An Aegeon Odyssey
Kitrath Darkhammer Angrboda
Blood Hunter Exile
Appearance: Kitrath is an imposing beast of a woman that stands towering over most she encounters. Pale ashen skin is sharply contrasted with various tribal tattoos and war paints in hues of reds and browns, and various piercings of silver and copper metals. Her eyes are sharp and silvered like a newly minted coin. Atop her head are long, thick braids and weaves of coppery red hair that reach her lower back while braided, and are capable of reaching her feet when let down.
She is typically adorned in simple, rustic woolen clothing and leather war harnesses under a fur cloak. When the need arises, she accompanies this with a set of well-traveled scale mail armor colored in a dark red. She is almost never seen without her trusty greatmaul.
Personality: Kitrath can be a bit brusque or tactless when dealing with others. While she finds great interest and curiosity in common land life, much of their traditions and actions meanings are lost on her. Truly a visitor to a foreign land. When it comes to a challenge, she refuses to back down, and can prove incredibly stubborn. She has little concept of currency, preferring to trade or barter for her needs. Weakness and cowardice disgust her, to her it is better to fight and die fighting rather than to flee or hide to preserve oneself.
Born and bound to the Angrboda clan of the Olz-Drolk Tribe on the Mountainous island of Olz in the frigid south of Aegeon. Her tribe was a peaceful group, long having set aside their grudges and conflicts with the other Goliath tribes of the island, and one who worshiped the holy spirits of the mountain and the forests that covered it. Many of her kin were crafters of one kind or another, builders, smiths or brewers. A few were traders, travelling between the different tribes to make trade. A small few were warriors or hunters, the protectors and providers. Her parents were of this sort, a guardian of the tribe who served the elders and shaman, and the smith that provided them. Through her childhood, she idolized the strength and power exuded by the warriors of the tribe and strove to become strong to one day take up a mantle among them.
Her opportunity came many years into her young adulthood as she began to take her place as one of the village protectors.
The tribe alarmingly began being afflicted by a peculiar plague that rendered the tribesmen weak and sickly. A malaise fell over the most skilled of crafters, and the strongest warriors found their strength leaving them. For a time, the cause was unknown and a suspicion fell over the tribe that the spirits were angry or troubled. The tribesmen became reclusive and morose, and the elders tried to spur them to reconciliation with the mountain spirit. After a month the tribe suffered its first losses as the elderly and some of the younger children fell victim to the affliction. Around this time, the hunters began reported seeing a hunched gangly-limbed humanoid lurking around one of the sacred valleys of the forests. Being a sacred land, none among the tribes were allowed to enter, and it was clear that the being was not one of their kind. More than once, hunting bands would go to scout this creature, only to be found dead at the edge of the valley. A few of the tribe pleaded the shamans to intervene to drive this being away, believing its presence was the cause of this plague, however these pleas fell on deaf ears as the elders did not wish to intrude upon the seat of their beliefs. To them, it would be a far greater insult to intervene, and that the spirits would oust the outsider in time. Slowly the tribe began to accept this outcome, however to Kitrath, this was an unacceptable affront. More than once she went before the elders, and even her own parents and demanded action.
Time and time again she would plead her case, the case for them to act in kind to remove the creature and return prosperity to their people, rather than suffering. Time and time again, however, she was turned away and chastised for her indiscretion. Her displeasure grew, and eventually it came that she would act, with or without their approval.
Alone she set out into the forests. She had heard stories before of one of their kind, an outcast who lived separated from the tribes who had left long ago, and was rumored to possess evil and dark magic that he used to fell beasts. She would seek aid from the exile, if the rumors were true.
Find him, she did, the exile known as Zikkorv. An older man nearing his twilight that lived in a simple rundown shack in the woods. A Bloodhunter, that’s what he called himself. One who took into their bodies unnatural, dark power in order to combat far greater evils. He told her his tales, of travels far from the sacred mountain and of life among other smaller races. Tales of great beasts and evils that he did combat, of allies lost and wounds suffered. He told her of the harrowing solitude that came with the fate he chose. In the end, how he returned home only to be expectedly exiled from his kin due to his transgressions, forced from his homeland, but unwilling to leave entirely again.
Zikkorv refused her request for aid, at first. Stating his age and retirement, he would not be able to fight as he once had. He claimed that the toll on his body had been too great over the years, and that his time had passed. He would send her back empty handed, but Kitrath was done with inaction and soon declared that he would train her in his ways. This too, he refused at first, but she retorted that their people were at risk, nay, that they long ago lost who and what they were: proud warriors who would not back down from a challenge. Instead, she pointed out how readily they clung to superstitions and were allowing themselves to ruin. She would do anything it took to avert this disaster, even if it meant following a path of ruin herself. Her words swayed Zikkorv, and he agreed to train her, at least enough to aid him in one last hunt.
Three months was their deadline, any longer and there may not have been a tribe to save. He took to teaching her everything he could, from the language of the smaller kinds to the alchemical formulae of his order. Literacy and survival were among her lessons, as well as a steady imbibing of toxins and serums that would eventually manifest her Rites. She spent many evenings overcoming the ill effects that followed the imbibing, and many times she wondered if she would perish from doing so. It burned like a poison in her veins and more than once she would leave her meals adorning the floor before passing out in a fevered stupor. Each time, however, she lived to see the next groggy sunrise. Before long, he had taught her enough and the duo left out pack in hand to hunt the foul creature that tormented their kind.
Delving into forbidden lands, they tracked and watched for signs of the outsider, finding the things lair deep within the sanctuary. A hag, wicked and vile, that had been siphoning the lands energy and casting hexes to drain the life of the nearby inhabitants, her tribe, to strengthen itself and work its magics. Confronting the she-witch, Zikkorv took point while Kitrath was to support him in battle. Fierce the battle raged as the hag threw spell after spell while Zikkorv sundered them from the air with his rites and returned blows, only to be met with the hags conjured servants. As the fight reached its peak, Zikkorv unleashed his full fury, revealing his power as a Lycan and besetting on the hag. Alas, as his fury unleashed, so too did his reason and with each blow he landed, so too did the hag place wounds onto him. The confrontation reached a stalemate as the wounds became too much, and as his bloodlust faltered, Zikkorv found himself too weakened to fight on. His time was ending, the strain too much with his wounds. The hag, too, was deeply wounded drawing the final puddle of her power to end the fight in kind. Seeing the end near, Zikkorv turned on Kitrath, imparting on her his final gift in a ritualistic bite to transfer his power. While not a turning in full, the bite unleashed upon her a blood fury the likes she never felt, and she beset upon the hag with her full force, delivering one final brutal blow that saw the witch crumple under the weight of her maul.
With his dying words, Zikkorv warned her of her impending fate. She would be exiled when word reached her kin, and he bade her make for the north to a place he called “Commonwealth.”
True to his word, when she returned home to see the results of her actions, she was immediately hounded down by the elders and shamans. Furious of her trespass, they accused her of dooming them, of angering the spirits and going against their words. Even her parents turned their fingers and accusations against her. None would speak in her defense, and none would see what she did for what it was. Their salvation came at the price of her place, yet they remained ungrateful and petty. Infuriated, she cursed all their inaction. The words of weak fools who forgot what they were, and ones she were ashamed to call kin. She stormed from the village, calls of exile and retribution following.
Returning to Zikkorv’s hut, she spent a few weeks studying his tomes and formulas further before packing up what tomes and materials she could. Travelling to one of the seaside tribes, she bartered for travel from the island with a visiting merchant, and put the land of her people behind her, seeing it as home no further.