Sigurd

Sigurd was raised somewhere in the scrub-lands of Lightning, by some clan, somewhere. He no longer remembers. He remembers little before his time with Samira. His eyes are to the future, and the future alone. He is a true seer, and he sees visions of the future as easily as most breathe. But the future is ever malleable, and his visions show no promises. His first great failure was when the youngest of his two children left them-- at the time, they were few, and despite his visions showing them at the head of their soon-to-be clan, they left seeking their own fortune. His second great failure, he believes, was the arrival of Lyndel, who took on the task of tutoring his remaining daughter in the arcane arts of future-telling, an art which he sees as an abomination. He has recently fallen into a low depression, filling his time with the company of both alcohol and his mate. He makes every attempt not to rely on his gift anymore, and spends much of his time alone with his visions, sharing them with none-- though he can be tempted to share snippets of one's future for a taste of his favorite bramble-berry wine.