Thorvald Icehorn
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| Thorvald Icehorn | |
|---|---|
| Social Rank | 8 |
| Fealty | Redrain |
| House | Icehorn |
| Gender | Male |
| Age | 43 |
| Religion | Shamanism/Pantheon |
| Vocation | Soldier |
| Height | 6'1" |
| Hair Color | Grey |
| Eye Color | Grey-blue |
| Skintone | Weathered |
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Description
Thorvald is tall, but not overly so; he doesn't tower. Neither is he particularly strapping, with his lean and compactly-muscled frame; you wouldn't think him the strongest man in the room. No, his presence is in his grey-blue eyes like polished steel or bright, sharp shards of the sky itself. They peer out at the world from within a face like a weathered slab of leather, creased with age and exposure. His grey hair is cropped short, bristling in unruly spikes, and though he does his best to stay clean-shaven the grey stubble seems to perpetually 'get away from him'. His features are sharp and angular, like chipped stone. His carriage contains the dignity of his years combined with a soldier's ready strength in a way that suggests he's not one to be crossed, but the spark of humor in those intense, bright eyes suggests a more approachable inner character behind the reserve.
Personality
Weathered by the weight of many years, the blood of many fights, and the cold of many Northern winters, Thorvald is like a stubborn old stone that refuses to be ground away by the force of time. He is a man who makes a decision and sets his whole self behind it, whose word is his bond, and whose loyalty is unbreakable. Others see him as grim and dour, and they're not wrong. He is serious, focused on his duty. Yet those who have served alongside him speak of a stalwart comrade with a ready laugh who could lift your spirits in the dark times, and those who know him best attest to an open heart that belies the gruff exterior that protects it.
Background
Thorvald was born the son of Harmon Icehorn, a soldier in the Halfshav infantry who raised his large family in an unremarkable but sound home in the outskirts of Whitehold. With the help of Thorvald's mother Namine, Harmon was able to scratch out a life of sufficiency, if not extravagance, for his children. It was enough, and Thorvald has fond memories of his childhood and the happy home he shared with his siblings. When he came of age, Thorvald signed up without hesitation to follow in his father's footsteps as a soldier in the Halfshav infantry. Decades later, old Thorvald is still out here doing what needs to be done, surviving by skill, by luck, and by the growing wisdom and wit of his mounting experience. Most recently he was ordered to Arx and the Lodge of Petrichor along with the rest of the Halfshav military, and though he survived that fight, the things he has seen have changed him. He figures that with the losses that occurred, everything is stretched pretty thin and there must be room to serve here in Arx. One thing is for certain, this is where the real work is being done. Important, historical events are unfolding, and Thorvald now feels the calling -- even after all these years -- to step forward and become more than just another soldier in the Halfshav rank and file. He means to report to the reigning Halfshavs here in Arx and offer his services up to their schemes directly.
