells and even twigs adorning the braids and the depths of their thickness. Each adornment holds a sacred meaning of my relationship with the gods. I am deeply spiritual and never will anyone see a bite of food pass my lips, a drink of mead, the harvesting of plant or animal, the methods of my healing, the sacrifices made by the skill of blade, or the tending of a home without a respectful gesture of thanks or offering expressed to the gods.

I have heard people say I am touched by the Gods. Many call it gift, but those that share the knowledge often times name it curse. As my mother's mother  before me, I can scent death's shadow, and in the fickle ways of the gods, I  also know the promise of life. I am a healer by gift and by teachings and by genetics.  I learned l  follow in the teachings of my maternal grandmother  and her mother before her. With my mother's gift I  sense pain and sickness of the body and spirit as easily as I scent the salt that tinges our very air in Torvald's sea-kissed land. At  times I  end life to sustain life, for to our Gods sacrifices must be made. 

All my life, I have listened, worked, been instructed, and learned to behave as a woman of homeland. My own mother Urthr,  a great beauty I am told from the city of Lydius, held me only a few hands in the cradle of her arms, it was not from her breast did I gain the milk of life, her body bore me,  I was told I was seperated from her shielding me from the dark madness of  her insanity. Though it was not my mother  who the darkess held.  Harald desired power and what better tool than a beautiul daughter? My father taught me whip, blades and killing.  Yet in the passion of moments, in the quiet stillness of  hours before dawn,  things come,  things whispering softly, love for the Gods, for my people  cradling me in my mother's embrace.

"When I dare to be powerful it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid."

I am Kyri.. a Woman of Torvaldsland

And ..... I live.

(The profile is for Gorean roleplay purposes. I am new to the buzzen server, but not new to the world of Gor.)