This profile is an accompaniment for a collaborative character build of the same name that was part of the Minibuild Contest, held in January of 2016. It features Fjorrod, a homegrown Nord who wants nothing more than to preserve the culture of his homeland, and the ways of his ancestors.
Name: Fjorrod Gale-Heart
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Race: Nord
Class: Hunter
Height: 6ft (182cm)
Weight: 190lbs (86kg)
Build: Powerful
Visage: Weathered, scarred, almost always dirty
Eyes: Slate blue
Hair: Shoulder-length copper, with braids
Facial hair: Closely kempt beard along the sides, longer along the chin and knotted when in the wilds; neatly braided when venturing into town
Apparel: Full fur armor, fur bracers, leather boots
Tattoos/Scars: Large jagged scar on left cheek, occasionally obscured within his beard when unkempt; multiple wounds
Aliases: Breath of Kyne
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Standing Stone: The Lover
Title(s): (Double) Thane of Falkreath, Thane of Stormcloak-controlled Whiterun
Current residence: Wilds of Skyrim, is a patron at inns when visiting cities and towns
Education: Some formal
Hobbies: Hunting game, harvesting food from the wilds, tempering weapons and armor
Relationship status: “Adventurer”
Children: None
Personality: Stoic, idealistic, quiet until he needs to speak, deliberate when he does, and forceful when necessary
Thoughts on the war: Fjorrod is protective of his homeland and its wealth of natural resources, and sees Imperial rule as a possible threat to Skyrim’s sovereignty and as an exploitative venture on the part of the Empire.
Weapons: Hunting Bow and Iron Arrows, Steel Dagger
Special Abilities/Skills: Archer, hunter, survivalist
Place of Birth: Whiterun, Skyrim
Occupation: Hunter
Religion: Nordic Old Ways; Kyne
Organizations/Factions: Stormcloaks
Favorite food/drink: Fresh, hearty stew with freshly baked bread, and mead or ale. Honningbrew Mead is his standard drink of choice, though he will sometimes shell out for something a little more refined.
Interests: Wandering the wilds of Skyrim, honoring deity which provides him with an occupation, daily sustenance, and purpose.
Flaws: Withdrawn, occasionally bullheaded, too trusting, drinks a lot
Citizenship: Only Skyrim, from birth to death. Born in Whiterun, becomes thane of Falkreath.
As a boy growing up within the walls of Whiterun, Fjorrod would sit near the city gates and watch wide-eyed, as adventurers and mercenaries returned with gold, battle injuries, and wild game. He longed for adventure and the unknown, for what waited outside the cloyingly close quarters of the city.
When he was finally deemed mature enough to leave the city unaccompanied by his father, he took the Septims he had saved from working laborious, thankless jobs, purchased a longbow and ten iron arrows, and set out onto the plains. His first few attempts at hunting yielded nothing but empty quivers and frustration, but stubborn persistence eventually molded a proud hunter.
Nearly two decades later, Fjorrod had tracked an elk for hours into dusk and finally caught the elk within range, at the top of a wooded ridge. He crouched and moved slowly amidst the tall grasses, drew his longbow, carefully notched an arrow, and pulled back on the bowstring. A short exhale and a prayer later, he released.
A miss. The elk bound further into the forest.
Almost immediately, an Imperial soldier came charging through the brush from the other side of the ridge, shouting accusations of treason against the Empire and attempting to free a rebel prisoner. Alarmed, Fjorrod laid down his bow and attempted to explain that he had no such intention, that his arrow was intended for the elk. But his words fell on deaf ears. With the help of two other guards, the soldiers surrounded him, bound his hands, confiscated his bow, and forced him to walk.
Fjorrod started learning about the Old Ways at a young age, though not through any strict regimen or discipline.
4E 176
Ulfric had just retaken The Reach with a Nord militia in exchange for free worship of Talos, setting the foundation for the eventual Stormcloak rebellion. Fjorrod was only a child at the time and spent much of his time near the gates, watching the blacksmith, waiting for the hunters and mercenaries to return from their jobs so he could pester them with questions before being shooed away.
“How did you get those?” Fjorrod would ask with a bright expression, referring to the large sacks of pelts and meat that hunters and sometimes mercenaries would return with. When it was the mercenaries, it was the guards that would shoo Fjorrod. The hunters all responded in similar fashion. The words changed, but the point remained the same.
“Kyne, my boy. She guides the arrow of any true Nord.” The hunter smiled with pride, a smile that said he knew something no one else knew, that he had a secret to his success.
“You mean like Kynareth? And that tree near the temple?”
The hunter’s smile collapsed into a grimace, bitter hostility just under the surface. “No, not her, not that false god that Imperials created to appease elves. I mean Kyne, of the Old Ways. Haven’t your parents taught you that?”
Fjorrod thought for a moment before admitting to not knowing the difference.
“Hrrm,” the hunter paused briefly before walking off, leaving Fjorrod at the front gates. “I’m not surprised. Ask them about it. Learn about your homeland. Don’t lay down with the rest of the gutless sympathizers who are so willing to forget our heritage.”
4E 201, Last Seed 3rd
The Stormcloak rebellion had burgeoned, launched by its first casualty, High King Torygg. Word traveled quickly through Skyrim and reached Fjorrod through the small talk of a Khajiit merchant. Fjorrod had just finished making his trades and was packing up when the Khajiit thanked him, paused, and hesitantly asked a question.
“Has this one heard of the Jarl, Ulfric? He frightens Khajiit. It did not feel safe here to begin with but now...”
“Yes...yes, I’m familiar with Ulfric. He’s rooting out those harm our land and seek to strip us of our identity. Do you mean any harm to our land or our ways?”
“No, Khajiit means no harm to the Nords.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Fjorrod offered a quick smile, finished packing and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Khajiit is not so sure, but this Nord seems confident. Khajiit will try not to worry.” The merchant returned Fjorrod’s brief smile. “May your road lead you to warm sands.”
4E 201, Hearth Fire 21st
“So why did you join the Stormcloaks?” Fjorrod overheard this question being asked of a fellow soldier who was also sitting by the campfire that night.
“I guess I just wanted to do something to help out. I couldn’t just let the Imperials walk over us anymore.”
The soldier who asked nodded in agreement and turned back to stare silently into the crackling fire. Fjorrod continued eating his venison stew, staring into the same fire. Small talk punctuated by silence and distant thoughts only meant that it was a normal night. When the day came to an end and things slowed down, everyone’s minds were fraught with the knowledge that any one of them may be forced to lay down their life for Skyrim tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day. Nothing was guaranteed and the soldiers were on edge. But they were fiercely passionate too, and that’s what gave them their edge.
“What about you?”
It was a few seconds until Fjorrod realized that it was the soldier sitting across the fire from him that was asking him the same question.
“Me?” Fjorrod asked, making certain he was being addressed before speaking.
“Yeah, you.” The soldier sat up straight, stretching to peer through the top of the licking flames.
“Hmm.” Fjorrod paused briefly before speaking, his eyes still fixed on his stew. “When the Imperials arrested me for hunting the animals of my own land and worshipping the gods of my ancestors, I knew that the threat to our ways was real. Skyrim lives or dies with her children, so I choose to fight for her life.”
After the events of Helgen, Fjorrod lands feet-first and use his intimate knowledge of the land to make a swift recovery. After a short stop in Riverwood, escorted by Ralof, Fjorrod sets off for Windhelm, set to lay down his life for his homeland. After passing his trial and being sworn in as a Stormcloak, Fjorrod takes on a very important, and very personal mission: delivering Jarl Ulfric’s axe to the Jarl Balgruuf, a message between two warriors that is understood without words.
It is the first time in five years that Fjorrod returns to his hometown of Whiterun and he is twice approached by guards on edge due to the recent events in Helgen. Fjorrod is believed when he explains himself and is able to speak with Jarl Balgruuf easily enough. When he hands Jarl Balgruuf Ulfric’s axe, Fjorrod stands, waiting, expecting an answer. Jarl Balgruuf does not give one, but instead says that he cannot answer while the very real threat of a dragon attack is still present.
Desperate for an answer, Fjorrod does as Balgruuf asks and finds the Dragonstone. Upon his return, the Jarl still does not give an answer and Fjorrod becomes irritated, certain he’s being strung along. But, as one final act of service, he does as the Jarl asks and assists Irileth in defeating the dragon that threatened Whiterun and its citizens.
Fjorrod returns to Dragonsreach, victorious and determined. Upon inquiring about the battle, Jarl Balgruuf learns that Fjorrod may have successfully absorbed a dragon soul and tells him to seek out the council of the Greybeards. However, Balgruuf’s words fall short, unheard over the heartbreak and betrayal Fjorrod feels when Balgruuf returns Ulfric’s axe and attempts to make Fjorrod the Thane of Whiterun, a now Imperial-allied city. Fjorrod rejects Balgruuf’s offer, dropping the Axe of Whiterun at the foot of the throne and walking out. Fjorrod returns to Windhelm, Ulfric’s axe in hand, the symbol of war to come.
Passion fuels Fjorrod as he fights alongside the Stormcloaks for weeks, retaking forts and establishing new leadership in each of the holds. Only once the war is over and General Tullius lies dead, Fjorrod does seek out the Greybeards, this time under Ulfric’s advisement. Fjorrod learns what it means to be Dragonborn and channels his breath into shouts that honor Kyne and the Old Ways, establishing himself as a true son of Kyne, and a true son of Skyrim.
With the release of this profile, serious thanks and acknowledgements are in order. An enormous thank you to Singularity, who was so kind to help us with screenshots of the character. Through various drafts on a short runway, he provided us with more incredible shots of our character we only could have ever hoped or asked for. All credit for the character screenshots and visual interpretation of Fjorrod goes to him. Thank you for lending us your wonderful talent for character creation, and helping us bring him to life. Secondly, a huge thank you is due to Lyall, who took an interest in the build, started his own playthrough and a blog based on it, and made us ask ourselves tough questions to help better flesh out this character. For all the insight, information he’s given us on his own playthrough, and free publicity, we are deeply thankful. Thank you to everyone who liked and commented on the Breath of Kyne build. We so appreciate all the supportive comments and helpful feedback you’ve left us to help us improve him. And, finally, thank you to the CB hosts who devised the event, for all their work in putting the contest together, and giving us a venue and reason to make this character much more than just a passing thought.
This profile is an accompaniment for a collaborative character build of the same name that was part of the Minibuild Contest, held in January of 2016. It features Fjorrod, a homegrown Nord who wants nothing more than to preserve the culture of his homeland, and the ways of his ancestors.
Name: Fjorrod Gale-Heart
Age: 35
Sex: Male
Race: Nord
Class: Hunter
Height: 6ft (182cm)
Weight: 190lbs (86kg)
Build: Powerful
Visage: Weathered, scarred, almost always dirty
Eyes: Slate blue
Hair: Shoulder-length copper, with braids
Facial hair: Closely kempt beard along the sides, longer along the chin and knotted when in the wilds; neatly braided when venturing into town
Apparel: Full fur armor, fur bracers, leather boots
Tattoos/Scars: Large jagged scar on left cheek, occasionally obscured within his beard when unkempt; multiple wounds
Aliases: Breath of Kyne
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Standing Stone: The Lover
Title(s): (Double) Thane of Falkreath, Thane of Stormcloak-controlled Whiterun
Current residence: Wilds of Skyrim, is a patron at inns when visiting cities and towns
Education: Some formal
Hobbies: Hunting game, harvesting food from the wilds, tempering weapons and armor
Relationship status: “Adventurer”
Children: None
Personality: Stoic, idealistic, quiet until he needs to speak, deliberate when he does, and forceful when necessary
Thoughts on the war: Fjorrod is protective of his homeland and its wealth of natural resources, and sees Imperial rule as a possible threat to Skyrim’s sovereignty and as an exploitative venture on the part of the Empire.
Weapons: Hunting Bow and Iron Arrows, Steel Dagger
Special Abilities/Skills: Archer, hunter, survivalist
Place of Birth: Whiterun, Skyrim
Occupation: Hunter
Religion: Nordic Old Ways; Kyne
Organizations/Factions: Stormcloaks
Favorite food/drink: Fresh, hearty stew with freshly baked bread, and mead or ale. Honningbrew Mead is his standard drink of choice, though he will sometimes shell out for something a little more refined.
Interests: Wandering the wilds of Skyrim, honoring deity which provides him with an occupation, daily sustenance, and purpose.
Flaws: Withdrawn, occasionally bullheaded, too trusting, drinks a lot
Citizenship: Only Skyrim, from birth to death. Born in Whiterun, becomes thane of Falkreath.
As a boy growing up within the walls of Whiterun, Fjorrod would sit near the city gates and watch wide-eyed, as adventurers and mercenaries returned with gold, battle injuries, and wild game. He longed for adventure and the unknown, for what waited outside the cloyingly close quarters of the city.
When he was finally deemed mature enough to leave the city unaccompanied by his father, he took the Septims he had saved from working laborious, thankless jobs, purchased a longbow and ten iron arrows, and set out onto the plains. His first few attempts at hunting yielded nothing but empty quivers and frustration, but stubborn persistence eventually molded a proud hunter.
Nearly two decades later, Fjorrod had tracked an elk for hours into dusk and finally caught the elk within range, at the top of a wooded ridge. He crouched and moved slowly amidst the tall grasses, drew his longbow, carefully notched an arrow, and pulled back on the bowstring. A short exhale and a prayer later, he released.
A miss. The elk bound further into the forest.
Almost immediately, an Imperial soldier came charging through the brush from the other side of the ridge, shouting accusations of treason against the Empire and attempting to free a rebel prisoner. Alarmed, Fjorrod laid down his bow and attempted to explain that he had no such intention, that his arrow was intended for the elk. But his words fell on deaf ears. With the help of two other guards, the soldiers surrounded him, bound his hands, confiscated his bow, and forced him to walk.
Fjorrod started learning about the Old Ways at a young age, though not through any strict regimen or discipline.
4E 176
Ulfric had just retaken The Reach with a Nord militia in exchange for free worship of Talos, setting the foundation for the eventual Stormcloak rebellion. Fjorrod was only a child at the time and spent much of his time near the gates, watching the blacksmith, waiting for the hunters and mercenaries to return from their jobs so he could pester them with questions before being shooed away.
“How did you get those?” Fjorrod would ask with a bright expression, referring to the large sacks of pelts and meat that hunters and sometimes mercenaries would return with. When it was the mercenaries, it was the guards that would shoo Fjorrod. The hunters all responded in similar fashion. The words changed, but the point remained the same.
“Kyne, my boy. She guides the arrow of any true Nord.” The hunter smiled with pride, a smile that said he knew something no one else knew, that he had a secret to his success.
“You mean like Kynareth? And that tree near the temple?”
The hunter’s smile collapsed into a grimace, bitter hostility just under the surface. “No, not her, not that false god that Imperials created to appease elves. I mean Kyne, of the Old Ways. Haven’t your parents taught you that?”
Fjorrod thought for a moment before admitting to not knowing the difference.
“Hrrm,” the hunter paused briefly before walking off, leaving Fjorrod at the front gates. “I’m not surprised. Ask them about it. Learn about your homeland. Don’t lay down with the rest of the gutless sympathizers who are so willing to forget our heritage.”
4E 201, Last Seed 3rd
The Stormcloak rebellion had burgeoned, launched by its first casualty, High King Torygg. Word traveled quickly through Skyrim and reached Fjorrod through the small talk of a Khajiit merchant. Fjorrod had just finished making his trades and was packing up when the Khajiit thanked him, paused, and hesitantly asked a question.
“Has this one heard of the Jarl, Ulfric? He frightens Khajiit. It did not feel safe here to begin with but now...”
“Yes...yes, I’m familiar with Ulfric. He’s rooting out those harm our land and seek to strip us of our identity. Do you mean any harm to our land or our ways?”
“No, Khajiit means no harm to the Nords.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Fjorrod offered a quick smile, finished packing and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Khajiit is not so sure, but this Nord seems confident. Khajiit will try not to worry.” The merchant returned Fjorrod’s brief smile. “May your road lead you to warm sands.”
4E 201, Hearth Fire 21st
“So why did you join the Stormcloaks?” Fjorrod overheard this question being asked of a fellow soldier who was also sitting by the campfire that night.
“I guess I just wanted to do something to help out. I couldn’t just let the Imperials walk over us anymore.”
The soldier who asked nodded in agreement and turned back to stare silently into the crackling fire. Fjorrod continued eating his venison stew, staring into the same fire. Small talk punctuated by silence and distant thoughts only meant that it was a normal night. When the day came to an end and things slowed down, everyone’s minds were fraught with the knowledge that any one of them may be forced to lay down their life for Skyrim tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day. Nothing was guaranteed and the soldiers were on edge. But they were fiercely passionate too, and that’s what gave them their edge.
“What about you?”
It was a few seconds until Fjorrod realized that it was the soldier sitting across the fire from him that was asking him the same question.
“Me?” Fjorrod asked, making certain he was being addressed before speaking.
“Yeah, you.” The soldier sat up straight, stretching to peer through the top of the licking flames.
“Hmm.” Fjorrod paused briefly before speaking, his eyes still fixed on his stew. “When the Imperials arrested me for hunting the animals of my own land and worshipping the gods of my ancestors, I knew that the threat to our ways was real. Skyrim lives or dies with her children, so I choose to fight for her life.”
After the events of Helgen, Fjorrod lands feet-first and use his intimate knowledge of the land to make a swift recovery. After a short stop in Riverwood, escorted by Ralof, Fjorrod sets off for Windhelm, set to lay down his life for his homeland. After passing his trial and being sworn in as a Stormcloak, Fjorrod takes on a very important, and very personal mission: delivering Jarl Ulfric’s axe to the Jarl Balgruuf, a message between two warriors that is understood without words.
It is the first time in five years that Fjorrod returns to his hometown of Whiterun and he is twice approached by guards on edge due to the recent events in Helgen. Fjorrod is believed when he explains himself and is able to speak with Jarl Balgruuf easily enough. When he hands Jarl Balgruuf Ulfric’s axe, Fjorrod stands, waiting, expecting an answer. Jarl Balgruuf does not give one, but instead says that he cannot answer while the very real threat of a dragon attack is still present.
Desperate for an answer, Fjorrod does as Balgruuf asks and finds the Dragonstone. Upon his return, the Jarl still does not give an answer and Fjorrod becomes irritated, certain he’s being strung along. But, as one final act of service, he does as the Jarl asks and assists Irileth in defeating the dragon that threatened Whiterun and its citizens.
Fjorrod returns to Dragonsreach, victorious and determined. Upon inquiring about the battle, Jarl Balgruuf learns that Fjorrod may have successfully absorbed a dragon soul and tells him to seek out the council of the Greybeards. However, Balgruuf’s words fall short, unheard over the heartbreak and betrayal Fjorrod feels when Balgruuf returns Ulfric’s axe and attempts to make Fjorrod the Thane of Whiterun, a now Imperial-allied city. Fjorrod rejects Balgruuf’s offer, dropping the Axe of Whiterun at the foot of the throne and walking out. Fjorrod returns to Windhelm, Ulfric’s axe in hand, the symbol of war to come.
Passion fuels Fjorrod as he fights alongside the Stormcloaks for weeks, retaking forts and establishing new leadership in each of the holds. Only once the war is over and General Tullius lies dead, Fjorrod does seek out the Greybeards, this time under Ulfric’s advisement. Fjorrod learns what it means to be Dragonborn and channels his breath into shouts that honor Kyne and the Old Ways, establishing himself as a true son of Kyne, and a true son of Skyrim.
With the release of this profile, serious thanks and acknowledgements are in order. An enormous thank you to Singularity, who was so kind to help us with screenshots of the character. Through various drafts on a short runway, he provided us with more incredible shots of our character we only could have ever hoped or asked for. All credit for the character screenshots and visual interpretation of Fjorrod goes to him. Thank you for lending us your wonderful talent for character creation, and helping us bring him to life. Secondly, a huge thank you is due to Lyall, who took an interest in the build, started his own playthrough and a blog based on it, and made us ask ourselves tough questions to help better flesh out this character. For all the insight, information he’s given us on his own playthrough, and free publicity, we are deeply thankful. Thank you to everyone who liked and commented on the Breath of Kyne build. We so appreciate all the supportive comments and helpful feedback you’ve left us to help us improve him. And, finally, thank you to the CB hosts who devised the event, for all their work in putting the contest together, and giving us a venue and reason to make this character much more than just a passing thought.
But thank you so much again for all your support in our creative endeavors.
