(no subject)

[ingrid_kief]

Ingrid Kief

Player

Name: Ardruna
Age: 28
Contact Info: Email: ardruna@gmail.com, AIM: Mirisa Erato
Did you read the rules? Fex, of course!
PB: Miranda Otto
Examples: Ingrid rolled her eyes, listening to the idle prattle of the local housewives that gathered in the Chantry. Always the same thing, day in and day out, it seemed. Who was seen with whom. What their children and husbands were doing. Who was supposedly a good match for someone's or another's daughter. Various local rumors--most of which were probably untrue. All very boring as far as she was concerned.

And there was one more annoyance. There was a shutter on the window that didn't quite shut the way it should. Every few minutes, she could hear it squeaking on its hinges, punctuated with the occasional slam. Stray breezes slipped in through the gaps, making the candles sputter and their flames dance dangerously close to being extinguished. Ingrid had relit at least a dozen within the past few hours. Sometimes, rain would leak in through it, dark stains on the stone wall a testament to the errant water coming in, and how long the window had been allowed to languish in disrepair. Supposedly, it was the job of the Chantry brothers and sisters to maintain the building's upkeep, but, clearly, this window wasn't considered a priority.

Ingrid had had enough. Enough of the stupid gossip. Enough standing around without enough to do. Enough of that damnable squeaking hinge and banging shutter. She went and found a rag and some oil, and went to work to grease the squeaky hinges. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed by the others there.

"Ingrid, dear, you don't have to do that! That's the job of the brothers!" she heard one of the women call over to her.

"I don't give a damn whose job it is. It needs doing. I'm doing it. And now it's fixed," she retorted, wiping off her hands.


Character

Name: Ingrid Kief
Age: 28 (born on 15 Molioris, 9:17 Dragon)
Location of birth: Outskirts of Weisshaupt, Anderfels
Race: Human
Class: Warrior
Specialization: Templar
Talents/Spells: Defender, Weapon and Shield

Appearance: Ingrid is an unusually tall woman, standing at 5’11”, and sturdily built at 170 lbs.—most of that lean, solid muscle born from years of hard labor and physical training. She carries herself like a fighter, straight-backed and solid in her stance, and her gait is purposeful, even slightly masculine. This is not to say that she necessarily appears unfeminine, though, as she has decidedly womanly curves and a pretty face.

She has long, wavy blonde hair that she often will wear loose, or else fastened back in simple styles. Her skin is very fair, and much more prone to sunburn than tanning. Her eyes are a light shade of blue, and many would describe them as being soulful, or even sad much of the time. When not interacting with other people, her expression tends to default to one of wistfulness or preoccupation, though her slightly cleft chin does have something of a stubborn set to it. She has earned her share of scars and calluses through long years of hard work, mostly concentrated on her hands (and she is right-handed), arms, feet and legs, but most are faded and nothing is particularly distinctive.

Ingrid usually does not concern herself a great deal with how she looks, but she does try to be diligent about keeping herself, along with her clothing and gear, clean and in good condition. Her manner of dress is generally dictated by whatever is most practical for the weather and the task at hand. Although Ingrid’s sense of feminine decorum lends her wardrobe to primarily simple homespun dresses (frequently embroidered with the Flaming Sword of Andraste, as a mark of her templar status), she has no qualms about donning men’s clothing when skirts would otherwise be too cumbersome, and she will dress in armor if she expects she’ll have to fight. Aside from her late husband’s Joining pendant that she wears around her neck as a remembrance (usually tucked underneath her clothing), Ingrid typically eschews jewelry, only bringing out the few pieces she owns (a dainty circlet she first wore at her wedding and a small necklace that once belonged to her mother) for special occasions.

She speaks with a distinct Anders accent, and her Ferelden is not the best, but her words are usually clear enough to understand and spoken at a measured pace. She has been known to periodically mumble to herself—usually recitations from the Chant of Light—while working on a task.

Personality: Ingrid is a practical woman, first and foremost. She does not like to waste anything, if she can possibly help it. Most of the time, she favors time-honored tried-and-true methods for doing things, but she will accept new practices, ideas and technologies if someone can prove to her that they are more effective than traditional ones. Periodically, she will also display an innovative streak when it comes to finding new uses for items rather than discarding them.

The major exception to this is in regard to her religion. Ingrid is a devout life-long Andrastian, secure and unquestioning in her belief in the Maker and Andraste, His Bride. However, she has not always been in regular attendance of Chantry services, as she has often found herself well outside of cities. She does attend as often as she finds she is able, and holds places and relics of significance to the Andrastian faith in high reverence, but she is spiritually satisfied with acts as simple as reciting from the Chant of Light. With this in mind, Ingrid will stand with the Chantry’s position on virtually any given issue. She does not proselytize, believing that task better left in the hands of the clergy, but sincerely wishes to see the Chant of Light spread to all corners of the world. It is the one book that she has ever shown much interest in reading. The quickest way to offend her is to disparage the Chantry and its teachings in her earshot.

It is also not uncommon for Ingrid to be a bit distrustful of unfamiliar things or people, at least until she gets used to them. She is wary of mages, even those belonging to the Circle, and extremely uncomfortable at best in the presence of known apostates. However, she does understand that magic has its uses in certain situations, and so would prefer to coax a rogue mage into joining a Circle than attack one, and will not execute one unless given a direct order to do so. She has too much familiarity with the Grey Wardens to feel the level of awe and hero-worship usually accorded them by most Thedosians, but she appreciates the risks and sacrifices they take to protect the world from the threat of darkspawn. Most other cultures in Thedas she finds hopelessly foreign, and does not even try to absorb or assimilate knowledge of their traditions, simply smiling and nodding and going on her way. She has met few members of the other races of Thedas, but holds a great deal of respect for the dwarves in their battle against the darkspawn threat. Elves tend to perplex her somewhat as she does not really understand the cultures within alienages and has never met a Dalish. Nor has Ingrid ever laid eyes on a qunari, and has no idea what to make of them personally.

Ingrid is a fairly clever woman, but she operates more intuitively than academically, and few would accuse her of being inquisitive. She likes to reason things out for herself and go with what feels right to her rather than take the time to go look up what some snobby scholar wrote in an ivory tower somewhere. She can read and write just well enough to read and send letters, manage a household and pass the Templar curriculum, but abstract intellectual discourse usually goes right over her head. Frankly, she simply doesn’t care enough to bother with it, since she can’t figure out what use it has on a day-to-day basis. Ingrid also finds she has little patience for overwrought, flowery language, and so usually will speak plainly and not mince words. If that means using the occasional vulgarity to get her point across, then so be it. Lies do not become her, and if she is ever less than completely honest, it is by omission. She doesn’t try to be rude, though, and is more likely to keep her mouth shut if she can’t say something constructive—unless, of course, she feels it needs saying.

When it comes to interacting with people, Ingrid is as solid and dependable a friend as they come. She takes her obligations seriously, and will never make a promise she does not intend to keep. Though she makes a far better dutiful follower than she does a leader, she tends to take on a “mother hen” role in a group setting, especially if those around her are younger than she is. Ingrid is good at following orders, and will usually end up carrying them out regardless of her feelings about them, but she is generally not shy in voicing her opinions on them, especially if she has objections. Still, Ingrid would rather focus on just getting things done than worrying about social dynamics, and so is willing to bite her tongue and work with people (even if she doesn’t particularly like them) in order to complete a task.

Speaking of, Ingrid is very industrious, and always needs to be doing something or else she’ll go stir-crazy. She’s perfectly okay with it being a mind-numbing or repetitive task, even one requiring her to sit fairly still, so long as it keeps her busy in some fashion. She will even redo tasks she’s already completed (such as cleaning or polishing something) if the alternative is being idle. She also tends to espouse the idea that “if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.” Furthermore, Ingrid is very fastidious about maintaining her lyrium intake, taking only the prescribed dosage at the recommended intervals. After several years of addiction, she has noticed a slightly reduced efficacy, but she will not change her dosing unless told to do so by someone in authority in either the Templar Order or the Chantry. Any jitteriness or other side effects she notices usually prompt her to find some task to do to keep her mind off them, and she finds the tactile aspects of good, hard work an effective way to keep herself in touch with reality.

In terms of relationships, Ingrid has had limited experience. Growing up on a farmstead where it was literally miles to the nearest neighbor did not offer her much opportunity to socialize outside of her immediate family. During the occasional excursions into the city, she tended to get teased for her height or had to defend her youngest brother from stares and jeers from the other youths, and so did not feel especially inclined to strike up friendships with her so-called peers. She barely knew her husband at the time they got married, and since his duties often kept him away from home, their relationship was slow to develop. She does not enter into close relationships lightly or easily, and she is a clumsy flirt at best. Not one for professions of adoration or an outpouring of feelings, Ingrid would rather show her affection for someone by doing something nice or nurturing for that person, like fixing a favorite meal or taking care of some unwanted task. Once she feels comfortable in an established romance, something that is sure to take some time, she is a devoted, tender and sensual lover. However, Ingrid has yet to show any interest in seeking a new love in the wake of her husband’s death.

Having lived a hardscrabble life in her youth, like many Anders, there is a certain dolorousness to her—something only compounded by her relatively recent widowhood. If someone looks at her while she’s unaware of it, she’ll often appear somber or wistful. She refuses to wallow in self-pity for long, though, as there is always work to be done somewhere that helps her take her mind off anything that may be bothering her—and she would certainly prefer to work through something than talk about it. Ingrid does have a sense of humor, albeit one that tends to favor wry wit or sarcasm, and she appreciates someone who can make her laugh.

History: Ingrid was the firstborn child of Ilka and Sigvard Bauer, born on their tiny farm a handful of miles outside of the city of Weisshaupt on 15 Molioris, 9:17 Dragon. She always had a sense that her father was rather disappointed that she hadn’t been born a boy, but, as luck would have it, Ingrid was a big, strong lass, and she always worked hard at her many chores on the farm. A second daughter, Olga, followed Ingrid a year later.

The Bauers were a poor family, just able to eke a subsistence living from the rough earth of the steppes. They were able to coax a few grains and vegetables from the dry soil, usually just enough to last them through the harsh winters from year to year, and they kept a handful of livestock—oxen, goats, sheep and chickens—from which they got fuel for the fire, eggs, milk, wool, and the occasional bits of meat and leather when an animal died. Feathers and straw from the fields would be stuffed into pillows or mattresses, and the wool and leather went toward making their own clothes and shoes. Nothing ever went to waste, and they did virtually everything themselves: grinding grain with rocks, carding, spinning, weaving and dyeing the wool, making their own butter and cheese, butchering the meat, tanning the hides, making tallow candles, sewing the clothes, and repairing and patching anything that wore out or broke down back into serviceable condition. It was long, hard, and messy work, with no room for leisure or luxury, but such was the life of farmers in the Anderfels. Only two things provided any respite from the never-ending labor: the Chant of Light and learning to fight.

Life was difficult, and often dangerous, in the shadow of Weisshaupt. Not only were there the nearly insurmountable challenges of trying to scrape a living from the blighted terrain, but also the very real threat of darkspawn always lurking in the backs of their minds. No one, not even the Grey Wardens, could be counted on to care about the well-being of a few poor farmers, so it was up to them to know how to defend themselves. Sigvard had a grandfather, uncle and a brother all who had joined the ranks of the Wardens, and so, in the long tradition of hardened Bauer warriors, he also knew well how to fight to the bitter end, and insisted on teaching the same to his children, even the girls, as soon as they were capable of holding a sword—one of the few precious heirlooms to which the family could lay claim—and a shield fashioned from weather-toughened wood and bits of leather. Ingrid began her training by the age of four, practicing daily as part of her expected duties around the farm, often with Olga for a sparring partner under their father’s watchful eye. Ilka, though not much of a warrior herself, did not object to her daughters being armed, believing that even if a woman did not know how to use a sword in battle, she could die on one in the face of a threat.

Hope was something often in short supply on the steppes, and whatever could not be made up for by sheer determination alone was carried by faith. The Bauers were a pious family, and the Chant of Light permeated the household, whether reciting it in prayers, singing verses out in the fields to help break the monotony, or reading from the old, battered heirloom copy when the weather was too poor to work outside. The nearest Chantry was in the city proper, some miles away, so they rarely were able to attend services, except during excursions into town to sell goods in the market or pick up supplies they couldn’t produce on their own. That didn’t dampen their beliefs any, however, and it was one of the few things to bring cheer into young Ingrid’s life.

After two miscarriages and another two stillbirths, Ilka finally produced a long-awaited living son they named Meinhard when Ingrid was seven. She died three years later giving birth to her fourth child, a boy named Klaud, who was born a cripple. With their mother gone, it was up to ten-year-old Ingrid to take over the position of woman of the house, and in addition to her other duties, she also did most of the cooking, cleaning, sewing and washing, as well as minding her younger siblings. It was exhausting, but Ingrid kept a stiff upper lip and carried on as a proper little Hausefrau in the making. She did relegate some tasks to Olga and Meinhard to help ease the burden, and even Klaud still had a serviceable pair of hands that she put to work with some of the daintier tasks around the farmhouse. Even with the help of her sister and brothers, Ingrid had no time to spend away from home, and so rarely left the farmstead. That was fine by her, though. She was an awkward preteen, tall and ungainly, and often teased for her size by the other youths in the city. And if she was not the target of stares and jeers, she was defending her little brother Klaud from them. All in all, she much preferred to stay home, even after she outgrew this phase and became a lovely young Fraülein.

Still, times were tough. Not long after Klaud’s birth, the Bauers hit a streak of especially lean years that forced them to have to buy more and more of their necessities with money they didn’t have to spend. When Ingrid was fifteen, Sigvard made an arrangement with a well-to-do merchant in the city named Egil Kief. He had a son of marrying age named Ballard, and was willing to have him marry Ingrid in exchange for helping relieve her father’s debts. After all, Ingrid was a strong, sturdy, skilled woman who seemed ideal for producing sons, and Ballard was having difficulty finding a suitable wife. Much of that was due to the fact that he was in training in hopes of becoming a Grey Warden, and few seemed willing to face the challenges inherent to being a Warden’s wife, despite his ability to provide for a family. Neither Ballard nor Ingrid were given any say in the matter, although Ingrid protested the idea of being given to a man she had only seen once or twice. Still, the agreement had been made: if Ballard made it through the Joining, he and Ingrid were to be wed; in the end, Ingrid submitted to her father’s wishes. When the fateful day came, Ballard survived. Two days later, the young couple was married in a simple ceremony at the local chantry.

To say that married life was uncomfortable for Ingrid, at least at first, would be an understatement. For one thing, her new husband was a virtual stranger to her, and his duties to the Grey Wardens often kept him away from home. For another, in order to be closer to her husband, Ingrid was moved to a house in the city, where life was very different than back on the farm. There were no crops to tend, no animals to feed, and, much of the time, Ingrid felt like she had nothing to do in her mostly-empty house. To keep herself occupied, in addition to the basic cooking, cleaning, mending and washing needed to run the household, Ingrid continued to do some of the crafts she had learned back on the farmstead, such as spinning, weaving, knitting and candle-making, and she would often be the one to clean, polish and help repair Ballard’s gear when he came home if he didn’t have the armorers at the fortress do it. She learned to read with more than just rudimentary skill, but she had little interest in books, save the Chant of Light. She did start attending Chantry services on a nearly-daily basis, though, and made a few friends in the parish, primarily other housewives, although she often would find herself getting bored with local gossip. She much preferred to borrow a templar or two for a bit of sparring practice than listen to their idle chatter.

Ingrid’s fighting skill and religious devotion did not go unnoticed by the Revered Mother, and, after the young woman had bested two of her templars yet again, she suggested that Ingrid might make a fine templar herself. Ingrid was shocked, and protested that she was already a married woman and rather older than most new recruits to the Templar Order. It was pointed out that Ingrid already had solid training both in martial skill and the Chant of Light—she merely lacked the academic study required of the templars and the knowledge of the skills specific to fighting mages. Although it was true that the Templar Order almost never took married women as recruits, Ingrid was wed to a Grey Warden—in itself something of an uncommon circumstance—and thus already often separated from her spouse, who was well-supported, and in a union unlikely to produce children. Ingrid couldn’t deny that it sounded much more appealing than simply sitting at home all day, since she would have a way to serve both country and Chantry. After long, careful deliberation and her husband’s consent, she agreed to join the templars, and submitted herself for training just after her seventeenth birthday. The training was long, challenging, often tedious, and meant frequent separations from her husband. Ingrid had little love for learning history and law, nor did she particularly like the prospect of killing mages, even if they were maleficar, but she stubbornly stuck to the curriculum, fulfilling each duty as it came, even to the point of striking down a young mage who had failed her Harrowing when she went to the Circle for part of her training. Finally, at the age of 24, Ingrid took her vows, becoming a fully-fledged templar.

As time went by, Ingrid and Ballard had slowly gotten to know each other better. He was a good, honest, kind man, and proud of his templar wife. Eventually, they developed a tender and loving relationship. Although Ingrid had been warned of the difficulties Wardens faced when it came to producing children, even more so now that she also had to contend with her lyrium addiction, she still did her best to be a dutiful wife and made every attempt possible to give Ballard an heir to his name. After many years of trying without success, Ingrid was delighted to find herself with child at the age of 26. However, the pregnancy was a difficult one from the start, racking her with pain, sickness and worry. In her fourth month along, Ingrid contracted a terrible fever. She spent weeks drifting in and out of both consciousness and lucidness while healers did everything they could. Ingrid managed to survive, but she lost the baby. To make matters worse, once she was fully aware of her surroundings again, she was informed that, during her illness, Ballard had been killed in an accident while on a scouting mission. Ingrid was devastated.

The next several weeks were among the most miserable of Ingrid’s life, as she was forced to take it easy to recover from her illness and failed pregnancy, with hardly anything to do except mourn the deaths of her husband and unborn child. Olga, now a sister in the local chantry, did what she could to comfort and aid her older sister. As for her brothers, Meinhard was busy running the farm along with their aging father, and his new wife and infant son. Klaud, never a healthy lad, had fallen ill and died two winters prior. As soon as she was well enough to do so, Ingrid went to the Wardens to collect any of Ballard’s personal property that he had left behind. There wasn’t much: his sword, his Joining pendant, and a few other odds and ends that he had collected in his travels. His armor had been recycled among the other Wardens. Ingrid kept his sword as her own, and from that point forward wore his Joining pendant around her neck in his memory. After that, the Chantry alone became her home, and she sold their house and many of the possessions in it, giving half the money to Meinhard and his family, and returning the rest to her in-laws.

For the next several months, Ingrid tried to devote herself to her vocation. Indeed, no longer having any family to worry about, nor home outside the Chantry, and all the further entrenched in her faith in the Maker, she seemed ideally suited to templar life at that point. However, she became withdrawn, irritable and restless, and while she carried out her duties with a meticulous thoroughness, she could only ever muster half-hearted enthusiasm at best to do them. Her only solace came from the Chant of Light and the ministrations of the clergy. Taking note of Ingrid’s struggle, her commander decided that a change of scenery would do Ingrid some good. He gave Ingrid orders to report to Ferelden to work with the local chantries and Circle in handling the rumors of unrest among the mages there, but also assured her that, since the rumors were not entirely substantiated, Ingrid did not need to report there by any specific date.

Ingrid took the hint. Rather than trying to get to Ferelden as quickly as she possibly could, she made the journey into a pilgrimage, visiting as many sites of importance to the Andrastian faith and Chantry as she could while wending her way through Tevinter, Nevarra and Orlais. She visited the alleged place where Andraste died, traced the path of her armies where possible, saw the supposed birth rock in Jader, and then finally on to the one in Denerim—of course, stopping in as many Chantry buildings as she could find time for as well, including the seat of the Divine in Val Royeaux. Rarely did she stop to speak to any of the locals for any significant form of conversation, however, simply taking quiet, solitary solace in these touchstone locations of her faith or receiving the occasional blessing from the Chantry priestesses.

From Denerim, following the instructions of the cleric, she has been stationed at Kinloch Hold until further notice.

Comments

[rhone-marrok.insanejournal.com]

Hey Gurrrrrrl.

So I have 27 icons (http://barrel-of-pbs.insanejournal.com/11387.html#cutid1) of Miranda Otto at my icon journal. I made them for the last person who face-claimed her at TDA, or possibly at the game before. No idea if they interest you, but they exist.