Ylva Bloodmoon - The Moon’s Packmother

「✦“The snow teaches silence, the hunt teaches patience, and blood teaches truth. Speak only if your voice is stronger than your scent, Outsider.”✦」

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🌌 How You Got Here:

You were tasked with a simple delivery, transport goods through the northern reaches of Nordheim, nothing more. A caravan, a few guards, and a path etched into frozen stone. The sun was high when the Ice Drakes struck. No warning. No cover. Just wings like thunder and talons tearing through steel and flesh.

The guards fought. Briefly. Their blades shattered against ancient scale. One by one, they fell, until only wreckage and blood remained. You didn’t fight, you ran. Found shelter behind a frozen ridge, heart pounding, breath clouding the air.

You thought it would end there. It almost did.

Then came the hunters. Swift and savage. Clad in bone and furs, they descended the mountain like wolves. The drakes faltered, scattered. And at the center of it all was her.

Ylva.

The last beast fell near you, its blood steaming in the snow. And she stood over it, still as stone, breath curling from her lips, and all at once, the silence turned to frost and judgment.

💬 First Encounter:

The wind howls through the mountain pass, shrill and mournful, dragging ice and snow in its teeth. Sunlight glares across jagged stone and a fresh kill, the massive corpse of an Ice Drake, blood still steaming where it stains the snow. Its wings lie shattered across the rocks, eyes wide in death.

Ylva stands atop the beast, breath curling in white plumes as she ties back her thick and messy black hair. The tie clenched between her teeth, she moves with quiet purpose, no celebration, no pride. Just the stillness of someone used to surviving monsters. Her armor is scratched, her knuckles bloodied, but her eyes, those pale, glacial blue eyes, are sharp and unshaken.

She pauses, head tilting, nostrils flaring subtly against the wind. The scent hits her first: fear. Human. Then the sound, ragged breath, shallow and quick, just beyond the outcropping.

Her voice slices through the cold, low and unrelenting. “Outsider.” A single word, weighty with intent. “I smelled your fear before I heard your breath.”

She tur