A strapping, late-thirties sellsword from the northern Thanedom of Garven, Ingilief’s height, blue eyes, and blond hair proudly proclaim her Jotun heritage for all to see.
Briefly allied with the Stonehearted during the siege of The Bull and the Bear. Fought alongside Winton Dunne.
Competent and cool-headed under pressure, Ingilief has no problem stepping up and getting her hands dirty when necessary, much to the surprise of some of her male acquaintances. Long ago realising the average southerner has little respect for female warriors, she learned to keep her temper under check and let the greatsword strapped to her back do most her of her talking for her.
Though she takes no pleasure in killing, Ingilief is a more than capable warrior, having learned to fight in during her youth in the harsh wilds of Garven, where attacks from monsters, marauders, and Exmoor raiders posed a constant threat. Her training proved well-advised when at the age of 14 her village was attacked by orcs – Ingilief slew one of the attackers, her first kill. It would not prove to be her last.
As Ingilief grew older, her life in the small farming village increasingly chafed on the young woman. Longing to see the wider world, and be more than just a farmer (and occasional orc-slayer), the woman set off for the southern kingdoms shortly after her 19th birthday, with little more than her wits, a sword, and the clothes on her back. The first two were soon put to good use, as Ingilief discovered the southern kingdom’s seemingly inexhaustible need for mercenaries.
Though more than capable of using violence when required, Ingilief’s ability to think about when it should be used soon set her apart from many of her hot-headed colleagues. Her level-headedness and professionalism has since earned her a reputation for dependability that has partly outweighed Durian prejudices against women, and for almost two decades Ingilief has made a steady living serving as a mercenary and merchant guard, while travelling the length and breadst of Eastmarch.
It is just such a routine assignment that brought Ingilief to the tiny hamlet of Grafton – although in her opinion describing the settlement as a hamlet might be giving it too much credit. Some four days ride east of the town of Asamir, the former mining town was little more than a single rest stop, the Bear and Bull, along the side of the trail, and a handful of scattered sod huts, half of which appeared deserted. Just another ghost town after the local mine played out. Still, the inn appeared warm and dry (despite its tacky decor) and after spending the last two days in the ceaseless rain, Ingilief was looking forward to a night indoors.
All in all, she thought, the two week journey to the southern city of Lenara was shaping up to be a good one. Her partner for the job, the grizzled Jabob ‘Nine-Finger’ Combs, had worked with Ingilief on numerous occasions previously, and if a bit rough around the edges, he still treated the woman with more respect than many of her past acquaintances. And whatever her thoughts on the choice of her patron, the portly wine merchant Corwin Lund, to marry a girl barely out of her teens, business was business, and the rotund Corwin seemed a nice enough fellow. He was certainly free enough with his coin, and he and Lyria kept mostly to themselves – an easy enough charge to babysit for a couple weeks. Yes, all in all this was shaping up to be a pretty decent trip for Ingilief.
Until, that is, the dwarves arrived, and everything went to the Nine Hells…