Physical Description
She must be half a giantess some onlookers gasp, the others whisper in hushed tones that there goes one of the Valkyrie. Ylva towers over most other women, indeed, most other men as well, with an impressive height somewhere north of six feet. She has broad, well-shaped shoulders, and a slender, graceful column of neck that supports a pretty, heart shaped face, with high cheekbones, and smooth brow and a beautiful, full mouth with lips the colour of ripe cherries. Her eyes though, are sharp, and hard, like two chips of clear ice, with the gaze of a tyrant Queen shining out of them. Her hair is all honey yellow and spun gold, and long, reaching all the way down to the back of her knees, and usually kept in braids, that’s woven together repeatedly until there is just the one thick rope of it all.

The young woman is not just wide of shoulder, but of hip as well, with flesh and muscle trained and hardened until it ripples beneath her pale, silken skin. Heavy of chest, hip, thigh and rear, she is a shape and form that just begs for a statue, one where she’s wreathed in the soft folds of a sheet, or a flowing gown, or a farmwife’s humble dress.

What most get is a fearsome storm, of thundering eyes, balefully glaring out at them from within the shadow of her conical helmet, and the chiming of chains and the creak of leather as the armoured warrior maiden comes charging at them with her sword held high, and the shield raised before her like the prow of a mighty ship.

Personality
Beauty made Ylva arrogant and vain in her childhood, her inherent bravery and mule stubborn determination made her a nightmare for all the servants, as the wilful girl would not let anyone tell her what to do, or who to be.
She shed none of these traits as she grew up. If anything, they all got worse as her beauty matured, and she grew in stature, and grew capable with a weapon in her hand.

She’s not rotted all the way through though. She has a strong sense of fairness, a strict code of honour that she will follow, even when it rankles her to do so, and while she might have a high opinion of herself, and a lower one of anyone she finds not measuring up to here expectations, she bravely stands up for those who can’t fight for themselves.

History
Ylva’s history was not her own, not for a large part of her life. She was the beautiful, golden haired child of her father, the famed warrior and wandering hero Harald the Peacemaker. Who slew monsters in the deep dark woods, fought in clan wars and won the day over and over again, defeated corrupt and evil chieftains, and saved his fair number of maidens as well. Who, when age began to gnaw at his strength, retired with is wealth to the lush, green, steam covered weald of the Greenscar, and built his legendary long house Harald’s Hall.

It is in the shade of this great man that Ylva grew up, his only legitimate child on his wife, and a daughter at that. The warrior of legend had no true born son to inherit his lands, his wealth, or his true treasure the Greenscar itself. He had plenty of bastards though, from his years of adventures, and he gathered them all to him at the Hall. There he taught them how to fight like him, how to be strong, and know no fear. While his daughter was left to her lonesome. She lived her life half out in the wild forest that surrounded her home, running through the weald and the steam, bathing in the hot pools and living up in the trees. Then she spent her falls and winters being pampered in the long hall, and basking in the adoration and the praise heaped on her by visitors and bannermen alike.

She always thought, that as the only true child, she would inherit the Greenscar that was so dear to her, and the long hall that was her home. Foolish, and naïve perhaps, and she was dissuaded of this notion when she overheard her father talking to one of her bastard brothers and one of his counsellors, detailing his plans for one of his sons to be declared as the heir, and the mission to find a suitable husband for Ylva. She was furious, she was out of her mind with rage, and she was just ten years old.

The next day she picked up a wooden practice sword, and began to swung it in the yard. She had no idea what she was doing, or how to improve, but she would swing that stick until she knew how to do it, or she’d lose her arm in the trying. It didn’t take long before Browntooth, an aged, half blind warrior and former traveling companion of her father, to take pity on the child. He showed her what she did wrong, taught her all he knew, which turned out to be much and more. With the years the small scrawny girl grew in to a fierce, and towering woman, who on her twentieth birthday, which coincided with her first encounter with her chosen fiancé, decided to confront her father about her right as his heir.

She was laughed at by the whole long hall, including her new betrothed, an odious toad of a man, with riches that her father wanted as a dowery. It was the last straw. Ylva saw red as she grabbed the closest thing that resembled a shield, which was the heavy, black lid of the cauldron that sat on the fire, and for a sword she took a chair leg, snapped off by her own hand in a fit. Swearing that she would earn the right to be Harald’s heir, she proceeded to fight her way out of the long hall, beating every one of her brothers along the way, and her fiancé as well for good measure, before storming off to her chambers, to gather her things, before setting out in the world to prove herself worthy…