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I was tagged by to answer 10 fun and thought-provoking questions about EYOLF!
1. If your character (if they hail from a fantasy or previous century) listened to modern music (20th century and onward to present day), what genre/artists/bands would they like? Or dislike?
He would certainly like Nordic/dark folk like Wardruna, Skuggsja, Eivor Palsdottir because it would remind him of home. But otherwise I've a feeling he'd love the 80s, from glam rock to disco (fun and sunny, wild parties, make-up and glitter, crazy hair and pretty boyz ^^)
2. If your character could develop a new skill, what skill would it be?
Fighting is an important skill of his world that he doesn't master. He has bodyguards (*coughYngvarcough*) and he isn't exactly helpless, but can't actually fight.
3. If your character could take a vacation/holiday, where would they be interested in going to?
On a hot sunny beach.
4. What qualities or skills does your character believe others value them for?
His charisma and wit. He's pretty much right, but his ego is over-inflated.
5. If they lost these qualities or skills, do they fear losing their value? Or do they have confidence in their own self beyond qualities and skills?
Definitely, that would be his nightmare. He could get by because he's opportunistic, pragmatic and resourceful, but he would feel terribly demoralized.
6. Does your character draw motivation/strength from someone they care about or a cause/ambition they have/follow?
From his devotees! He wouldn't bear being alone and/or not being admired. He acts very confident but in fact he constantly looks for validation in the eyes of others.
7. Does your character believe that life follows an natural order, or do they believe they can create their own fate?
He is deterministic and believes in the “fate of the Norns”. That's one of the reasons why he believes himself so wonderful – the gods wouldn't have chosen him to overcome the misfortunes in his life and get so far if he weren't so special, right?
8. How does your character view emotions and reason?
He believes in the power of reason and that one must stay level-headed to succeed in life, but emotion heals; one must let reason sleep every now and then in order to stay sane.
9. If your character could attend a karaoke party, what would be the most out-of-character yet ironically befitting artist/song would they belt out in front of everyone?
He'd sing a musical, preferably Ursula's “Poor Unfortunate Souls” from The Little Mermaid He's not as evil as that, but he's a witch after all and he loves theatrical performances ^^
10. What commonalities does your character see from our world that they see in their own world? (Or era, if character is from our world, but from a previous era/century).
He'd believe that people are just as likely to make themselves idols out of common things (people, products, media), and the masses are just as easily manipulated and led, in spite of the education they have access to. He wouldn't mind it though, he'd rather try to take advantage of it.
Yngvar was more interested in devices (boats, stuff with wheels, bows) rather than toys; he didn't fit in team and make-believe games (like playing “Vikings vs. Saxons”/Romans/whatever kids those days were playing). He did play dress-up by himself trying on his mother's ritual dress (she was a vǫlva/witch), so maybe that counts as a favourite plaything?
The playground bully (Playground equivalent) was:
A group of boys that kept ridiculing Yngvar for his aloof attitude and for looking girly.
Did your OC get their revenge? If so- how?
Yngvar's father encouraged (ordered) him to confront the bully and hit him. And hit him. And hit him. And he stopped a bit later than he should've. But at least he wasn't bullied again.
When your OC was young, what did they want to be when they grew up?
A mystic, like his mother.
What did your OC end up becoming when they grew up?
A famed warrior, the leader of a rebellion, and candidate to the crown of Norway.
What’s the best thing that’s happened to your OC?
His uncle took him on a journey around the (known) world.
What’s the worst thing that’s happened to your OC?
The deaths of his parents and his subsequent depression.
Does/did your OC have a love interest?/ Crush?/ The one that got away? If so- who?
All of Yngvar's attempts at bonding with someone are complicated, to say the least, and pretty undefinable... A proof: he has 3 sexual encounters – one in which he feels coerced, one where he gets violent, and one that he gets into because he wants to try to “be normal” (needless to say he doesn't enjoy any of them much). The person who might count as “the one that got away” is Eyolf Solhrafn (although I'm pretty sure neither Eyolf nor Yngvar are conscious this is the case). At the present, he might have what counts as a crush on Aidan (but it's not exactly a romantic and definitely not a sexual interest). Complicated, right?
If your OC was on death-row, what would their final meal be?
Lobster and wine.
Does your OC have any allergies?
Does the sun count? Yup, the sun is definitely something that can kill him.
What would their party trick be?
Can drink a lot without showing any sign of drunkenness. He doesn't do this, though, because he thinks it pointless.
What is your OC’s biggest achievement?
Setting up the resistance against King Olaf's brutal politics.
What is your OC’s biggest regret?
How things ended between him and Eyolf Solhrafn.
One more random fact:
He's a wee bit of a masochist.
I'm not tagging anyone, but I'll gladly read your quizzes
I am mainly a writer - working on a novel called "Sons of Disobedience" and a series of short-stories taking place in 10th century Norway - but my gallery shows more of my dabbling in drawing. Outside dA, I am a teacher and a PhD candidate in Old English literature. Passionate about history and mythology, I spend my time delving into my make-believe world which I then draw and write about, for my and your dark delectation! ^^
My photography account: www.heathenheart.deviantart.com
Facebook art account: www.facebook.com/HelevornArt/
Feel free to add me on Facebook as well: www.facebook.com/helevorn.bor
You know how I've been comparing Eyolf to a glam rock star? I've finally portrayed him as such (instead of the ton of other things I should be doing... sorry, I couldn't help it )
Soundtrack: Queen's "Killer Queen" - because I've been hooked on this song since I watched “Bohemian Rhapsody” this week and because Eyolf is such a killer queen
Persuasion.She handed me a worn copy of Jane Austen’s Persuasion, biting back a smile, recommending it with laugh, a nod to a dog-eared page. Page 120, Captain Wentworth’s letter to Anne, a hasty mark drawn under one line in blue ink, I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. I had flicked straight to that page when I arrived home, and reread it again and again, stressing different syllables to see if the meaning could be anything but the obvious. Something in me broke, and something soared, and the years of almost-everything folded their hands about mine with wax-like softness. The street outside seemed impossibly blue.
“Did you get a chance to read that book?” I asked, peering at him sat a safe distance apart on the same bench. In the distance, a child stumbled over its feet, a mother called with worry, the river tumbled by with quiet whispered farewells. “Not all of it”, he hesitate
Love Letters for an Empty Gravei.
i still have
your photograph sewn
into the lining
under my palm
even though it
all your mourners, they
dress in night but
with you i wore
shadows all the time
so now i wear
blinding red, painful red,
like i am your
artery, destined always to
work and fail and
bleed for you.
Maldiciones [Curses] - the StoryHe knew that if he did nothing, it would dissolve into a waiting game. She would tell his wife or his wife would find out on her own. It was the waiting and inaction that he found unbearable. Fracturing him into two people, each bearing a different, but equally unsustainable, weight of the same secret.
Richard knew the words. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. He knew that any defense would be easily disassembled. And deep below the mechanics of his human-animal workings, he knew that he was wrong, both of him. Wrong here, wrong at home and ready, he hoped, to do the right thing.
They had originally met kayaking in the Caribbean Sea and even after becoming more intimately acquainted, that’s how they continued to meet. Both would travel under the guise of a business trip and rent separate cabins in different nearby villas. Then they would meet on the water, as if by chance.
This time would be different. Richard would say his piece, she would
The Cult at Camp ClaiborneThere’s a story that folks in this neighborhood tell,
Of a coven that opened a portal to Hell,
They dwelt in Camp Claiborne, far back in the woods,
And hid all their faces beneath masks and hoods.
Camp Claiborne is evil, its soil now attainted,
Its buildings of concrete with blood once were painted,
And yet, my dear reader, you also should know,
That at its inception the camp wasn’t so.
In the wake of Pearl Harbor the camp was erected,
But what it would come to, none could have suspected.
They used it to ready young soldiers for war,
They trained to perfection and then trained some more.
But once the war ended and peace was declared,
The camp was deserted and in disrepair.
In time most forgot that it even existed,
Until a cult used it for purposes twisted.
It started with pets that began disappearing,
And deep in the woods, people soon began hearing,
What sounded like chanting or screams filled with pain,
And cackles of laughter that sounded insane.
At first these reports w
Conversations with the Dead...
"They think I am dead don't they?" he laughed
"That's why they go away."
The sun shown on his glossy hair,
reflected in his eyes,
A golden boy, a young man in his prime,
never considering that he might die.
He stood underneath the shadows that overhung his grave,
he looked at me as though there was nothing left to say,
he kicked at a dirt clod and gave a soft sigh,
restless, still unaware of his own demise,
"I saw my mother come here,
she hung her head and cried.
But I was only sleeping,
she thinks that I have died."
Again he laughed, his face lifted toward the sun,
I noticed the tracks along his face where once the tears had run,
"I wanted to tell her something...
Something she would understand...
I wanted to reach her somehow...
I wanted to hold her hand..."
He seemed to fade a little,
in the full clear light of day,
I had to listen closely,
to the words he had to say.
"I am not dead!
I am not dead!"
I think I heard him moan,
I looked but could not
gardens of violence. she’s a subtle girl in a loud world –
in her head but
her mouth will not
you could shout over her, you could.
the hints unspoken
the words unsaid
the small smile when you look her way;
with those characteristic sad eyes
gypsyThere is a line of light connecting you to me. There are lines
of light criss-crossing the world. But you,
There are colours in you I don't have words for. We mix the paints
on the table until everything is brown, laugh, dig for more paint.
You steal my goat-hair paintbrush, the brush I saved for weeks to buy,
dip it into your fingerpaint, laugh.
We make up names for colours, we make up names for each other,
you wake me up to tell me you're a big girl now and I swing you into the air
and you kiss my nose.
When the house is dark again I cry, curled like a shrimp in my huge bed,
alone. But you are singing to the dog, your new favourite song, Life is a Highway,
you make me rewind your favourite movie and sing carefully along with me as
I fumble half the words.
You climb into the driver seat of my car, place your tiny hands on the steering wheel,
one hand drops to the stick shift, your head tilts thoughtfully
and you smile.
I dreamed of a door...I wore the thread that slipped from my daughter's baby blanket around my wrist,
white against tan, bumpy yarn, it's been four years
since my mother patiently crocheted the stitches together
while my daughter rolled in my belly,
impatient. I dream and there are doors under my fingers and
I am alone.
I go down to watch the water rippling slowly past, carrying barges
for hundreds of years, my shoulders tan darker, I am absorbing the sun,
eating strawberries, writing a will. I wonder what will become of you.
I pray to old Native American gods, they do not see the world in black and white.
I investigate the trickster gods, in my dream a coyote trots across a field of waving grain.
Why does anyone go home? There are places that we live, places that we've been,
places that have never been exactly what we are looking for.
Skipping rocks out across the water,