Imagine the life of a child in the Timaran streets. No mother, no
father, only a persistent hunger. Of course Yngfre stole, you would steal,
and so she did. At first it was free food, and then it turned into awkward
chats with the day guards. And finally, when pinned in the alley, it turned
into her against him.
Ten years later, as a youth offender, she was released. And on her first
day, another, privileged no more than she, said, "I will show you how to
live," and extended a frail hand to her. Yngfre followed the man, he looked
old and homeless, just like a beggar, but there was something about him.
She had noticed the tattoo of something obscure on the back of his hand.
They soon reached the South Side Kitchen, where warm soup accompanied them
on a table. The old geezer gestured for Yngfre to examine the room, the
environment, the people, and how they interact with one another. He began
to philosophize as Yngfre listened and took in her first true lesson. From
this moment forward, she was to join the Thieves guild and ascend to her
pinnacle. Only there could she truly make a difference in the world.
Birth of a Street Rat
Yngfre joined the guild of thieves and rose through their ranks, but fell
back into life of a homeless peasant. She used what she would gain from the
rogues to live a modest life, but not one that was short of heartache. Her
big heart always got in her way, and as time passed she grieved her loved
one's absence. Was it true love? How could such a thing cause so much
Not knowing if Kaa was alive or dead, she had missed him dearly. She began
resorting to alcoholism to drown her sorrows, she no longer cared if she
lived or died. This clouded her judgement, the decisions she began to make
were out of desperate measures. To have friends, but betraying them, trying
to find a replacement for Kaa. She grew careless, after all she had always
been abandoned. These times were no different, the liquor seaped deep
within her veins however.. There was one thing she never forgot about.
Practice makes perfect they say. Yngfre turned back to the guild to hone
her craft from the shadows. She never had anything, and everything she
loved was taken away from her. A dangerous envy combined with the sorrowful
fountain of alcohol she consumes has now led her to a life of preying on
unsuspecting victims. She wants what they want, and she wants them to feel
the pain of loss she has carried undoubtedly on her shoulders.
Alcohol and Kleptomania
Life has been a difficult charade for this Grand Mistress of Larceny.
She continued to excel at learning the way of rogues, many of these
abilities were second nature to her. Yngfre cannot control any flow from
the bottle, much less whose pockets her hands dip into. This caused issues
in the past between herself and highly skilled fighters like those from the
Keepers, and those of the Warlords. It has never helped that the girl
showed a fearlessness until backed into a corner. However, credit to her
daily routine of thievery and guile, Yngfre caught glimpse of something
It wasn't anything particularly physical, but those who wielded this had
power with their silver tongues. She grew envious, as always, wanting more
and more. The girl shadowed the Heralds examining them before shyly
approaching one of their kind. A deal was met, and to finally have shelter
and a family, she would work. Literacy was never her strongest suit but
with practice and lessons from Mistresses and Masters, she felt undeniably
comfortable chasing this path. And to seal the deal, there was free
firebreather for her to consume.
As old ways should have it, her pockets are still not full enough. But the
girl has grown a mind as sharp as knives, and she chases the gift of gab.
Yngfre's short tenure of Heralding was nothing short of wild and chaotic.
As old habits resurfaced, the halls she looked to for shelter kicked her
out. Her thieving ways and embrace for chaos surrounded her like a
villainous shroud, and the reputation was too much for certain Heralds to
harbor. As it were, Yngfre accepted this fate and continued on her path of
fanaticism under the beliefs and principles of Zafrin. She came across
something familiar on her way, a dagger. This was no ordinary weapon, it
was a unique weapon, a powerful artifact not meant for the weak-spirited.
This became her focus, perhaps with it she could finally defend herself
against any who opposed her, it was power. From the shadows she would
tenderly caress her Ruby, the red glint filling her eyes as she would stare
in bewilderment. Over time, Yngfre began to talk to the dagger. She felt
empty when the dagger was not in her hand, she felt alone, like she always
has, but not anymore. The girl had become as skilled as ever, influenced by
the entity within the weapon, and ever confident to be dedicated to the
winds of chaos. She can be found spreading chaos throughout the lands, but
it is uncertain just what it actually is she is after.
Curse of the Red-Handed
A thieving hand can only take so much before it is caught. In Yngfre's
case, her hand grasped something that had truly changed her. The sick
obsession with Ruby had led her straight to the minions of Darkhan, where
she unknowingly delivered the dagger to it's rightful owner. She was
reduced to a bloody mess, and found herself before His altar, bound by her
own doubts and hopelessness that let Him in. As vile cackling filled the
shrine, freezing tentacles held her in place and restricted her breathing to
the point of feinting.
The dagger had ultimately destroyed her. Her faith, her confidence, and her
love for life itself. With nothing left, Yngfre found herself at the mercy
of the Dark Lord. She would never be the same.
And so it was that the once innocent and pure girl who was wrongfully
accused and sentenced to life in a cell, had become a lady who spoke in
manic sentences about her lost love, Ruby. Throughout her entire life she
chased wanderlust upon the winds of chaos, but the seed of doubt was forever
in her heart. Ten years within a prison cell, and a childhood to grow with
it, left the woman calloused and cold. The Darkness had always awaited her,
for it was a matter of time before she slipped and fell off of the ledge of
Time was no longer on her side, no amount of guile, thieving or lies would
heal her of her mortal injuries. This marked the first time in Yngfre's
life where she did not have a plan or route of escape.
From out behind the petite human frame, a pair of grey feathery wings
arch high into the air around her. These stormy appendages have a
wingspan that is capable of engulfing her like a tower shield. Their
bottom rows have feathers that have started to turn white from late
moulting, occasionally shedding to drift off into the wind.
This winged human has ashen grey hair that falls beneath her
shoulders unkempt and weathered. The long strands frame a youthful
face that is etched with a stoic look. She looks to be athletically
toned with no blemishes on her pale skin, except for a tiny pewter
ring in her right nostril. Her eyes are a deep, rich brown that are
windows into the calmness of her very soul.