matilda de angelis, ciswoman, she / her, 27 — dear all nations, IDUNNA SVENSDÓTTIR has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of SWAN UPON LEDA by HOZIER. the PRINCESS of SWEDEN is known to be IN FAVOR OF making peace. SHE reminds me of AN EMPTY’S BIRD NEST INHABITING BROKEN WINGS AND DREAMS HALF FORGOTTEN. however did you know that SHE DOESN’T BELIEVE HER BROTHER IS FIT TO RULE?
BASICS.
name: idunna svensdóttir
age: twenty seven
birthdate: february 14th
titles: princess of sweden
pronouns: she / her
sexuality: heterosexual , heteroromantic
family: jian svensson ( brother ) , dorothea hakkansdóttir ( sister in law ) , prince vicktor svensson ( brother ) , prince of sweden ( brother ) , princess of sweden ( sister ), queen mother ( mother )
BIOGRAPHY.
you were not born a princess. in fact, some now would even question if you were born a dane, despite the noble blood that ran through your veins from both sides of the family and the title that your brother took for you, gifted you.
your biological mother was the sister of the mother you’ve known all your life. your biological father was a jarl, his lands nestled in the mountains of sweden. he was feared, respected. you can only imagine the disappointment when you came out as a sickly little thing, your cries coming three minutes after you were born.
your father was never an involved man. you were a disappointment, from your sickly nature to the sex that you had been cursed with. you were a bargaining chip, a vessel for alliances that your father could make. he still wished for a boy, though. not enough praying could make his first child a male.
so your mother and father tried again. your mother was a woman prone to sickness, quite like you, so it wasn’t surprising when the babe tried to enter the world a month too soon. your mother was stricken with an infection, and two months after the birth of the boy your father so wanted, she was taken by hel. you were two years old.
your father seemed to spiral when your younger brother passed away. not when his wife of three years died, but when the son he had waited so long to have left him. you were sent to live with your aunt and uncle. you never hear from your father again.
your name changes from hansdóttir to svensdóttir after two years of no contact from your father. you didn’t necessarily notice the change, nor did you ask about your father. your new father, sven, had dreams of grandeur, one’s you did not pay attention to once upon a time, or until it affected your eldest brother.
after years of annoyance from the old king, he overthrew him. it happened in almost the blink of an eye with blood and steel, then before you knew it, you were princess idunna svensdottir, given a newfound respect that you never thought you would be given before. even now, you do not know how to feel about it. you would much rather shrink into yourself and find solace in your books and animals.
― you are terrifying & strange & beautiful ;
something NOT EVERYONE
knows how to love.
sophie skelton, cis woman, she/her, twenty-nine — dear all nations, CHLOÉ FRISEAL has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of MIRRORBALL by TAYLOR SWIFT. the princess of scotland is known to be in favor of making peace. she reminds me of a pretty smile that covers unsavory words & the kind of confidence that drives stuffy ladies maids crazy however did you know that she has a secret identity which she uses to travel & see the world ?
character inspirations: benedict bridgerton ( bridgerton series ) ; natasha romanov ( marvel comics ) ; ella ( enchanted ) ; diana prince ( dc comics ) ; & elizabeth swann ( pirates of the caribbean )
about / tl;dr :
chloé grew up knowing the title of queen would never be hers, unless a lot of very unfortunate things happened. as such, she never quite cared to "act like a lady." of course, she cared what her parents thought of her, and she'll usually still act respectful in front of them, but that won't stop her from seeing the world.
after the passing of her mother , the scottish king arranged chloé’s betrothal to the eldest son of clan eskilsen, she thinks he is the literal worst & is inwardly kicking and screaming about it . outwardly , she is the picture of a happy girl in love .
biography :
TW: mentions abuse & parental death
you are never the picture of a proper princess . you look the part , of course , that much is very clear . with fiery red hair and delicate features , you are easily recognizable as a princess of the braveheart country .
you succeed two older brothers , both already have very clear places in this world : lachlan is the oldest , the heir . then , there’s your second oldest brother , a ‘ plan b ’ if something were to happen to lachlan . and then , there is you . for three years , you are the youngest . you were too young to remember that . finally , there is william , the very image of the baby of a family . you are not the oldest , not the youngest . you are not the most well behaved or the most rebellious . you are not the smartest or the most charming . the only thing you are extraordinary at is being extra ordinary . you are wedged in the middle of your family , in the middle of everything .
and for a while , this is a good thing . you can slip through the cracks , your father has less of an iron grip on you , and you can follow your mother around as you please . your mother is your favorite person in the entire world . she is singularly kind , beautiful , and opinionated . other women aren’t like that . she is your biggest inspiration in this life , and if you were ever a queen , you would want to be just like her .
( one night , when you are around six , she holds your face in her hands , tears on your cheeks , you’ve never felt this sad before – scolded by your father for tearing up your skirts & trying to play with your brothers . stupid girl , he had called you . over & over & over again , stupid girl , stupid girl , stupid girl . there’s only one way you can think to describe this feeling to her : “ mama , it hurts everywhere “ she gives you a soft smile , like there is so much she wants to tell you about your father , and wipes a bundle of fresh tears away with her thumb “ you have done nothing wrong my angel . nothing at all . ” if your father is a dark storm cloud , your mother is a warm light . you think, if your mother were in charge, things would be much better . )
you’ve never had any desire to be queen , no desire for power , only a desire for good . to be a good person , be a good princess , be a good daughter . you place the rebellion in a box and only take it out when it’s time to be someone else . the very act of being someone else is an act of rebellion , however , and in your heart you know you shouldn’t be sneaking out . that you shouldn’t want to experience everything you have . but it’s fun , isn’t it ? it’s so fun being free .
it starts when you are sixteen , and it’s just a quick trip into town . for just one day , you want to be normal . one day turns into another & another & another & it repeats itself until one night , your mother finds you on your way back in . she doesn’t say anything . nods her head , and closes your door . you know she will not be upset , you know she will not tell your father .
your mother leaves you a letter , before she goes . you don’t know if she left your siblings one , you don’t ask . you keep yours close to your chest , it’s a secret between the two of you . she tells you to be kind , be loving , be trusting . trust yourself , she writes , trust yourself above anyone else . you know what is best , dear girl . she finishes the letter, i love you, fly free.
your father seals your fate with a sip of viking ale and a smile . were you really so insignificant to him ? were you really so replaceable ? so inconsequential that he could ship you to a different country , only to see you when you’re allowed to come back ? is it really that easy ?
you feel something for your future husband , among those feelings are : contempt , anger , resentment . you’ve never felt this kind of vexation before , it fills you from the top down . you find him singularly brutish & cruel . in all your years dreaming of prince charming , you had never pictured him a viking warrior , a killer .
your engagement is the nail in the coffin -- it means your mother is truly gone . you can sense that your brothers are plotting . you don’t ask questions . you’ve never wanted to run away more .
gratiela brancusi, ciswoman, she/her, 34 — dear all nations, ODESSA MALIASENOS has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of WHICH WITCH by FLORENCE + THE MACHINE. the MIDWIFE of THE BYZANTINE EMPIRE is known to be IN FAVOR OF making peace. SHE reminds me of THE WAY BLOOD SWIRLS OFF OF YOUR FINGERS IN A BOWL OF WATER, CALMNESS THAT COMES AFTER DIVINE RAGE however did you know that SHE’S ON THE RUN FROM AN ACCUSATION OF WITCHCRAFT?
age: 34
pronouns: she/her
birthday: september 9
alignment: neutral good
sexuality: pansexual
connections: parents (deceased), cyrus (husband deceased), elvy (daughter deceased), princess albia phokas (moxi) , unnamed noble lady from the byzantine empire (wanted), unnamed royal servant from byzantine empire (wanted), roma friends and siblings she grew up with (wanted)
bio:
you were born into a loving Roma family and community. You all looked out for each other as you moved around, whether the people who lived in the towns were kind to you or not. Your childhood wasn’t without hardship. You lost your father when you were only a child and your community often found themselves having to flee in the night from the outskirts of towns that did not accept you and your culture. You moved around more times than you could count when you were a girl, but your family always encouraged you to treat anyone outside of the community with the same friendliness you treated your friends and family with.
You started training with your mother as a healer when you were only a girl of ten. Though those outside your community were sometimes wary and standoffish towards all of you, they tended to be a bit more open when they sought healing from your family. The early years of your training were spent gathering herbs, boiling water or tisanes, and cleaning materials. As you got older, you became more involved. Cleaning wounds, applying salves and poultices, helping with births, deaths, and all manner of injuries in between. Some people called it magic, but you knew well enough that it was far more practical than that. Soon enough you were trained enough to practice on your own and bring the younger children from the village to train with your on less advanced cases.
In your late teens you married a man from your community, Cyrus. You continued your work as a healer, slowly having to consult your mother less and less. In time you had your own daughter that you named Elvy. You were happy and content, even if they moved frequently. As the years passed, your mother began to fall ill. You discussed with your husband and community elders, and it was decided that your mother would fare better without traveling.
Saving the money and supplies you and your husband gathered from working, your little family approached one of the lords of a town that had been more accepting than others. You asked for a small area of land to build a home and small farm. The lord, a man called Adelmar, agreed so long as you paid him a portion of their profits and he maintained control over what was grown on the land. Your family built a small hovel against a hill with enough room for your family and your mother. It was new to all of you, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Slowly, you got used to working as a healer in the nearby village when you weren’t working around your own home and tending to your mother and daughter.
However, things began to change in the winter. More people sought you out for help as they were getting sick. You did your best to carry the load of patients by yourself, but you could hardly help or cure all of them. Still, you persevered. It was that same winter that brought a new heartache for you and Elvy. A slip on a patch of ice led to Cyrus to having a serious injury. Try as you might, you couldn’t heal him and by Springtime he had passed. With no husband, brother, or father to claim the land or to help your work it, you weren’t sure how your family would survive. You begged Lord Adelmar to let you stay and said you would pay him all you could. The callous lord would only agree if there was something in it for him. In your grief, you weren’t sure what he meant and when he explained, you did something rash. In your anger and your anguish, you spit words at him in your own language – the one you spoke with your mother and your family – a language Adelmar did not know. The avaricious lord slammed the door in your face.
You returned to your home, desperately trying to think of what to do next. Over the next few days, you graciously took on anyone looking for healing with the hopes of scraping together enough money to find somewhere you and your family could go. You were out on a patient’s call one evening when you heard the clamor out in the streets. As soon as you could leave your patient you took a shortcut back to your home, cutting through the woods. It was all aglow with torchlight when you arrived. The small wooden door was open, and it was lit up inside. There were screams from within and you tried – you tried with all your might - to push your way through the crowd and into your home. Into the place where your daughter was screaming inside. When you made it to the doorway the screaming had already stopped. What was left of your family was lying on the dirt floor before you, unmoving. The pieces fell into place like a horrid fever dream in front of you. Adelmar standing in your home. Elvy, bloody on the floor. Your mother lying motionless by the hearth. There was screaming again, and you would only realize later it was your own. “Drag the witch out,” you heard someone say. It sounded so far away. Then you were being pulled away, your knees scraping through the dirt.
Over the next few days that you spent locked in a room, you deduced that Adelmar thought you cursed him that night your husband died. He convinced the others in the town that you were the causes of their loved ones’ illnesses and injuries. Told them you killed your husband. He told them your mother must’ve done the same and that your daughter, your Elvy, would do the same when she was older. So, they took them from her. The only reason you weren’t lying with them was because you had been healing someone else. You weren’t sure how many days passed in that room. You weren’t even sure what they planned to do with her. Burning, hanging – there were so many ways could choose from. It was only when a familiar face brought your food that things changed.
One of your previous patients, a young woman you had treated what felt like centuries ago. She quietly told you that she would be back at nightfall and that you should be ready. You followed her instructions without arguing and the woman led your away as everyone slept. The young woman led you to the forest on the edge of town and gave you a small bit of bread. You were still in a daze but took the charity. You wandered south for days. Barely eating after the bread was gone except when you found berries or seeds that you could identify and drinking only from clear streams. After days and days – maybe even weeks, you weren’t sure – you stumbled across a small house, chimney smoking, set just outside of another town. It was there you crumbled and let the darkness takeover.
When you awoke, you were in a bed in a room you didn’t recognize. An older woman was taking care of you. You tried to sit up but received quick tutting from the woman. Your caretaker began speaking to you, but it wasn’t a language you spoke – Latin, maybe. Instinctively, you shook your head and spoke in your own language – the one you hadn’t spoken since you last saw your family. The woman nodded knowingly, as if she should have guessed. When the old woman spoke your native language back to you, tears welled in your eyes. As the woman tended to your wounds and helped your recover, you explained your story. It didn’t feel real and somehow it also felt like the most grave and tangible thing anyone had ever experienced. The other woman had no words to comfort you but combed the hair away from the tears that streamed down your face.
It took you months to recover from your time barely eating in the wilderness. You had new scars littering your knees and legs from where briars and vines had cut into your skin. But you had a way forward. The old woman who saved you, who you now knew was called Esmeralda, was once a famed midwife and healer. Esmeralda still helped with deliveries on occasion, but her vision and hearing were slowly leaving her. With your help and a bit of training in midwifery and Latin, the pair of you would be able to help anyone expecting in the surrounding area. You spent almost three years working around the nearby villages, helping with pregnancies and ailments when you were approached by a well-dressed man on a horse.
The man was looking for a pair of midwives he heard about, so they help the noble lady he was in the service of. He spoke Latin, unlike the previous Lord you had encountered, but you were still hesitant. Your previous encounters with a noble had not ended pleasantly – but Esmeralda reassured you. You were provided with horses and led on a weeklong journey to a new land. You finally made their way into a vast city with a much warmer clime than you were used to. You were led to a massive house – perhaps even a castle. You had never seen anything like this up close before. You would have been content to stand there looking at the extravagant dwelling in front of you, but the man led you in to meet the woman you would be taking care of.
To both of your surprise, the “noble lady” the man had mentioned was closely related to the royals of the Byzantine Empire. She was only a few months into your pregnancy but explained that your family and the royals were making their way to Scotland for safety. You and Esmeralda were to travel with her and make sure she was well taken care of along the way. With nowhere to go but the small house Esmeralda owned, you agreed. You expected that Esmeralda would, too, but were shocked to find the old woman decline. Esmeralda said that her old body would not stand the long journey and cold climates of the country that would be your new home. You tried to reason with her since you had only practiced midwifery for a year but, in her usual way, Esmeralda reassured you that you had learnt all she could teach you. You both stayed with the noble family for a week before sharing a teary goodbye and parting ways.
The journey to Scotland was long and treacherous by sea. When you weren’t caring for your new charge, you were treating the seasickness of yourself and others on board. After a few months on board, you were grateful to see the green hills of your new home. Before the year was out, you helped the noble woman deliver twins with few issues. Mother and babies survived the labor safely. It caused quite the stir around the palace, and you soon found other royals inquiring about your assistance with their own pregnancies and ailments.
Jamie blackley, cis man, he/him,30 — dear all nations, KÁZMÉR HALASZ has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of EXILE by TAYLOR SWIFT. the CROWN PRINCE of HUNGARY is known to be NEUTRAL ON making peace. HE reminds me of THE GLINT OF SUN ON STEEL and FOREVER LOOKING OVER ONES SHOULDER however did you know that HE HAS BEEN SKIMMING MONEY OUT OF THE ROYAL TREASURY? ( jo)
FULL NAME . Kázmér Halasz
NICKNAME(S) . Kaz, Casimir, Kazimierz
AGE . 30
DATE OF BIRTH .
NATIONALITY . Hungarian
GENDER . cis man
PRONOUNS . he/him
ORIENTATIONS . bisexual
RELIGION . roman catholic
OCCUPATION(S) . crown prince of hungary
LANGUAGES SPOKEN . Hungarian, Latin, English, Croatian
BIO .
You are not raised for kingship, that honour has always belonged to your elder brother. Any leadership you are taught is that of an army rather than a country. Your childhood is filled with your younger siblings, the nursery filling throughout the years. By the time you are grown you are second of five.
From childhood you have been taught that it shall forever be your duty to watch your brother’s back- he will be king, you will forever stand behind him. Guards will come and go, advisors will retire, but blood and brotherhood shall last both your lifetimes. You are taught to wield a sword, to hold a shield.
The time comes when you are a man grown yet barely out of boyhood- sent off to fight as so many younger sons are. Heir to nothing, there is a younger brother to replace you in the line of succession if you were to fall. You say goodbye to your siblings, scared it might be the last time you see them.
War is brutal and bloody but unlike many of your men you return home. You walk the halls of your childhood- nothing has changed yet everything has changed. Your siblings grow, your elder brother weds, your father dies, your brother becomes king. You still feel like the same man, standing on the front stoop, staring at your childhood home.
You were never meant to be the crown prince. That has always been your brother. Marius, forever the barrier between you and the throne. Now nothing stands between it and you- except for your young niece, much too little for any crown.
You watch your family, you make sure they do not crumble- not when rumours reach your ears, not when betrothals are sought after, not when you worry for their future- and yours along with it.
the top button of a shirt left undone. a deep ache to feel like you belong. willingly stepping into your own cage. replacing love with a one night stand. sneaking a botte of wine under your jacket. a lost sense of wonder. stains of lipstick on your neck. falling just before the finish line. doing as you’re told. forgetting to eat. leaving before the other wakes up.
stats.
full name : adam ivar gustafsson
age : twenty seven
birthday : july 20th
nationality : swedish
gender / pronouns : cis man, he / him
sexual orientation : pansexual
occupation : servant for the swedish royal family
languages spoken : swedish, english, basic danish
misc.
scars : small bright spots on his knees from landing on gravel while falling off a horse as a child, one faint white line on the knuckle of his left thumb from carving wood, an unevenness to his nose after having it broken and set back into place
sleeping habits : 6 - 7 hours, preferably with nathaniel. mumbles in his sleep
emotional stability : easily broken down, too stubborn to admit it's a problem
alcohol use : regular
zodiac sign : cancer sun, taurus moon, leo rising
alignment : neutral good
positive traits : loyal, honest, playful when it's allowed
negative traits : stubborn, cynical, skittish
habits : bounces his leg when sitting, picks at his nails, sometimes hums when he's working
hobbies : reading and writing ( poorly )
fears : abandonment, thunder and lightning, the dark
favourite weather : post-rain sunshine
favourite colour : lilac
favourite food : new potatoes and salmon
favourite beverage : tea and wine
favourite animal : dogs
tracklist : achilles come down ( gang of youths ), marjorie ( taylor swift ), all i've ever known ( hadestown ), that funny feeling ( phoebe bridgers version ), i can see you ( taylor swift )
biography.
tw: death and murder
you were born to not be seen. you’re raised to not take up space. you blend into the surrounding scenery until you are needed for something, and just as fast as the snap of fingers or the wave of a hand asked you for help, you disappear into the background again once the task is complete. it's drilled into you that you must learn your place, and you do it very well.
you often find yourself helping your father with his job as a servant for the swedish royals when you’re able. you learn how to work a broom, how to best care for an apple tree, how to carry several pints at once without spilling a drop. you’re endearing, you’re sweet, your cheeks are pinched, you’re just like your father and you take much pride in it. you know nothing of what the world has in store for you. you’re curious about your surroundings. your older sister teaches you how to ride a horse, and together you sneak off when everybody else is asleep for midnight adventures filled with made up stories of bravery and happily ever afters while you imagine such lives for yourselves. you pick bouquets of dandelions and gift them to your mother who keeps it a secret from you that they are weeds. you’re taught how to skip rocks, but instead of throwing them you keep them in a keepsake box under your bed. you find yourself out in the courtyard: the moon has slivered down to a shard and you didn’t know of any constellations so you made up your own and named them after the people who love you.
you’re happy. you’re amongst friends. the cooks at the castle offer you apple slices to keep you around, always excited about your presence and the nonsense stories of made up bravery you tell. you keep them company as you grow up in front of their eyes. they still see you as a chid, their chid, and the taste of apples remind you of love.
you fall in love several times a week. not being caught becomes one of your favourite games. hushed laughter and unbuttoned shirts is a regular occurrence. every melody in the world belongs to you.
then, things change.
your mother becomes sick, and soon thereafter she passes. your older sister is quick to join her. you and your father alike are struck with insurmountable grief. for you, it means you stop getting out of bed in the mornings. for him, it means he can no longer perform as well in regards to his work as he used to. the swedish king takes notice, and it is dealt with swiftly. your father joins your mother and your sister, and you are left to fill his shoes. you try to wish yourself dead in hopes of seeing your family again but it does not work.
you stay alive, you keep your two younger siblings fed. your hands shake, but only when no one is watching. you do not have the time to grieve. you occupy yourself with polishing, pouring, boiling tealeaves and doing as you’re told. at night you drink yourself warm. flowers still bloom, stars still sparkle, and you are blind to all of it. you find yourself curling on your bed as you had once been cradled by your parents.
when the king is murdered by his very own advisor, you do not say a word. you do not try to prevent it, you do not run for help. you lock the door and you avert your eyes, but you cannot do the same with your ears. your reward is to keep your position, and so, you're brought along to scotland. you try and use the change of scenery as a fresh start. during the day you do your best to shine a decent enough light on sweden, and at night you collapse into the beds of strangers to keep your mind from drifting towards the past you're trying to forget.
you fall into the arms of a woman with as many coils as a snake and in return she lands you a broken nose and a belief that this is how you ought to be treated. it is only with the help of a friend that you manage to release yourself from her honey coated claws. out of her arms, you fall into his - but this is different. his hands do not pull you in to push you away once he grows bored and finds something more interesting, and before you even know what's happening you've fallen in love with your best friend.
relationships.
nathaniel : love of his whole life :-)
ilja balogh : best friend
ivar olofsson : coworker, friend
elif kaya : friend
iggy adamsdotter : pet chicken
luke thompson, cis male, he/him, 31 — dear all nations, VIKTOR SVENSSON has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of LIKE A G6 by FAR EAST MOVEMENT. the CROWN PRINCE of SWEDEN is known to be IN FAVOR OF making peace. HE/HIM reminds me of PEACEFUL STRATEGY ARRANGEMENTS & LATE NIGHT SECRETIVE PARTIES however did you know that HE TRIED TO STOP THE COUP AND GOT THROWN IN A DUNGEON BY HIS BROTHER FOR A DAY AND NOW VIKTOR IS OUT TO OVERTHROW HIM?
name: Viktor Lucas Svensson
age: 31
birthday: January 2nd
gender: Cis Male
pronouns: He/Him
royal status: Prince of Sweden
sexuality: Bisexual
Viktor's got the typical personality of a crown prince. He wants to do good for the world, showcase his skills, and ensure his country is safe and happy. Everything is seen through rose colored glasses in regards to actual country strategies. He wants what's good for Sweden. Growing up, he strongly believed that his brother was that exact fact. But the more and more he learned being the crown prince, the more and more he wasn't sure. This resulted in a massive problem. His brother's policies simply weren't in line with Viktor's own beliefs. A few others members tried to stage a coup, and the prince helped. He tried to speak to his brother about it and it resulted in Viktor spending a day in prison. Now, he wants to overthrow his brother. But he won’t let his brother know this. In fact, right after that day, he apologized profusely and has been the perfect prince ever since.
When he’s not trying to be a good prince, Viktor is partying, trying to live his life and get back some of his youth. Sometimes, he feels like he’s missed out on life because of being a prince. He sneaks out, fliers with whoever he wants and isn’t afraid to say what’s on his mind. In fact, he’s a little bit, or maybe a lot bit of a slut. He absolutely adores getting attention and flirting to get the kind of attention he likes and craves. Viktor will make you his entire world, and give you the attention you want because he wants the attention right back. But he’ll mean it because he wants everyone be to love him. But he won’t let you see too much of it because he wants to focus on his prince duties.
felix mallard, cis male, he/they, 24 — dear all nations, TYR MAGNUSSEN has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of SEVEN by TAYLOR SWIFT. the PRINCE of DENMARK is known to be AGAINST making peace. HE reminds me of THE GLINT OF A BLADE & BROKEN GLASS AT YOUR FEET however did you know that HE KILLED THEIR FATHER & HAGEN HELPED CONCEAL THE TRUTH?
family: magnus hagensen (father, deceased), anneliese ivarsdatter (mother deceased), hagen magnussen (brother, deceased), ivar magnussen (brother), [open] magnussen (brother), clara magnusdatter (sister, deceased), dagmar bjørndatter (sister in law), anneliese hagendatter (niece)
religion: norse pagan
language(s): danish, swedish, polish, russian, english
status: single
APPEARANCE.
hair color: brown
hair length/style: shoulder length, usually pulled back
eye color: brown
height: 6' (183cm)
dominant hand: right
distinguishing marks: several small scars littered across hands, chest, arms, and chin/jaw ; two especially prominent scars on the left side of the face, one jagged from the temple to the middle of the top lip that runs across where an eye was & one that extends from the bridge of the nose down ; several thin scars on lips, right eyebrow, and left cheek
BIO.
you’re born into war, but not the sort armor will save you from. the youngest of your brood by quite some years, your eldest brother, the future king, is thirteen years your senior. doting and protection would abound, but not from your parents. it’s your brothers who look after you and your sister, hagen the most so. you spend early childhood as his shadow, knowing better than to stray too far from your big brother’s protective watch. straying too far means dealing with him. your father is not a kind man raising his children. your father is a general raising soldiers without a war to send them off to. you’re four when he puts a practice sword in your hand, and barely eight when you’re handed a real one. you never take to it like your brothers do. the sword feels unwieldy and awkward in your hands. hand to hand combat isn’t much better. your father tells you you hit like a woman. it’s not that you can’t fight. it’s that the ways you want to train –daggers, a bow, maybe? not to mention your poison knowledge is extensive– do not align with your father’s vision for you. come to think of it, little about you aligns with what he wants.
you’re a child when talks of betrothal reach your ears. in your father’s opinion, you’re not much use for your strength, but you can still be useful in alliances. you and a young girl from another clan are promised to each other, and every time a visit is made in either direction you’re all but shoved together, like the forced socialization will help. you don’t like her. it isn’t necessarily anything she says or does or how she acts, you just. you don’t like her. something is off. you don’t have the vocabulary for it, yet, but. everyone tells you she’s beautiful and you’re going to be so lucky and they bring up children. you hate it. it feels wrong. you don’t voice any of this, though. you've been nothing but a disappointment your entire life. you can't fail at this, too. this betrothal will break, later, along with a few other constants from your life.
and this is how your life proceeds. training, studying, learning when to duck and when to just let him hit you. you learn not to cry. you learn when to just endure the shouting and when you can clamp your hands over your ears to try and block it out. when you’re 12 you take a blade to the face, at your father’s hand. he misses your eye, just barely. the scar is pale now, almost unnoticeable if you just glance. it’s your punishment, he asserts, for losing your focus in training. go stop the bleeding and come back. and so it goes. for years. you learn to take a hit, get back up, get hit again. you're 16 when a guard is instructed to swing on you, and does not concede you the mercy of missing. now, your father asserts, you can look as useless as you are. this will cost you an eye, an injury that spells the end of any hope you might be good enough for him. he's already written you off. there is no comfort to be found with this brute. you've long given up on the idea he's even trying to toughen you up. you're not a hope, you're an example. one thing your father should have anticipated, however, is that you can only kick a dog so many times before it bites. you’re a powder keg waiting for that one, good spark. once you get it, you’re going to blow.
that spark does come. the two of you had been left alone, and– well, really, the full details are a blur. he was in your face, you’d upset him, somehow. he was yelling, he grabbed you, you wrenched your arm away, tried to shove him away from you, panic overtaking logic. the look in his eyes as he advanced forward is the last clear memory you have. you don’t remember picking up the rock. you don’t remember hitting him. he’s on the ground. you hit him. you hit him. you hit him. you drop the rock and you just….stare at him. he looks…pathetic. he’s still alive. you can see him gasping for air, his eyes going unfocused, and he just lays there. is he dying? oh gods, what have you done? you don’t move. you don’t help him. you stand there, and you freeze. if you get help now, will he survive? but if he survives, you’ll be executed for what you’ve done. your brother can protect you from much of his wrath, but not this. but can you really stand here and wait for him to die? you don’t know.
it feels like ages later you make your choice. you have to find hagen. even if he cannot protect you, you need him. you're hysterical when you reach him, and he hardly understands what you try to tell him. there’s been an accident. it was an accident. an accident. help is too late. you're both horrifically aware of the seriousness of the situation. you've prided yourself on learning to be quick, to plan for everything. such a skill escapes you now. hagen, though. his plan is simple. it's quick work, and the story quicker still. clearly, magnus had overindulged, as he was known to do, and in his staggering, lost his balance and bashed his head heavily, right on this corner here. what a pity. clearly you’d tried to help. you’ve grown up around most of these people. the idea you could ever have something to do with it, well. it feels preposterous, even if the circumstances are a little strange. the king’s death is ruled a freak accident, and life goes on.
nightmares plague you. when you close your eyes you swear you see his staring back at you, glassy and unseeing. you swear you can hear him screaming for you. it’s horrific. you barely sleep. you’re prone to nodding off at meals and at meetings and even sitting to watch the others train. you’re easily distracted, often staring off into space, oblivious to what happens around you. you know people are concerned. but what can you do? hagen takes your father's place, and he and dagmar settle into their new roles. you and hagen never breathe a word of what really happened. you'd almost convince yourself of your own lie if you didn't still see the blood on your hands some nights. you do what you can to ignore the emotions it stirs up, falling into beds it would be best for you to avoid, overindulging yourself in a marked uptick. doing anything you still can to keep yourself busy. you think you manage it well, until. hagen is killed, and a third king is on the throne in your lifetime now. losing hagen sends you on a spiral. grief is not an emotion you understand well, having been so young when you lost your mother, guilt ruling over any grief for your father. this, though? this is a pain you haven't yet known.
you do what you can to shake it, to ignore it in favor of the things still left to do. hagen leaves behind a pregnant wife, and not long after his death your niece is brought into the world. from the moment you see her, the connection is strong. call it guilt, call it all you know, but as your brother hovered in your own life, so do you in hers. he isn't here, and you know if he was he would have doted upon her less like a mere princess and more like a girl granted godhood. he cannot, but you are here, and you want to see right done by her. the news of an invitation to scotland has you wary. you do not trust easily, and though...certain things may sway your hand, as it stands you do not trust the people as a whole, and you do not want to participate. but news of the viking clans in attendance leave little choice. they cannot be left to form alliances. you need to secure your own. and so travel you do. had you known then what you now know, you would have said to hell with it all. ivar can go by himself. you will not allow the others to be in harm's way. but you did not know. and so you all went. and now tragedy has struck once more, your sister, your only sister, struck down in the night by a yet unknown assailant. you have your suspicions. by now, little else is left.
— dear all nations, OSKAR ASULF has crossed the city borders to edinburgh to the sound of DAYLIGHT by DAVID KUSHNER. the CLAN MEMBER of HALVEN MADSEN CLAN is known to be AGAINST making peace. HE reminds me of BLOOD STAINED TEETH, AND SCARS OF BATTLE STITCHED ACROSS SKIN; THE SMELL OF COAL AND IRON however did you know that DURING ONE OF THE RAIDS, OSKAR SPARED/SAVED A GIRL BY HIDING HER UNDER DEBRIS. HE IS ALSO FOR MAKING PEACE BUT FEARS HE WILL LOSE HIS PURPOSE IN LIFE ?
tw: death, illness mentioned, injury
[ statistics ] ⸻
full name : oskar asulf
nicknames : os
age : 29
gender + pronouns : male he/him
orientation : heterosexual
[ appearance ] ⸻
height : 6'0
hair colour : brown
eye colour : deep blue
dominant hand : left
distinguishing scars : small scar underneath his left eye, many deep scars that run along his left leg from when they had to cut the arrows from his leg.
brown usually in some sort of braid. the only time it's not is when he is getting ready for bed. since getting injured now has a slight limp to his walk, he refuses to a cane. wears a scorn look on his face for the majority of time. tattoos decorate his body, one on each shoulder.
[ background + family ] ⸻
birthdate: january 9th
rank : strategist, viking
mother : astrid asulf (deceaed)
father : ubbe asulf (deceased)
sibling(s) : n/a
[ introduction ] ⸻
amidst a frigid blizzard, you made your grand entrance into this world, unleashing chorus of cries that echoed through the night. your arrival was not without its challenges, for it came at a great cost - the life of you dear mother. your father, once a loving man, became distant and cold. he was present only at meal times, until you grew tall and strong enough to wield a weapon.
warriors ran in your blood, a legacy passed down from your father's father's father. he was legend, or so the stories went. and your father was determined to carry on that legacy through you. he trained you relentlessly, never once praising you unless you were perfect. but perfection was an impossible standard in his eyes.
when your father fell ill and passed away on your nineteenth birthday, you were left to fend for yourself. you joined the halven madsen clan in their raids on england, , not for the sake of land ownership, but for the thrill of battle. fighting was all you knew, thanks to your father, and thanks to him, you were a force to be reckoned with.
but you were not just a fearsome warrior on the field. you were a clever one too. when a few sharp arrows found their way into your leg, your career as a soldier shifted, you became a strategist, or perhaps you were already one, planning not just the next five moves but the next twenty. though you now walk with a limp, and cannot participate in battles as much, you are far from an easy target.
you were raised to be nothing more than a warrior and a warrior you shall die
[ hooks ] ⸻
it's been just bit over 7 months since his injury. while normally a grumpy person, his leg sometimes throbs in excruciating pain making him in an even worst mood.
has always been one to outsmart his opponent. yes, brute force works just as well, but seeing the look of disbelief of being outdid on enemies brings a smile to his face.
is aware of the amount of hate he has gained over the years, and does not care.
is only soft toward animals and very, and i mean very, few people. would rather be alone.
being raised for one purpose, oskar doesn't know what his plans are for the future should there be peace. secretly, he wishes for peace, but what does someone who smells of war do in times of peace?
