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an  𝖺𝗇𝗒𝖺 𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗈𝗋-𝗃𝗈𝗒  lookalike  has  arrived  in  myrkvjord,  standing  among  the  warriors  of  𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑙𝑓𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑛,  their  presence  impossible  to  ignore.  signe tokesdóttir  recently  marked  their  𝗍𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗒 𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗁  name  day,  &  already,  whispers  of  their  deeds  ( or  misdeeds )  are  spreading.  some  claim  they  are  ℎ𝑎𝑤𝑘𝑖𝑠ℎ,  while  others  insist  they  are  devout  — either  way,  they  are  bound  to  leave  their  mark.  with  a  reputation  growing,  they  are  poised  to  shape  the  fate  of  their  people.  you  might  recognize  them  as  a  shield-maiden,  but  soon,  they  will  be  known  for  far  more ...

full name: signe tokesdóttir.  known by: the valkyrie.  age: twenty eight.   birthplace:  a village outside the ironhold keep.  current residence: the wolfborn clan's nomadic camp.   gender:  ciswoman.  pronouns:  she + her. orientation:  pansexual. occupation: shieldmaiden of the wolfborn clan. allegiance: the gods & the wolfborn clan.

born into the tradition of blood & fury, death was a language you learned to speak from the seeds of your existence. from a small hand upon a makeshift bow & plucking the feathers off of kills, thoughts of dying, decay & the afterlife were as commonplace in your mind as anything else. death did not shake you at first.

your family had surely pleased thor — warriors & shield-maidens of ironblood's best. but your father's thirst for glory & status endured outside of the battle field. attempting to kill his jarl that he sought to depose, he was slain for his insurgence: a hand by the fates, the wrath of the gods invoked. death had revealed itself to you in all its truth & horror. it would follow your family for years to come in quiet grief, stalking the shadows like a resounding omen: death did not care of glory or honour. it only demanded blood & replay.

your family's name was tainted & tradition called for your exile. you clung to your mother & older brother, finding refuge in the drifting settlements of the wolfsborn clan. there, disgrace & dishonour was left only to the judgement of the gods. but still, you failed to sow your roots. blood is blood & yours still ran warm with iron. the three of you lived as interlopers until you & your mother began to learn the ways of those strange wolves & their ancient rituals. you joined your clansmen in their wolf hunts, sought to understand their fated songs & eventually you and your mother were accepted. your mother would warn you not to challenge the gods. for odin's wrath was absolute & the grief that you held for your father was a painful reminder.

but your brother was still of blood & steel. he did not have the privilege of young age to wash away his fury & vengeance for his father. you feared for him, seeing too much of your father in his eyes. what fate was to become of him ? a warrior upholding his kin's honour, destined for valhalla or a killer blinded by hatred & taken by the crone to meet hel ?

grief visited you once again when your brother was exiled. in the lonelier years following, you cursed him, believing his thirst for vengeance to be stronger than his love for his family. perhaps anger was an easier emotion to feel than pain.

distraught, you looked to the gods for wisdom. the seer you confided in spoke in tongues, the air in the hut growing colder. the prophecy she spoke of was one you didn't dare utter aloud — but it spoke of a curse, one that would follow you & your family: a legacy of death & decay.

you had been wolfborn for long enough to believe in the power of prophecy & the inescapable fate of your destiny. but a part of you was still forged in iron & you were bold enough to think that you could change your fate.

under your mother's mentorship you had grown into a capable fledgling shield-maiden. but with the omen of death following, you slowly became consumed by superstition. fearing the gruesome death that awaited you, one that would curse you to the pits of hel rather than to the gates of valhalla, you trained & practised till you were bloody. your clansmen praised your skill & determination knowing not of the fear & inner turmoil that drove you.

being of the wolfborn clan, their nomadic travels familiarised you with the horses that pulled their wagons & carried their scouts. you adopted their ways & became proficient at horse riding, earning you the nickname of the valkyrie as you wielded your weapons on horseback.

yet despite your growing combative prowess, the paranoia from your ill-fated prophecy festered in you like a wound. anxieties & melancholy had plagued you for many years before & now your fears seemed all the more tangible. one dawn you had heard whispers of a mysterious trader that had docked at the nearest sea port, though some believed her to be a sea witch. she granted you an object: something that could alleviate your curse, but imprecate another. the true nature of your curse is something you would hide, as is the object you hide under your bedding.

though you now walk the earth as a noble shield-maiden, the fears & visions that plague you threaten to turn you into something darker.

𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

blood is thicker than water: signe's estrangement from her brother is deepened by the grief they hold for their father. although soren has chosen retribution by blood, signe seems to have chosen a more "righteous" path. [ 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗒 #𝗋𝗏𝗇𝗑𝗇𝗍 ]

spring lambs: a childhood friend of signe from the ironblood clan, estranged by her exile. though they are now different in culture & kin, their bond still runs deep. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

the binds of freyja: sign's betrothed — as a decorated shield-maiden, signe's betrothal was a coveted one. though she sees this potential union as a mere convenience & one of practicality. she fears love & its vulnerability & has little interest to open her heart. could her betrothed find solace in a loveless union or do they feel something more ? [ 𝗐𝖼 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 ]

to shed a wolfskin: someone who challenges signe's closed demeanour & stifled emotions. could be a platonic or romantic dynamic. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

spirits of the forest: a sparring or hunting partner. they share a solace in the meditative nature of the hunt or art of combat. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

more tba !

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a  𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗀𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗋𝖾𝗋𝖺  lookalike  has  arrived  in  myrkvjord,  stepping  onto  the  deck  of  𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒,  their  reputation  either  preceding  them  or  waiting  to  be  made.  ivar the drowner  has  survived  𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍  years,  &  their  name  is  already  whispered  in  ports,  feared  by  traders,  or  cursed  by  the  clans.  some  call  them  𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒,  others  say  they  are  aspirant,  but  one  thing  is  certain — their  fate  is  bound  to  the  sea.  with  their  influence  growing,  they  are  set  to  either  rule  the  waves  or  sink  beneath  them.  you  might  know  them  as  a  rogue captain,  but  soon  enough,  they  will  be  remembered  as  more ...

full name: ivar helbrok.  known by: ivar the drowner.  age: thirty eight.   birthplace:  eldermark.  current residence: sailing the shadow tide.   gender:  cisman.  pronouns:  he + him. orientation:  bisexual. occupation: rogue captain of the shadow tide. allegiance: himself & the lawless sea.

the fates spared you no respite as you came into this world. your mother, too sickly to endure the childbed, left you to the absence of your father: when he was still a thrall, he was taught by the world to not become attached to the bonds of blood as swiftly could the gods take them away.

an ode for what was to come, the sea had its salt in you from your youngest years. you learnt to weave fishnets, how to line, hook, dry, smoke & gut. by the time your father grew too old to build & mend his fishing boat, you learned this too. & though the gods may forsake idle hands, you dared to imagine how far these ocean dwellers could reach. for surely past the horizon, the tides could hold something better than what the fates had dealt you.

food & sleep were often evasive, & the price of your father's freedom from the bindings of a thrall was not a small expense. his former master granted him supposed liberty in exchange for providing his household with a portion of his earnings as a fishmonger. but his cut grew larger with each annum & eventually his incurring debt began to spill.

the demands of his labour was a heavy burden on your father & by your sixteenth year, he had passed. no glory to be found in valhalla, but destined to be forgotten in cold dirt.

through your labours & trials you had learnt that money makes freedom. so when the fates cast down a fair hand one spring's dawning, you dared to reach for it. a longboat had returned with its warriors & traders from three long seasons at sea & with it, riches to fill your jarl's coffers.

by the twenty third hour, a sack of gold had been stolen from the longhouse under the guise of all the drunken fervour & with it, an enigmatic item that would alter your destiny in the coming years. cloaked under nightfall, you slipped away on your late father's fishing boat & left behind the carcass of your former life of insignificance.

on board the black veil, the demands of a deckhand were grinding, but your hands were long since calloused & you had the grit of a serf that knew nothing of luxuries. you had buried your stolen wealth for a time in which it would become most of use & nursed the ambitions in your heart that were too big for a fishmonger's son.

years pass & the deep seas now carry the name ivar the drowner. those who wander its tides know of a man who slaughtered the fearsome erik the bone axe, a mutiny against his pirate captain who was once said to have been unmatched in battle. but no soul claims to have witnessed his death, nor do they know the fates of the missing crewmen who grew suspicious of ivar's feat. ivar became known as the drowner, for the deckhands & raiders of his ship, those who questioned his rank & revolted & whose bodies were later fished out of the sea.

you have forged your legacy in salt & blood — now a captain in your own right, your ambitions are as vast as the open waters. but with your insatiable hunger for gold growing with every pillage & raid, so is the wrath of the skies. divine justice is sure to come to those who defy the will of the gods. is this a price you are willing to pay for your ambitions & greed ?

𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌:

we are merely flesh & violence: former crew mates of the black veil. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

blood of my blood: estranged ties to the silvershore clan. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

bane of my existence: ivar's achilles heel & sometimes his equal, other times his rival. though their connection is strong, their own ambitions & greed are often stronger. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

moth to his flame: someone who is drawn to ivar but is dangerously close to becoming corrupted & burned by his godless ways. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

hell hath no fury: an old lover scorned by ivar's schemes & ploys, using them as a stepping stone to get something he wants. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

the dance of the moon & tide: the seas can often be lonely. this is a longstanding casual affair — either one sided or a mutual understanding. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

our language is gold: a transactional relationship turned friendship. both crave fortune & are happy to help each other along the way — no matter how unlawful or violent. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

god of death: ivar has many enemies & has pillaged, thieved & killed dishonourably to get what he wants. this one wishes to be compensated in blood. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

two kindred shadows: a game of cat & mouse, these two are after the same prize of stolen goods, a bounty, a buried treasure etc & won't hesitate to kill or wound the other to get ahead. the problem is that they are both quite skilled & are beginning to enjoy the challenge & chase. [ 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 ]

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THE NORTHMAN (2022) • dir. Robert Eggers

Anya Taylor Joy as Olga

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THE MUSKETEERS (2014 - 2016)

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#𝐅𝟎𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃, a dependent  curation of fictional bodies as  fated by  𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙰.  script  exclusively  written  for  @ 𝑖𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠  —  do  not interact  if  not  affiliated.

𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑑ó𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑟: shieldmaiden of the wolfborn clan, twenty8, she + her & portrayed by anya taylor-joy.

𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟: rogue captain of the shadow tide, thirty8, he + him & portrayed by santiago cabrera.