Name: Astrid Cold-Dagger
Universe: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Age: 18
Species: Human (Half Nord, half Imperial)
Gender: Female
Personality: Incredibly headstrong. Can be very arrogant at times, and stops at nothing to pursue her own ambition. Does not handle emotions very well and has trouble connecting to people on an extremely emotional level. Has a soft sport for young kids. A considerably strong person, mentally and physically. Very blunt in her speech, although can be a funny and playful person at times. She may be a warrior, but she's still a teenage girl, and is not exempt from considerably "young" and "excitable" behavior.
Appearance: Very tall for her age with a larger body type in general. Incredibly pale skin with striking pale blue eyes, and an above averagely large nose. Somewhat gaunt looking. Long, wavy dark brown hair usually worn in a ponytail with strands framing her face. Pretty, but in an odd sort of way that not everyone notices. Wears heavy steel armor and a "viking" helmet, with horns on the side. Carries a battleaxe.
Extra: She is the Dragonborn, or the hero of Skyrim destined to save the land from the dragon Alduin, who wishes to consume the world.
***
There was a portal in the ceiling.
Astrid thought she had seen it all.
Killed at least four dragons.
Explored ancient ruins.
Became best friends with a kleptomaniac mage.
Kissed someone she never thought she'd forgive.
Abandoned her family.
But this...this was weird.
She landed with a crash, her heavy, steel armor banging against the hard wood floor with a loud, painful thud, shooting surges of pain through her spine comparable to being stabbed in the back - and that was certainly something she had felt before, not to mention the fact she was still recovering from it. She opened her eyes in a slow, almost hesitant way, the world spinning before her in a way that was hardly natural, although not very unfamiliar. The landscape was not one she recognized, nor the people, although she couldn't make out their faces, or the furniture, or really anything but blurriness, a shaking earth and a twirling sky.
She wanted to ask where she was, but held her tongue in fear of sounding cliche. Although, the question held value, and that was all she wanted to know, too weak to stand, too weak to draw her axe. A question was all she needed to utter. But her mouth slammed shut. She was tired, and needed to sleep.