Waltraude

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Waltraude
  • Gender: Female
  • Played by: letztearierin
  • Race: Nordic
  • Class: warrior/hunter
  • Alignment: (formerly 3R; loner/neutral)
  • Deity: Urd
  • Age: apparent: 18; actual: 2019
  • Body Type: curvy
  • Height: 174
  • Weight: 70
  • Complexion: pale
  • Hair: honey blonde
  • Eyes: dark blue
  • Handedness: ambidextrous
  • Scars: none
  • Relationship Status: widowed many times
  • Personality: brooding, somber, quiet, "living in the past", charitable, kind
  • Mannerisms: collecting things; biting her lips nervously; scribbling down things in her diary in Runic script
  • Likes: trees, streams, making pottery, historical artifacts, watching over the dying, telling stories to a willing audience, flowers, swords
  • Dislikes: most aspects of modern life, loud/ignorant people, things that remind her of the losses she had

• Description

  Immortal. Doesn't pick a fight (as she doesn't believe in The Reward), but plans on keeping her head.
  Casual dresser, as she used to that style when making a living as a huntress in medieval times. (In modern times, she works as a veterinarian assistant.) Long blonde ponytail, warm smile, always has a pen and paper around.

• Biography

  As the adolescent, headstrong daughter of a noble warrior in Arminius' forces, she was expected to participate in the decisive battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9 AD, and she was more than eager to live up to that. About halfway through the battle, she got mortally wounded. As she lay bleeding on the leaf litter of her beloved oak trees, preparing to depart to the halls of Wotan, her last thoughts revolved around the hope that her father would either follow her or attain victory. But she was not dying.
  When the Romans were finally driven back, she was collected by her people for a proper burial. At the camp, however, she found herself fully recovered. Her family took that as a miracle from the Gods, and rejoiced. But as the years passed and she saw everybody she loved grow old and die, she got scared. She ran away and traveled under various names in the known and unknown world, trying to figure out what happened to her. From an Egyptian healer she heard about a rare phenomenon of immortality, which affected seemingly random individuals. From this healer she also found out that the only way she can die is by losing her head; the man tried to neak up on her and kill her, but she caught, questioned and decapitated him - resulting in what looked like lightning striking her and felt like an orgasm. After a few more similar adventures, she returned home to see her tribespeople "tamed" by Christianity, which appalled her. She tried to fight the foreign influence, gaining a small group of adherents, but it was a futile struggle. Dissappointed, she left again, falling in love with a Florentian gentleman, who ended up as "collateral" damage in one of her duels. The last time she returned home was in the beginning of the 20th century.
  
  She comes originally from a dream, which I described like this:
  
  "Expect nothing."
  She watched as the letters disappeared, line by line, in the order she had carved them. Then her arms were just as spotless and smooth as they have been for the past two-thousand-or-so years. In the moonlight she appeared to be made from porcelain, like those beautiful Allach figures she saved in her grisly hideout from careless destruction.
  She hated this beauty, but it was because she was used to it for too long. Had that gladius aimed for her neck, or had it spared her altogether, she would have long since been turned into dirt for flowers to root in, instead of tending flowers in this cemetery. She expected to die on that morning, victim to the Roman conquerors - or atonement for the temporary success over them.
  How glorious that battle was! Her heart trembled at the memory. It was only the first time, though...
  Centuries later, she returned to her land to see something incredible. There are few things that can deeply touch somebody of her age - but as she stood in a crowd of fresh young girls, clutching flowers in one hand and the other raised to the bright blue sky, she forgot all else. The years, the lovers, the boredom... even the thirst that shaped her new existence. This sky was her own, and the people under it were hers likewise. She had seen Twilight of the Gods when it was new; probably even inspired the author, having shared a few nights of passion - now she could live it.
  And live it she did... right until the bitter end. And she was left here, with her memories as her only prized possession, in the quiet company of the dead... especially her last true love, whose grave-marker was destroyed by the occupiers, perhaps in the hope that she will forget. Fools! Mortals... there was a time she envied their frenzied pace of life, the petty dramas on their dollhouse-world's stage, their simple joys and hopes - but after that act, all she had for them was contempt. No wonder they repeat history, she thought, if they are so eager to throw out its most precious relics like trash.
  Like when she threw Adalwin's token of love into the river. Being a teenage girl, she used to toy with boys like cats do with mice, coveting only the sweet mead of success - the satisfaction of trampling them under her heels, the wounded look in their eyes, their admiration and pretty gifts. By love untouched, her heart was pure like rainwater, her body free from pain and shame - and taut like a bowstring, ready to defend its pristine condition. Several centuries thence, the carefully carved runestone found itself in her hands again, far downstream in the North, when she was hiding from the Inquisition. Since then it had been lying on the shelves of her crypt, next to other reminders of her exploits. It wound up on a string, which in turn ended up tangled with the silver chain of a dagger from her dearest "Man with an Iron Heart". She didn't even recall Adalwin's face any longer. Only his hair, that too-fine-for-a-man blond hair... the last thing she could've expected to find on someone whose courting she'd return. But then again, she didn't expect to find love either, especially not after seeing so many ages rise and fall into the dust...
  Wherever the beloved dead dwell is hallowed ground, regardless of the veracity or the alien nature of the religion that formally consecrates it. She cannot be assaulted here, near the plot where her dear Reinhard had been interred. And despite the mortals erasing the traces, she, having been present at the funeral, knows the place. She remembers - perhaps forever.

• Character Sheet

  Combat stats

  Raw strength		Agility		Resistance
  Technique

  Mental stats

  Problem-solving		Book smarts		Inventiveness
  Willpower		Emotional stability

  Other

  Beauty

  Tact

  Instinct

  Supernatural abilities

  Memory sharing (both ways)		Rune spell casting		Rune divination
  Detecting Immortals