Minerva Magnusdóttir

## History

Minerva Magnusdóttir had been born to Magnus Geirson and his third wife, Hilde. Her loud cries filling the couple’s tent as she loudly voiced her fury at having been born. The seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, Minerva had great expectations laid upon her shoulders by the tribe at birth. Everyone believed she would grow into a powerful shaman. This belief only intensifying as her eyes developed into two separate colors. Her right, a bright clear blue while her left was a beautiful emerald. The infant was brought before the tribe chieftain and shaman and it was decided that she would need to be protected. Another young child in the tribe being assigned to her.

Her early years were a whirlwind. Childhood friends few and far between as the other children her age was afraid of her. And they had every right to be afraid. Where others had imaginary friends or played with dolls, Minerva had spirits of those long dead. Often her father or mother would find the young child watching something that wasn’t there or speaking into an empty room. Chills would run down the spines of those that got too close or things she couldn’t possibly reach be moved mysteriously. Then there were her eyes. Those mismatched orbs seemed to hold more wisdom than what was far beyond her years. A knowledge no child should ever have weighing heavily in them.

The young girl was teased often. Ghost child, dead walker, and death speaker few of the many names the other children called her. Each day she was singled out and left behind by her peers as they played one game or another. It didn’t bother her much. A whisper of comfort often coming to her aid from one spirit or another. A warmth in her chest that always told her she wasn’t alone. Minerva would just smile at the other children and shrug away their words and this normally worked. Until one day it didn’t.

The children had been playing a game of tag. Happy sounds echoing off the snow as they chased each other or threw snowballs. Minerva had been content to build her snowman alone as often was the case. She just finished giving her new friend his arms when one of her bullies approached. Bjørn Arnson didn’t like Minerva. He hated everything about the young girl, making it his mission to ruin her day in some shape or form. Today it was by approaching the girl and her snowman then knocking the thing over. His large boot raised to kick the thing in half as he and his goons laughed. Their mockery echoing around Minerva as she looked down at what had been hours of work. Her mismatched eyes raised until they spotted Bjørn giving his friends high fives as if he had conquered a great enemy. She blinked a few times before speaking.

“Is there honor in defeating inanimate beings Bjørn? Or do you not have the balls to fight something that could fight back?”

The boy froze in his cheers, turning on her. His eyes full of fury and bruised pride. “You not of what you speak dead walker.”

Minerva raised a brow but shrugged, turning back toward the snow to try to reconstruct her friend. But Bjørn couldn’t let the insult stand. The young man stomped back over, drawing his wooden training sword. The blade poking into Minerva’s back as he growled out. “I am not a coward.”

She paused and turned back to him, her eyes finding his. The knowledge in them sent a shiver down his spine as she spoke softly. “Bjørn Arnson, you are but a child that is afraid of failure. You fear not winning every challenge so you only challenge those you know you can beat. Like the snowman.”

A hiss escaped the boy’s lips as he drew back the blade, ready to strike her. One of his peers stopped him with a whispered warning. She was not to be harmed, everyone knew it. For one, the tribe leader had proclaimed it so long ago. None was to harm a hair on her head. And two, everyone feared they’d anger the spirits that called her friend, bringing misfortune on the tribe. But you try telling that to the young man whose courage had been questioned and pride bruised. Bjørn ripped his wrist from his peer’s grasp and struck Minerva across the face with the wooden blade, breaking her nose. She cried out in pain and chaos erupted around her. She scrambled away as blood erupted from her nose. The children watched all freezing in fear as Bjørn was thrown away from her with an unseen force. His peers screaming as they too were knocked down. She scrambled to her feet blind by panic and pain then ran, uncaring where. Her small feet carried her out of the village and into the nearby wood.

Minerva wasn’t sure how long she stayed hidden, holding snow to her hurt face as she shook. The darkness closing in around her as fatigue tried to drag her under. Only the pain from her nose kept her from passing out. She cowered in her hiding spot, holding herself. It was only when her cover of leaves moved to reveal Aaric Guðrunarson’s sad eyes did Minerva stir. She gave him her name when asked, the whole time her eyes taking him in. The amount of sorrow that weighed heavily on him evident to her mismatched eyes. She stood, and requested his name. Taking a step forward she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, trying to draw some of that despair from him.

“What are you doing?” His voice confused as he stumbled.

Minerva looked up, her eyes now sad from him, as she placed her chin on his chest. “You look sad to me.” She answered as if those words alone would answer all of his questions. He shook off the stun and hugged her back, only moments passing before he lowered his head and cried.

The two were bonded from that moment forth. He was never far from her, keeping the worst of the bullying away. Minerva soon earned an apprenticeship with the shaman after that day’s events. Things settled except for one person. Bjørn would always be there, watching from the shadows. His eyes filled with hate as he waited, biding his time.

Years passed. Minerva learned her craft as Aaric trained hard. He grew large and strong as she remained small. Her mismatched eyes always watched him as he kept an eye on her. His official title as her guardian cemented as he reached adulthood. He took his position seriously, still remaining ever at her side as she continued to learn. Nights would pass with him standing just outside her hut as she told him stories, relaying everything she learned to him. She also enjoyed the look of wonder and excitement that would fill his eyes as she spoke.

One day Aaric came to her, excited with news. People had been spotted moving through the land to the south. Their proximity caught his attention and awoken his wanderlust. He was leaving; packing his bag and going on an adventure. He wanted to defeat a great beast like the ones in her stories and prove his worth. Minerva was split. On one hand, this was her best friend and protector. On the other, the tribe was counting on her to be the next shaman. Her training hadn’t been completed yet and she had much to learn. But the separation proved too much for her. She could sense the danger that was Bjørn closing in and her heart ached at the thought of his absence.

Minerva wrote a letter to her parents and the shaman elder. One day she would return but she needed to go. She would follow Aaric and get stronger with him. Then, once his wanderlust was quenched and she was ready, Minerva would return and take up her charge as the tribe’s shaman.

## Appearance

Minerva is a small woman standing a four foot and nine inches she is forced to look up at most people. Her dark black hair is generally a mess, left with braids, beads, and bones woven into her. Her pale skin marked by blue tribal paint applied regularly to mark her station as the shaman's apprentice. A woman of ample bosom and birthing hips that aren't even her more noticeable features. Minerva was born with a quirk, one that declared her future. One blue and one green eye stare into empty space as she speaks with the spirits.

## Personality

Minera is quirky at best. Having the whispers of the long-dead in your head do that to you. There are times she just drifts away from the world, watching something not all there. When she does have it held together, Minerva is a cheerful woman. Making it her mission to brighten Aaric's day any way she can.

## Relationships

Aaric Guðrunarson- Minerva's best friend and protector, assigned to her by her tribe's cheiftan when they were both children. Minerva has a mild crush on her one and only friend but won't admit it to anyone, especially him

Bjørn Arnson- Minerva's primary childhood bully. He carries a grudge against her. There are whispers that he had made a blood vow to take vengeance on her for the insult to his bravery.

## Aspirations

To gain strength and power so she can return home and be her tribe's shaman.