| abstract | - Full name: Brynhildr Swifthammer Age: Unknown, in human years one'd say 21 but I'll have to do research regarding Dwarven age. Title: The Grandmaster's Observer Appearance: Gowned in black leather, spikes attached to shoulderpads, a cover hiding her head, also covering her mouth and only showing her eyes. The cover hides her orange hair, that which was once long and slender, but now is short. Background: Brynhildr, the last surviving member of the Swifthammer house, has not had an easy life. The Swifthammer family has a large history regarding rogues. Bryn's grandfather, was part of the mountain king's special squad. Bryn's father, was an assassin. The latter one, together with the rest of her family, all got murdered when Bryn was an adolescent. A bloody family conflict between two rivalling assassin families caused Bryn to be the only one left of the struggle to survive. She was the one who planted the last blow on the Strongaxe family. Bryn never had a normal youth. She was taught how to read and write at a young age, as well as how to decypher messages in the code of the family as soon as possible. She was the first female this generation had produced, and the last child to be born from it as well. She was told at the start of her life, that she would be a simple decoder, messenger, but nothing less. And Bryn was happy with this, she had no desires to travel the world and battle evil creatures. No, she just wanted peace. Peace and rest. This job, though shady, would provide her such. As she grew up, she noticed all her brothers growing distant to her, closer to the shadows. They abandoned social contact and turned completely isolated. Bryn's father now had finished training the brothers, and together they formed a deadly team. The family's wealth was high, and the family was happy. One certain day, Brynhildr was missing the presence of her mother in the house. Almost of age to leave the house, she shrugged it off and proceeded down the stairs to check if there was any mail. Yet before she came in sight of the living room, she knew something was wrong. There was one dwarven male, heavily breathing, and another, silently chuckling. Words were passed. Her father was the one to breathe so heavily. With a large roar, the chuckling dwarf thrust his dagger through Brynhildr's father. As it was thrust through, she could hear the breathing coming to a stop. A tear dropped from her eyes, as she looked into the room and saw her whole family, together with members of the rivalling family, in the living room, dead. Only one man stood, the leader of the Strongaxe house. They had outnumbered them, hired mercenaries, and tried to kill them in their own house. And yet they almost didn't manage to best the Swifthammer house. No, they had not yet. While the tear still fell down, Brynhildr, darted through the house with incredible speed. Unnoticable to the eye, jumping from shadow to shadow, and meanwhile picking up her father's trusty mace. The other male dwarf, noticed this, and turned white of shock. He tried to make way for the door, but there she stood, mace in hand, her hair covering her eyes. "Yer kille'... me famileh..." And without changing his shocked expression, the male dwarf's head lay on the floor, severed from the body. Brynhildr had charged forward, and used so much force the head had simply flown off. She walked over to her mother's corpse, and fell to her knees, crying, until the Ironforge guards found her. But she had no desire to explain it to them. She rushed out of the house crying, and for a moment the guards had considered following, but in sight of what had happened, they thought it to be best to leave the poor girl alone. They could have been more wrong. For five consecutive days, Brynhildr trained, using the mace of her father, and the dagger the assassin had left behind. She had no experience at all, and was the most clumsy rogue one'd ever find. She lacked stealth, she held power. She would've made a fine warrior, but she refused such. "Tha swif'hamma' famileh 'as ta exis'... i' mus'..." she whispered to herself. She would make sure her family would exist into eternity. The rogue family of Swifthammer, would remain to be famed. It had to. And as such, she would have to become a rogue as well. Not one by stealth, no, one by combat finesse, combining power through agility. And so it started. Seven years of training. Six years wasted, she did not improve. She forced herself to forget what happened, and appear as a cheerful, happy woman to others. She was then caught spying on the guild senate. It was there where she met her new 'employer', an old man, wearing black garment. He busted her, but instead of kicking her out, he invited her to his side, to listen what the (at that time) present chancellor had to say. It seemed the old man was alone. After the meeting, the old man revealed himself as 'Terrafros', an at that time Consul of the Holy Templars. She would work for him, he would pay her. Her assignment was strange, but she followed it: Grow stronger. She got access to training grounds, and plenty of time to train. During this time, she trained hard, and yet for another nine months, nothing had changed. The old man had improved in rank by now, and he checked up on her each month. At the ninth month, he had said: 'Miss, something troubles you. And you try to cover it up. Don't. Let it out. If you do not, you will forever be slowed, burdened, and broken by the thoughts.', and by hearing this, she had turned, and ran away. Away to cry it all out. After an hour, she returned to the training ground, although still sobbing. The old man still stood at the same spot she had left him, but he held something in his hands now. 'Do you know what this is?' he had asked. Brynhildr looked at the bundle, it seemed like a bundle of black cloth. She had shaken her head at him and replied with a soft 'Nae, sir.'. The old man unbundled the cloth, and held it in front of him. It matched the one he wore himself, yet it was smaller. It was a tabard, depicting a golden cross on a black background. 'This is the tabard of the Holy Templars. I have managed for you to join our ranks, should you request so. There is only one requirement.' Terrafros had said, while looking at Bryn. 'You will use your abilities, not to harm those we have allied, you will use your abilities to help us fight the evils that haunt this land. If you put this tabard on, you will have a new family. You will become part of a great force that strives to drive away the darkness. You will have a new future.', and as Bryn heard the last words, she looked up. Without saying anything, she took the tabard, and bowed appropriately in front of the old man, which now carried the rank of Grandmaster. The next three months, Brynhildr progressed faster than any had ever thought she would have. Within two and a half month, she was closing in on becoming a fully trained rogue. Her new assignment, was to observe Azeroth, and other organizations. She would report to the old man when she had found something of importance. She collected a black outfit, from the scraps of her enemies. Each time she had killed something, she would add features from their armor to her own, or in lack, she'd cut off body parts, such as the horns of demons, and add this to her outfit. Now she stands, with a final task, before she is allowed to be named a fully learned rogue. She would travel for Northrend, and prove her worth. We find Brynhildr here, on the edge of a new adventure. On the edge, of reclaiming her family's name.
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