Since emerging from the hedge in the mid 2000's, the Fairest known as Sigrún Ljósdóttir has made a name for herself as a Summer Fixer. She's been ranging up and down the I-95 corridor from Maine to Miami, putting out hot spots in the hedge from briarwolf nests to hedge ghost hauntings. Her folksy Minnesotan candor coupled with her apparently genuine dedication to the safety and welfare of the various communities she has visited has won her the trust and gratitude of numerous Freeholds. Strangely, she never saw fit to grace any of them for longer than it has taken each Freehold to settle whatever emerging concern they were facing upon her arrival. That changed when she arrived back in Philadelphia in the company of her Motley, Direct Action. They set down roots at last, and have taken to supporting the community here as best they can.
She is strangely humble for one of her seeming, though there are some who consider this an affectation. Few question the sincerity of her dedication to her court, however. She's stood at the vanguard of battlefields and social movements alike, furthering the defense of her communities both mundane and magical with the sort of fervent consistency which is typically found in martyrs and radicals. While she's known to play as hard as she fights, it's the latter avocation that propels her forward in life. Constantly tempering herself against the shields and blades of the enemies of Lost society, and of the mortals she claims as her charges.
Since her arrival, she's involved herself in various pivotal events within the freehold. She's made allies of the Rivermen, fought the Kraklin's King Kril in single combat and won ensuring their alliance, defended both Shackamaxon and Old Iron when the roots of the hedge turned its denizens into desperate raiders. She's fought a sea monster with the Stone Pony motley, became a firefighter, and has risen from a Huntress of the Longest Day to her present role of leadership within her court.
Put the both of us together, and you have a well rounded person. I am his eyes and his ears in the hedge, and he is my mind and my meticulousness at home.
Every shield wall needs its archers at the rear. Her talents complement my own exceedingly well.
Summer Courtier: A Summer Courtier, Sigrún seeks to protect those she deems worthy of her protection. A steadfast warrior and dogged hunter, she makes a far better friend than an enemy.
Asatru: Sigrún honors the Old Gods of her ancestry and lives the life of a modern Heathen.
Nazi Punks Fuck Off!: Sigrún used to be into the punk music scene in New York in the 80's. Still is, to a lesser degree.
Teenage Anarchist: Don't let the exterior fool you, Sigrún is an Anarchist. Both theory and praxis.
Always Antifascist: Sigrún has no qualms about masking up and taking it to the streets.
Two Points for Honesty: Sigrún is earnest to a fault. Deception isn't her strong suit.
Killing You Softly With Her Broadsword: Sigrún teaches historical weapons and combat styles to amateur enthusiasts and for productions on stage and screen.
Separate Your Light from Lime: Sigrun is a firefighter trainee for the Philadelphia Fire Department.
"Wise thought her the valkyrie; were welcome never men to the bright-eyed one, her who the birds' speech knew well. Greeted the light-lashed maiden, the lily-throated woman, the hymir's-skull-cleaver as on cliff he was perching." - Þorbjörn Hornklofi
Mask
Standing somewhat under six feet in height, Sigrún nonetheless cuts a rather imposing figure. Deceptively strong, built low to the ground, broad of shoulder, and strong of back, Sigrún is either no stranger to farm labor, the gym, or both. Her beauty-- such as it is --is colored by her rough hewn attire and general avoidance of modern cosmetics.
Mien
Tall and straight backed, broad shouldered and fierce, the valkyrie shines with inner light. A subtle glow like an alabaster lamp highlights the lapis inlays in her skin, like tribal tattoos that wind their way over her arms, legs, and face. Her braided hair tends to be worn up, the better to allow for a helmet. She wears fine furs and soft linens, knee high boots, and leather britches.
Mantle
A dry heat, one that comes from above, rather than rises from the earth. On occasion, a raven might sound, or the beating of distant drums.
What am I supposed to do If I want to talk about peace and understanding But you only understand the language of the sword What if I want to make you understand That the path you chose leads to downfall But you only understand the language of the sword What if I want to tell you To leave me and my beloved ones in peace But you only understand the language of the sword So I let the blade do the talking... So my tongue shall become iron And my words the mighty roar of war Revealing my divine anger's arrow shall strike All action for the good of all I see my reflection in your eyes But my new age has just begun
The sword is soft in the fire of the furnace It hungers to be hit and wants to have a hundred sisters In the coldest state of their existence They may dance the maddest in the morass of the red rain Beloved brother enemy, I sing my sword song for you The lullaby of obliteration, so I can wake up with a smile And bliss in my heart
Coexistence, conflict, combat Devastation, regeneration, transformation That is the best I can do for you I see a grey gloom on the horizon That promises a powerful sun to rise To melt away all moons It will make the old fires of purification Look like dying embers