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House Cliffmore was a barony of little consequence once sworn to House Aviaron and its later incarnation, House Acheron. They could trace their family lineage back not to some neonoble clan bending the knee, rather the daughter of a proud Northern Duchess proven worthy by deeds and gifted lands for her sacrifices to family and Compact. Winters are harsh in the mountains. With already treacherous passes blanketed by snow, it's easy to fall out of contact for weeks or months on end. House Cliffmore built much of their wealth by policing the trappers and furriers operating in their territories, but this meant frequent skirmishes with ambitious Shavs at times when allies were not always close at hand. In the interim period between Prince Ettore setting the rule Aviaron's Peak aside and Marquessa Rhea picking it up, during which House Cliffmore was without a direct liege, the systems in place that might have protected them were allowed to go lax. Their cliffside stronghold was overrun by a band of Abandoned warriors. The singular tomb of both warring groups was sealed by sound of their own steel, which prompted a series of terrible avalanches each more brutal than the last. Their distress beacons were never seen. When the snows were finally cleared away and help arrived, rescuers were met with the vision of a winter siren. They identified her as the Baroness's youngest daughter, Lady Radhilde. First accounts say she was dressed in fine fur-lined silks and icey jewels, with her hair loose about her shoulders. Had it not been for the grime caked beneath her nails, she might have been ready to present at court that very afternoon. With the perpetrators having expired along with any opportunity for justice, the Marquessa needed to improve the situation's optics. She elected to adopt the girl, naming her a beloved little sister and opening the doors of the Glacial Fortress to her. Of course, the two never actually met. Aviaron's Peak is impossibly far from Arx. Don't look at that map! It doesn't account for inclines!

Dark of complexion, soft of feature, and with a clear expectant dark gaze, the woman is the very ideal of Northern dignity and unassuming noble grace. Dark luscious tresses of hair, framing a beautifully sculpted face, brushes past her shoulders and hangs in loose waves when unconfined. She stands taller than an average woman and is of a svelte but shapely frame that moves with poise upon long legs. {w({nCurrently her long hair is tied up in a loose bun, away from her face.{w){n

Radhilde is one of those rare individuals who takes the time to think about her words before she commits to them. Sure, delayed response could be symptomatic of the air deprivation experienced while having been buried beneath a few tons of snow for so long. Much more likely, it's uh... assiduity. A rare and refreshing quality, indeed!