Introduction

Brigitte Yrsdottir stands at 1.96 meters, with light tanned skin that carries the scent of bark and growth. Her left arm sprouts branches and flowers, a living mark of her connection to Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Her right arm bears purple veins and sharp nails, a twisted residue of centuries-old experiments inflicted upon her.

Her piercing green eyes seem to measure the world with both caution and fury. Brigitte dresses practically for combat: a brown hexagon-patterned shirt under a sleeveless jacket, light-gray pants tucked below the knees, black open sandals, and a green shawl attached to her belt that flutters in the wind. At her side rests her preferred weapon—a greatsword, its handle and blade intertwined with vines and wood. On her person, Brigitte carries a small handkerchief, burned, cut, and tarnished: the last trace of her former mate, Ysildea. Though fragile, it anchors her to a past she cannot reclaim. Losing it would ignite a rage as fierce as the one she carries in her heart every day.

The Past

Two hundred and forty-eight years ago, the Dragonstone Archipelago was consumed by the Throne War. Humans and Luminary fought over the Dragon’s Throne and the sacred lands of the Kaleidosian. Brigitte was not a diplomat—she was a warrior, sent to Dragonstone to defend the forests, the roots, and the lifeblood of her Luminary people. Within her burned an innate blessing, a tether to Yggdrasil: a living thread connecting her to the Realm of Dreams and the other worlds beyond.

She fought with ferocity, honor, and devotion. But then, her people betrayed her. The High Luminary abandoned her battalion, using them merely as a diversion, leaving Brigitte’s forces surrounded by human armies. Brigitte and her battalion refused to retreat, and for that defiance, she would meet her end—or at least, so she thought. Fate would prove far crueler.

Brigitte’s captivity introduced horrors beyond what even war could bring. Deep underground, in hidden laboratories, humans began secret work to create Subjurforged experiments. Brigitte became one of their specimens, enduring restraints, arcane burns, forced injections of Hordeling blood, and twisted attempts to reshape her body and Spark. Many would have broken. Many did break. But Brigitte did not.

Her rage became her salvation—her only way to survive. Her body twisted, sprouting claws, fangs, reptile-like skin: a beast born of torment rather than choice. The experiments shattered her connection to the Dream; she could no longer feel the pulse of the Luminary. Each day she awoke more fractured, and within her now lived a Beast, raw with destructive instinct.

Then… Brigitte sensed it coming. A feeling as if Yggdrasil itself wept a tear. She remembers operatives and scientists fleeing the underground facility in a panic, explosions and chaos tearing through the halls. No one cared to free her. No one cared for the monster in the cage—except one.

A single young girl saved her, dragging her through the collapsing lab and sealing her inside a cryostasis chamber meant to preserve failed experiments. Brigitte slept while the world(s) moved on.

Reawakening

More than two centuries later, she awoke and escaped the laboratory. Her battalion was gone. The war was legend. Humanity had moved on, and the Luminary had disappeared. Yet Brigitte remained—alive, cursed, and split, her memories fractured and her power unpredictable. She could no longer enter the Realm of Dreams, yet the World Tree’s touch lingered: leaves stirred when she focused, earth whispered when she walked, the faintest echo of Yggdrasil still beating inside her.

But now, the Beast lurked there too.

Every morning became its own battle. Would Brigitte wake first—or the Beast Within? When it did, it was all hunger and motion, blood and impact. The Beast did not plan. It claimed. It yearned for vengeance in whatever form it could take. It wanted battle the way lungs want air. Brigitte learned to fear her own heartbeat, learned that stillness was sometimes the most dangerous thing of all.

Hunters noticed. Adventurers followed the trails she tried to erase. Driven farther from the forests, pressed toward the coast, she reached the beach on a night when the Beast was starving. The sea wind burned her lungs. Her vision tunneled. And there, standing where the tide met the sand, was a Hordeling—red skin bright against the pale shore.

The Beast attacked. The Hordeling fought back—not wildly, but calm. He endured. He gave ground, then took it back. When the Beast finally collapsed, shaking and empty, it was from exhaustion rather than defeat.

And still, the Hordeling did not run. When Brigitte surfaced again, disoriented and weak, he knelt a careful distance away and introduced himself as Gurak. He did not ask what she was. He asked if she could eat. They shared food on the beach, waves rolling in slow, steady rhythms beside them. Gurak spoke little. He did not reach for her. He did not look afraid. That mattered more than anything.

Brigitte returned the next morning. Sometimes as herself. Sometimes after the Beast had nearly taken over. Gurak was always there. He taught her the common tongue, slowly and patiently, repeating words until she could shape them without anger or fear. When common failed her, he taught her a few words of Theran instead—short, blunt phrases meant for honesty rather than elegance. She learned how to say enough. How to say stop. How to say I am here.

They meditated together at dawn, sitting barefoot in the sand while the tide crept close. Gurak taught her how to breathe through the Beast’s restlessness, how to listen without giving in. Brigitte learned that silence did not have to mean danger. Sometimes, it meant peace. Gurak sensed what Brigitte needed most: connection and release. Not control. Not dominance. A place where both she and the Beast could exist without shame.

Eventually, Gurak brought her to the Cage. There, the Beast thrived in the arena. The violence became contained, purposeful. Rhazeth’s interest was piqued, and Brigitte was invited to stay with the family. No questions were asked about her past, and none would be—unless Brigitte chose to speak of it herself. To the family, she is simply one of them: someone society spat out and left to rot. At night, in the Cage, the Beast finds its outlet. During the day, Gurak continues to teach her patience and trust. Don’t fight the Beast, he tells her. Learn to live with it.

Sometimes they still return to the beach. Sometimes they sit in silence. Sometimes they talk.

Two years later, Brigitte has something resembling hope, but the fear remains. Each victory, each clash of steel, reminds her that the Beast could one day consume her completely.

Brigitte longs to reclaim her identity, regain her connection to the Realm of Dreams, and protect others from suffering as she did. She fights for the fragile remnants of herself and for the fading memory of Ysildea, willing to sacrifice everything so no one else endures her fate.

The name Ragnarthane makes her blood boil, yet she avoids the Luminary as well, believing they betrayed her. With the Beast’s hunger for battle still gnawing at her, she delays confronting her past. Her goal is simple and relentless: stay alive, return to the beach, keep both selves intact, and survive long enough to choose who she will become.

Personality

• World-Tree: thoughtful, strategic, stubborn, wise, longing for the Dream, cautious of losing control.

• Beast: emotional, reckless, charismatic, thrill-seeking, ashamed of her rage, trying to outrun fear.