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Life in the North is never easy, and the Bonespire is perhaps the harshest of them all. Volcica grew up on the edge of the Everwinter, always peering out into the white for signs of threat from both violence and weather. She was still a child when her calling became known, the shamans talking of her gifts with the spirits. Volcica was pulled from the path of a warrior and thrust onto an entirely new one. She was taught how to read opens from thrown bones, the rituals to infuse runes with her power. She was shown the sacred places, and learned quickly how to carve bone into the namesake talismans of the Bonespire. She learned leatherworking alongside her shamanic abilities, and quickly developed a knack for chosing who got what item, rather than letting her clanmates pick. The bones spoke to her, she said, and the other shamans nodded proudly. The Bonespire mystics followed their own path, after all-- neither the Path of Elders nor the Path of the Hunt fit what the far North required. Fresh kills were an unreliable way to seek omens when prey was often scarce, but skeletons were far easier to find. Tools of divination were crafted, portents read in the pose of a found carcass. Perhaps armor embellishments wasn't the only reason the Bonespire was named? When Brand weakened Stahlben and the tribes of the North, and then the Horned God threatened, Volcica supported Magnus' move to bend the knee to Sanna. There was only death in solitude, and the Compact couldn't wash away their culture unless they let it. Magnus left on a journey South, and it was only a matter of days until Volcica set out to follow.

It's no surprise that a Stahlben might have skin white as freshfallen snow. The sun is typically weaker in the north, and not all are called to spend a lot of time in it. The moonlike palor of her skin contrasts sharply with dark hair, falling like molten chocolate down her back with just the barest hint of a wave. Her eyes seem bottomless, pits of fresh-turned earth or thick, black coffee. She's tall for a woman of Arvum, with a little more meat on her bones than some might like. There's also something vaguely.. -off- about her. Every now and again her gaze shifts as if she's looking at something no one else can see.

Not all Stahlbens are as cold as their homeland, but Vola exemplifies the chilly distance of the Everwinter. She's hard to get truly close to, as difficult to grasp as a northern wind. She has a purpose, a calling that she enjoys and a hobby she loves, and the woman has never seemed to need much more than that. She's not exactly unapproachable, but those wishing to get her story should probably be prepared to chip away at her cool demeanor.