Profile of Sif

Just as the Norse Goddess she was named after, the young woman is swathed in a treasure trove of golden grain locks, resembling a field of wheat blowing in the winds feverishly. Some may more so compare it to that of the sun or phoenix wings as the tawny and coal meld, forming the illusion of glowing fur along her dorsal. A dove’s wings gently crest the top of a small yet fluffy chest. Not much further up, one is greeted by a single embed gilded in gold, crackling and sputtering lava as emotions shift and threaten to break free from their hold so steady yet crumbling, before an ice seems to frost them back to a calm melancholy gaze.

She has countless scars decorating her athletic frame, hidden by countless layers of soft dense fur. Left eye damaged from the war then removed by a Doctor after being determined that it was an infection risk.

Fear means you have already foresaw a path of defeat...
A woman of discipline and code, she carries a mask of professionalism and manners as a bustling of hot and cold is tempered within, threatening to crack it. She wears the worn armor of a warrior that will fight till her last breath, motivated and thriving on a bloody battlefield more than she does with intimacy. That said she takes pride in keeping casualties to a minimum, no life less valuable than another which can often make her rather harsh.

Under the layers of armor and duty is a sweet girl and a protective mother; nurturing and gentle.

Incapable of lying, she’s likely to divert a conversation in another direction if it’s something she does not wish to address.

Headshot by Ayame

Born a Lowlander | Has lived in the Mainlands most her life

Sif's early life was a joyous time, born within a culture rich family that had slowly dwindled over the generations within the Lowlands but were no less bountiful in traditions and beliefs from their Norse heritage. Her mother was a Colonel within the Imperial Army, a woman of prestige and a little rough around the edges, often with no time to spend with her children once her milk dried up since she swiftly returned to her duties. The little girl had no qualms with this, being left with her dear father never brought a dull day. Though a soldier too, he was more so an entertainer: a fanciful storyteller and bard that could bring a gloomy barracks into a fit of laughter with his tall tales and song. She could never tell what was real and what was fake but every word would bring a smile to her face as it came with quite an animated show.

Those happy days would come to an abrupt end when she was only several months old; nothing ever the same again. One moment her family was there and the next they were covered in blood, even to this day she can't remember what truly happened. After a couple days had passed of trying to mend their broken bodies, a man appeared, cold and calculating. In anger and confusion she would attack the man, only to be restrained swiftly by his towering militant frame with ease. The stranger would provide her with an ultimatum: come with him and serve him. Should she refuse: die where they stood or be sold for the highest bidder in the black markets. Little did she know it was only the start of her nightmare as she was forcefully taken away from everything she knew, learning quickly he was far from a kind nor patient man, breaking her down beyond repair. His name she would just as quickly learn to be Diluc Van Helvig, the young Patriarch of a well known Noble family that had a lavished vineyard and winery.

Favored for her unquestionable obedience as she followed his every order and her tenacity to fight as it neared her first birthday, the Patriarch would offer her the honor of serving in his private sector of the Imperial Army as his sword; something that went against his family traditions. Women weren’t supposed to be soldiers or carry power and as much as she knew this, she was coerced into accepting it, eager to prove herself to him beyond being just his handmaid. Of course it came with repercussions as she was placed under his brother, Yaroslav, a man that adhered to old family traditions.

Upon going to an assessment at the guild, proving herself in ability and leadership skills that only blossomed outside the watchful eye of her family, she would offered rank outside the private sector under the Colonel: Kohl Tiamat's regime. She didn’t accept it immediately, in fear that Diluc would not allow it. Once she finally gained the gumption to mention it, she was stunned by approval.

She would briefly leave the army when she became pregnant and birthed a single daughter she named Aurora, circumstances of which she keeps in secrecy. When returning she would be shoved into war not long after. She’d prove herself time and time again, granting her increase in rank at a steady pace. Toward the last stretch of the war, her daughter would foolishly follow her onto the battlefield, causing her to have to make a snap decision in a change of plans mid move in order to shield the girl from an onslaught of teeth. Sif would lose her eye, a small price to pay to keep her daughter from an untimely death and ultimately the decision saved some of her men’s lives too for her daughter's carelessness had brought a blindside to light. She would be forced to take a leave after the battle so her injuries could heal and to take some time to think of the options they left her with.
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As of the passing year, due to the assassination attempt on the King, she has changed position from Captain amongst the army to Executioner.
Sif has not aged due to the fae, she is actually a year older than indicated.
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Came across her mother's bird at the Ayr aviary while looking for her own messenger. Would decide to keep the Raven, Huginn, as her messenger so he would once again become her family.
Spring of 1710 married Khepri Tiamat and is expecting two little ones with him.

chibis by seffiron

pixel by Birdman