Frigga (#3872644)
You have my attention. Speak.
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Satin Pocketmouse
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Guardian
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style





17.2 m
13.09 m
10864.1 kg


Primary Gene
Secondary Gene
Tertiary Gene


Jun 03, 2014
(8 years)



Eye Type

Eye Type
Level 25 Guardian
Max Level





The Queen, the Mother, the Leader.

Unquestioned, trusted, absolute.

Beautiful.. and terrible.

If you only saw her at the height of her reign, she’d be something out of legends; a presence so vast that tales were made of her glory, her mercy, her terror.

History knows her as “The Blue General” and “The Dread Queen”, but to those who lived under her rule, she was simply Frigga. Everything else was just part of who she was. And who she was was magnificent, despite her many faults; because of her many faults, and how she stubbornly refused to let them stop her or harm those she held close.

Yes, she was many things, but perfect was not one of them.

Hers is a story of strife and adversity, of staking out her place in the world with tooth, claws, wits and viciousness. Hers is a story of survival, stubbornness, love and protection.

Frigga was raised in the Beacon, in Our Lady’s Home of Shining Wings… which is the polite way to refer to the orphanage in which hatchlings (and sometimes even eggs, as was the case with Frigga) given in Tribute to the Lightweaver live and grow up until they can serve in a more… useful fashion, and officially become part of Her Exalted Forces.

The Home of Shining Wings serves as an origin story for most of Her closest and most loyal servants; a close proximity to the Lightweaver Herself, Her exalted and Her ideology from hatching (or near enough) tends to produce very dedicated dragons, no matter if they go on to be warriors or officials.

Frigga was no exception. She revered the Lady of Light, as was only proper and right. She pursued her goals relentlessly, knowing no truer joy than to be praised for how she would contribute to the Light, how the enemies of the Lady would tremble and fall before her.

She was quick, agile, clever, cruel and ferocious… but most importantly of all, she was of the first generation of truly Light-claimed Guardians.

The Lightweaver would never have let her be a noncombatant, even if she hadn’t been so uniquely suited to it. For too long, the Light had been pushed back from the shorelines and rivers, incapable of mounting a proper defence against the Marens and the Tidelord’s forces when the invaders could simply slip back underneath the surface and avoid retaliatory strikes.

There had been extensive efforts to gain Guardians for the Host of Light to shore up this gap in their defenses, but compared to the ease with which Mirrors, Spirals, Tundras and Nocturnes had been acquired… the Guardians had proved to be tricky indeed. Even aside from the fact that they lived most of their lives underwater, the Tidelord had been ingenious in creating their Charge instincts; that strong magical tie to Fate led most Guardians right on back to the water, or saw them refuse to fight and rather die rather than kill an enemy of the Light.

So it was the work of generations, to bring Guardians into the Light, and while there had been some successes in earlier generations, it had not been enough to make a proper force of it: only enough to guard them zealously and put hope into their offspring.

Thus, when Frigga went on a childhood misadventure into the catacombs beneath the Beacon and imprinted on some of the remnants of the First Bones, it was but the first sign that her generation would be different. That one after one, they would bond themselves to Light relics, dragons and places, tying themselves and the Guardian breed irrevocably to the Sunbeam Ruins.

Still, Frigga was the first, and the Lightweaver was triumphant, charmed and flattered, and so despite the misgivings of what Imperials had managed to keep Her favour (the First Bones were remnants of the first prototype Imperials, and they were volatile and dangerous), She had Her craftsdragons fashion a crown out of the First Bones Frigga had been drawn to, so that the fledgeling could carry them with her always.

Her instructors had been leaning towards training her for a combat placement even before then, what with her mental aptitude for it, but any chance Frigga had had at living out a peaceful life ended that day.

Frigga didn’t know it yet, didn’t understand, because for her, to gain the recognition of Her Lady was everything she could ever have hoped for, but… in truth, it is a terrible thing, to gain the attention and favour of a deity.

Frigga was fast-tracked. Private instructors, longer days learning more than her peers. She completed her officer schooling when only barely an adult and she was proud.

Oh, so proud.

Young, inexperienced, naïve, temperamental, impulsive and proud.

Even with all her education, quick wits, ability to improvise and immense (possessive, obsessive, protective) care for her platoon (who adored her in turn; she had been saddled with weary veterans who’d survived the shoreline fronts mostly by sheer grace of luck in spite of their previous commanders treating them like they were expendable, so while they didn’t trust nor respect her judgement or her orders, they still came to love her like a daughter), you can imagine how her first assignment went, once she was thrown out onto the front lines.

She was expected to lead dragons thrice her age and hold the line against the Marens’ incursions where all before her had failed and paid for their mistakes in blood.

The details of those bloody years are probably better off lost to time, but suffice to say that it was a slaughter, and that in the end, Frigga stood as the only survivor, saved only by the grace of her platoon dying one by one in order to protect their “baby princess lieutenant”.

Each of those deaths also killed a piece of her love for and trust in the Lightweaver, until by the time her last subordinate gave her one last smile and a “be strong, little princess; survive this hell” as Maren poison consumed him, she was hollow and numb.

Her devotion to her deity had been her guiding light and the center of her world for so long that now that she had finally lost the last shreds of it, she no longer knew who she was or why she was even there; why had she fought so hard for such a paltry cause, why she had led her platoon to their deaths, why she had survived.

She herself was not sure if she would have made it out of that battlefield if not for Odin.

She wanted to survive, make no mistake; if for naught else then so that her subordinates’ sacrifices would not have been in vain.

Despite that desperate, searing need to not let it all have been for nothing, though, she still found herself frozen in place, huddled up against the long, still, limp form of the Imperial who had given his life for her.

Like a hatchling sheltering against the bulk of their parent, wishing for a shield against the world.

No matter how much she wished it, she could somehow not bring herself to move.

For days, she lay there, saved only by the grace of a brook running through her place of mourning.

And then Odin came.

He was Clanless at the time, and it was not a kind time to be Clanless in. Modern discrimination is bad, yes, but Sornieth has made a lot of progress over the millennia since the Beastclan War, where being Clanless meant being lawless, meant your life and health not mattering, meant that you were deprived of even the most basic of Aegises even within your hatch territory, meant that no-one of a clan would ever be punished or blamed for abusing you; would be encouraged to do so, even.

He was a Light Guardian who had refused to serve, his need to Search and distrust of the deities such that he would rather be an outcast than serve… and as part of the Guardian Acquisition project, his egg had had unclear origins, so he had no birth clan to shelter him. Thus, after the Lightweaver had marked him as a Deserter and Clanless after he left the Exalted Forces, there was no clan that would take him.

So Clanless he was, scavenging from battlefields and taking mercenary work to get by, only remaining in Light territory because his Search would not let him leave; he hadn’t found it yet, but he was convinced that his Charge lay somewhere under the Lightweaver’s unrelenting rule.

Thus he found Frigga huddled against a corpse, on the way to becoming one herself, as he was roaming a days-old battlefield, looking for armour to replace a few of his own cracked pieces and maybe a trinket or two to buy food and lodging with, if he was lucky.

He knew nothing of her, nor of how she had ended up there. He almost walked on, having seen many similar fates in his wanderings, but… he was tired, between jobs and thirsty ...and she was pitiable.

He walked over, drunk from the (miraculously, considering the battlefield around them) clean brook, and lay himself down next to her with a sigh so that he could rest his aching claws, burning skin and strained eyes.

(Some days, he wondered if it would not be worth it to serve, after all, if only to get his own element to stop trying to slowly kill him; a life without an Aegis was barely a life at all.)

Slowly but surely, she inched closer until she was pressed against him instead of the corpse, and he stayed.

Bit by bit, she came alive again until she no longer looked like one of the countless dead around them, and he smiled.

Piece by piece, they got to know each other until they walked out of that hellish place, perhaps not as friends or lovers quite yet, but… as partners, at least.

Frigga joined Odin in his wanderings after that. She wasn’t truly Clanless, but it was more by technicality than anything else. She could no longer find the space in her heart to serve the Lightweaver, and said heart was too worn out to try to find a clan (a family) quite yet. Still, she kept her Aegis because the Host of Light believed that she had died on that battlefield along with her platoon for the longest time.

Both the act of bestowing and revoking an Aegis is an active action, after all, so unless an Aegis was specifically granted under limited conditions, it would remain until removed.

Still, she couldn’t share even a sliver of her Aegis without calling divine attention upon herself, so as the years passed, she had to watch on as Odin’s eyes slowly grew cloudier, as his scales dried out and cracked and fell off and his wing membranes blistered and tore in the sun.

She did what they could, insisting they travel at night despite the ever-present danger of Shadow incursions and Beastclan raids, tried to find them resting sports shielded from Her gaze, tried to tuck him underneath her wings as far as possible to take the rays for him… tried to lead him as best as she could over uneven terrain when he started to stumble.

In the end, they had no choice but to confront that decision that they had tried to avoid for so long; servitude… or death. long as they wanted- no, needed to survive, each for their own reasons and also in order to stay together (neither wanting to imagine a world where their love would be left alone, or even worse, a world where the other died first), then it wasn’t really a choice at all, now was it?

And so they crafted their story. The Host of Light was desperate for Guardians, yes, but not desperate enough to accept someone who had deserted, or a Clanless without merits.

Still, ways of magically divining Truth were, if not common, then at least far from unheard of in the Host.

Which meant their story had to be true, if not necessarily empty of lies.


Frigga had been mortally wounded in that skirmish where she went MIA, clearly.

(Who said mental wounds were any less dire than physical? The wound to her soul would have killed her as surely as one seeping blood if she had been left to suffer it alone.

And if anyone demanded proof, well, she even had a gruesome scar against the base of her neck to prove having been mortally wounded; long healed but still clearly marking where a trident had almost torn her throat open.

Nevermind that that had happened a year later in an attempt to protect Odin, they didn’t need to know that.)

The trident had obviously been poisoned, as the majority of Maren weapons are.

(It had been, but it had been geared towards causing pain and taking her out of the fight and had worn off within the day.)

So she had lain there, dying, when Odin noticed her plight and nursed her back to health.

(True in both cases.)

He had, in spite of being Clanless, saved the life of an officer of the Host and kept her alive through the intervening years despite all the hardships arrayed against them.

(And she still was an officer of the Host, even if she did not wish to be.)

The battle she had been assumed dead in had left its marks on her; she could not return to the Host in the state she was in.

(Let them assume she meant the poison, meant that it had made her frail and slow and weak when it was in fact her new faithlessness and rage that stopped her.)

As soon as she could, she had returned, and now stood before them with her benefactor; ready and willing to serve again, but pleading that he be allowed to serve with her, as he was good, strong, trusted and experienced.

(As soon as she could swallow her rage and smile with all the cold politeness, dignity and distance of a moonless night at those who had sent her and her comrades and so many like them to their deaths over and over and over again.

As soon as his health and need for an Aegis won over their hatred of being chained.)

He was willing to serve. He’d be happy to come back into the embrace of the Light.

(He’d be happy to finally be rid of the pain, and was willing to serve if that was what it took.)

The tribunal smiled and nodded and praised and welcomed… and just like that, Frigga was back in command, with Odin as her second, and a fresh load of naïve, indoctrinated and inexperienced drakes to lead to their deaths on the cold uncaring grounds of the Hewn City.

The least she could do was to attempt to stop that fate, even if Odin’s improved health (especially after he found his Charge in the land their run-down base camp was set upon) and steady presence was all that kept her sane some days.

Slowly but surely, she forced order and safety upon the Hewn City.

Bit by bit, she gained power, control and notoriety.

Piece by piece, she became the Queen of the Outpost, until she had amassed enough power, influence and blackmail to break her battalion free from the Host of Light and start her own Clan.

It wasn't true freedom.

True freedom is impossible when the one who wants to cage you is a goddess, but it was as close as anyone could ever get ...and Frigga would have been lying if she'd said that it wasn't satisfying to turn the system around and use it to trap her "patron" into having no other choice but to leave the Outpost to its own devices.


  • Frigga was: Ruthless, Calculating, Clever, Loving, Protective, Fair, Dignified, Charismatic.
  • Frigga was the matriarch of the Outpost Clan, and stood as Queen and the ultimate authority. She mainly handled the internal Clan business, having delegated external affairs to her mate. She worked with: Negotiation, Diplomacy, Combat, Heavy Combat, Information, Intelligence, Leadership.
  • Frigga's name meant "beloved"; it is the name of the Norse goddess of the air, the earth and fertility. History remembers her as “The Blue General”, “The Dread Queen” and “The Matriarch of Madness”.
  • Mated to Odin. Mother to Fritha, Mundur, Lyse, Lycke, Eirik, Anleifr, Birger and Hvass, adoptive mother of Loke, Itha, Berga and Barthur. Mother-in-law to Ragna, Hrafn, Hrothr, Aissa, and Alaina. Grandmother to Ketilmaer. Soul-sister to Regin, and thus sister-in-law to Aghi and Aevi and aunt to Rata.
  • Before she had solidified her reign, her position often came as a surprise to a Coalition of Clans used to more politically inclined leaders. Frigga was harsh, dominating and irritable where others would be patient, submissive and compromising.
  • When members of other clans asked about why the Outpost would accept such a cruel Matriarch, the Clan would simply look at the one who stated the question as if they were an idiot before calmly and patiently explaining that even if someone else would (against all common sense) have wanted the position, they would not have been able to handle it. The Outpost would have eaten a kind leader alive; theirs was a militant Clan who served the Host as their Tribute by Choice, not out of need or desperation. (...not to mention that Odin would have torn any contenders to pieces for implying that his mate is weak and unfit for her role. Or rather, stood back and enjoyed the spectacle as Frigga dismembered the challenger on her own; he was never one to deprive her of anything she wanted.)
  • Frigga, as opposed to her mate, maintained strict working hours, and woe be upon anyone who would violate that outside an emergency.
  • She always took pains to set time aside for family, to make sure they knew that they were acknowledged, loved and supported. When not working, she was most often seen with a family member, just lounging and relaxing together. (Of course she set aside time to check up on all her Clan members, not just her family, but that went under "work things" and was the highlight of her work week.)
  • You would not believe it (even in spite of her many scars, sharpened claws and cold smile) if you saw her in her fine jewels and silks, but Frigga was a berseker on the battlefield. The reason Odin lead the Outpost’s military actions was not any lack of ability from her part (rather the opposite - Odin learnt all he knew from her), but rather his ability to keep calm in situations where Frigga would long since have waded out into the fray herself to tear her enemies limb from limb.


Amazing signature by the talented Reefknot



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