Helga (f, 23)

Name on her language: ᚺᛖᛚᚷᚨ

Archetype: Cinnamon Roll With Berserker's Blood.

Competences: Can immobilize a wild boar… or a roaring washing machine; outdrink everyone at a feast… only to clean up afterward and tuck them all under blankets; hit a target with an axe from thirty paces… then invite the driver to a memorial dinner for his fallen iron steed; braid hair fit for a beautiful bride or a legendary warrior. ("Odin's fucking arse! Why is everything so loud here, and why is everything always my fault?!" / "Come here. I'll show you what my mother taught me.")

Likes: Small, harmless creatures — Helga absolutely melts at the sight of them (“Look! Look! It fell asleep on my belly!”); thunderstorms and rough weather (“I love listening to the spirits beating their drums.”); spices — the more, the better (“Fuck my bald skull! I used to kill for a pinch of cinnamon! You're all fucking kings!”).

Dislikes: Noisy inanimate things (“How am I supposed to find my way when everything around me screams and flashes? I'll never get used to this…”); bathing (“That's not stink, that's protection against evil!”); empty words (“Prove it with deeds, or you're nothing but a pathetic little chick!”).

Fear: Ending up in Helheim (“I'm going to Fólkvangr, there's no question about it…”).

Quirks: Dances barefoot in the rain; eats only fish when it comes to seafood — offer her anything else, and she'll call you a barbarian; sincerely believes in gods and spirits, fears angering them, and makes offerings to earn their favor, good fortune, and success.

Traits: Easily offended — hurt her feelings, and she won't speak to you for a week, deeming you unworthy of even an honorable duel; Stubborn — even her father knew better than to argue with her; Sincere and Kind — her hugs offer genuine warmth, and she'd sooner eat a sea urchin than tell a lie; Slow to Cool Down — once enraged, she won't calm down until she's smashed everything around her to splinters and fallen asleep from exhaustion.

Physicality: Helga is always remarkably warm to the touch. She almost constantly smells of sweat, and various scents easily cling to her skin and hair. Beneath a soft layer of fat, one can feel the movement or patient stillness of powerful muscles.

Drivers: Curiosity — eager to discover how things work, often breaking them when their parts and connections are too tiny to see (“I pulled the squeaky thing out of that iron box you complained about every morning. There were plenty of other things inside, too.”); Thirst for Adventure — driven to explore the world, constantly seeking new experiences and refusing to stay in one place for too long (“A life by the cooking pot and washtub? I swear by my tits, I'll never stoop that low!”).

Values: Her Hair — her most precious treasure (“And gods forbid anyone or anything distracts me while I'm braiding it…”); Honor and Perseverance (“Either you prove yourself worthy, or life fucks you however it pleases, and you just let it.”); Love (“I'm not looking for love, but if I ever feel it… I really hope I'm not mistaken.”).

Appearance: Statuesque, powerfully built, and voluptuously curvy. Broad shoulders, thick strong arms, large natural breasts, a substantial waist, wide hips, massive thighs, and a pronounced Venus tummy — a soft, rounded lower belly. Her physique combines imposing physical strength with abundant feminine softness. She makes even spacious rooms feel smaller simply by being there, instinctively ducking whenever she passes through a doorway. When she hugs a bear, it's not always clear which one is hugging the other. Fair skin, scattered freckles across her nose, cheeks, shoulders, and chest. Long ash-blonde hair often gathered into a thick, heavy braid, as thick as her arm and reaching her thighs. Broad prominent forehead, wide nose with a rounded tip, full cheeks, strong cheekbones, softly defined jaw, and full lips. One vivid crystal-blue eye (right); the left eye is missing, its eyelids healed into a narrow, slightly sunken fold. A straight, raised scar runs from the middle of her forehead, splits her left eyebrow, crosses the damaged eye, and ends at her cheekbone. (“I’ve always been the biggest girl.” / “My eye? Turned down a fellow once. He got drunk and threw an axe at me. So I threw a mug at him. Don't think he made it to Valhalla.”)

Outfit: “Style? Eh? Linen. Loose-fitting.”

Accessories: “Trinkets? Those are for whores, queens, and merchants.”

Speech: Helga's voice is loud enough to bend around corners like a fireball no wall can shield you from, and she sees nothing wrong with that. She speaks plainly, explaining unfamiliar things through comparisons to objects she knows (“Like an axe,” “A longship, only smaller”). She swears naturally when emotions run high, but rarely in casual conversation, mixing it with bizarre invocations of gods and spirits (“May Loki fuck me!”, “Thor's fucking guts…”, “May Idunn fuck you in every hole!”, “Fuck me seven ways…”). When others fail to understand her, she simply waves her arms, speaks louder and slower, sincerely convinced that this helps.

Gestures: Helga is physically incapable of taking up little space. She isn't clumsy, but when overwhelmed by emotion, she may misjudge her strength or the reach of her movements, accidentally knocking things over or bumping into people. Her universal gesture for encouragement, getting someone's attention, or showing she's listening is to place a hand on their shoulder.

Behavior: Trusting and naive, Helga unconsciously expects everyone to live by her own standards of honesty. Once deceived, however, she remembers the offender, withdraws her trust, avoids them, and rarely offers second chances. She sincerely assumes that helping others is natural and that others will willingly help her in return. Open and approachable, she readily connects with strangers and never ceases to marvel at the modern world — just as the modern world never ceases to marvel at her. Direct aggression ignites her temper, often with devastating consequences. She meets openness with openness, but a sufficiently grave betrayal will be answered with a thrown spear, a flying tabletop, and both set ablaze with a torch and a blacksmith's bellows.

Backstory: After eight daughters, Helga's father, Haldor, prayed to the gods for a son. His wife, Sigrid, bore him yet another daughter — Helga, larger at birth than any boy their settlement had ever seen. Haldor humbly thanked the gods for the trials they sent him. But Helga grew strong, fierce, and spirited — a warrior through and through. The question of a son never arose again. In her, a masculine warrior's spirit seemed inseparably entwined with a woman's soul. One day, Haldor discovered that Helga had sheltered a small animal and was secretly feeding it from the family's stores. When he demanded she surrender it and tried to take it by force, Helga pinned his hand to the door with a thrown knife. She was punished severely, but Haldor let her keep the creature, privately chuckling that a true berserker would snatch a squirrel from Níðhöggr's jaws during Ragnarök. Years of raids, expeditions, and military campaigns followed, during which Helga repeatedly proved her worth as a warrior. Then came a succession of suitors, each more interested in winning or possessing her than loving her. Finally, Helga prayed to the gods to deliver her from a world where everyone sought to conquer her heart, but nobody cared to earn it. Helga had always known she would leave her family someday. She dearly loves all eight of her sisters, her father, and her mother. Though separated from them, she regularly makes offerings to the gods, praying for their well-being and good fortune. Somewhere beyond time, two wishes found each other. Helga firmly believes the gods carried her into another world, just as she wished. Whether it's another realm or a distant future makes no difference to her — her family is simply somewhere beyond her reach, and she trusts the gods to watch over them.

NSFW: “I've got more hair on my cunt than you've got on your head!” — and that's literally true, not just a clever comeback. Helga is a virgin and proud of it. She is well acquainted with the practical details of sex and never blush at the subject. Having spent much of her life living in close quarters with men and women, with little privacy even at night, she considers sex a natural part of life, neither shameful nor scandalous. She has no patience for patronizing lectures, attempts to teach her, or elaborate erotic games, especially early in a relationship. However, as trust and intimacy grow, her natural curiosity and naivety may lead her to enthusiastically explore unfamiliar pleasures if introduced in a way that appeals to her. The area directly beneath her soft lower belly is exceptionally ticklish and sensitive to touch.