I vote for Krughava, too. I love Krughava. Been meaning to draw her, too, but never manage to get around to it.
I would'd go too icelandic blonde on Brys, Hull's supposed to be the nordic poster boy. He's more of a darker shade of blonde in my mind, but there's no quote I could produce to say either way.
Oh, and I also vote for Redmask.
Edit: Let's see, what I can produce quote-wise..
On Brys..
Quote
The Champion – that extraordinary, appalling swordsman - […]
[…] So modest in appearance, so... his face. Familiar... Hull Beddict. So like Hull Beddict. Yes, his brother. The youngest. […]
[MT, p. 900]
[…] Lying, perfetly still, a mixture of surprise and dismay on his young face. […]
[MT, p. 903]
Brys Beddict's calm brown eyes […]. His sword seemed to writhe.
[RG, p. 879]
[…] a Letherii approaching. Plainly dressed, an unadorned long, thin-bladed sword scabbarded at his hip, Brys Beddict possessed no extraordinary physical qualities, and yet neither Lostara nor Faradan Sort could take their eyes off him. Even a casual glance would slide past only to draw inexorably back, captured by something ineffable but undeniable.
[DoD, p. 41]
He smiled and saw her start, and wondered, although not for long, as women often reacted that way when he smiled. '[...]'
[DoD, p. 43]
Commander Brys threw on his cloak and fastened the breast clasp. '[...]'
[DoD, p. 677]
[...] They had seen the prince's armour and clothing disintegrating, and then on the man's pallid skin dark swarms – [...]
[tCG, p. 738]
[...] Grimacing, Brys straightened, and then raised one gauntleted hand. [...]
[tCG, p. 747]
..now I want to call him Captain Lether!
I'll see what I can dig up on Krughava..
Edit 2: Behold, Krughava..
Quote
[...]Three more figures joined them. All but one wore iron helms, camailed at the back, with sweeping cheek-guards. Grey cloaks, leather gauntlets. [...] Their skins were fair, but all other characteristics remained unseen beneath armour.
'That's a whole lot of chain weighing down that canoe,' [...]
[tBH]
First to appear was a tall, broad-shouldered figure, blackcloaked. Beneath the thick wool was a surcoat of blackened chain that glistened with oil. The longsword at the left hip revealed a silver wolf's-head pommel. The Perish paused, looked round, then approached the Adjunct as others appeared from the rail. [...] That person halted, half-turned, and the voice that emerged from behind the visored helm startled Keneb, for it was a woman's.
She's a damned giant – even the women heavies in our army would hesitate facing this one.
[tBH]
'[...]' He gestured to the huge woman beside him. 'This is the Mortal Sword Krughava.' The Destriant added something in his own language, and in response both the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil removed their helms.
Ah, these are hard, hard soldiers. Krughava, iron-haired, was blue-eyed, her weathered face seamed with scars, yet the bones beneath her stern, angular features were robust and even. [...]
[tBH]
The length of blue iron sliding from the scabbard was etched from tip to hilt, two wolves stretched in full charge, every swirl of fur visible, their fangs polished brighter than all else, gleaming, the eyes blackened smears. The artisanship was superb, yet that blade’s edge was notched and battered. Its length gleamed with oil.
The Mortal Sword held the sword horizontally, against her own chest, and there was a formal rigidity to her words as she said, 'I am Krughava, Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms of the Perish, sworn to the Wolves of Winter. In solemn acceptance of all that shall soon come to pass, I pledge my army to your service, Adjunct Tavore Paran. [...]'
[p. tBH]
Mortal Sword Krughava reminded Tanakalian of his childhood. She could have stridden out from any of a dozen tales of legend he had listened to curled up beneath skins and furs, all those breathtaking adventures of great heroes pure of heart, bold and stalwart, who always knew who deserved the sharp end of their sword, and who only ever erred in their faith in others — until such time, at the tale's dramatic climax, when the truth of betrayal and whatnot was revealed, and punishment soundly delivered. […]
Her hair was the hue of iron. Her eyes blazed like clear winter skies, and her face could have been carved from the raw cliffs of Perish. Her physical strength was bound to a matching strength of will and neither seemed assailable by any force in the mortal world. It was said that, even though she was now in her fifth decade of life, no brother or sister of the Order could best her in any of a score of weapons: from skinning knife to mattock.
[DoD, p. 75]
[…] her bright blue eyes.
[DoD, p. 76]
The Mortal Sword had greeted the dreadful news of the Destriant's horrid death in pretty much the expected manner. A hardening of already hard features, eyes glaring like ice, the slow, building rise of questions that Tanakalian either could not hope to answer, or, as it turned out, was unwilling to answer. Questions and unknowns were the deadliest foes for one such as Mortal Sword Krughava, who thrived on certainty regardless of its relationship to reality. He could see how she was rocked, all purchase suddenly uncertain beneath her boots; and the way her left hand twitched — as if eager for the grip of her sword, the sure promise of the heavy iron blade; and the way she instinctively straightened — as if awaiting the weight of her chain surcoat — for this surely was news that demanded she wear armour. [...]
[DoD, p. 76]
'[…]' Saying this, she tugged off her heavy gauntlets. '[...]'
[DoD, p. 79]
For all his haste he found Mortal Sword Krughava already positioned on the rise overlooking the shoreline, red-faced beneath her heavy helm. […] As he approached he could see in her eyes the doom of countless epic poems, as if she had devoted her life to absorbing the tragedies of a thousand years' worth of fallen civilizations, finding the taste savagely pleasing.
Yes, she was a holy terror, this hard, iron woman.
[DoD, p. 187]
'You go too far,' said Krughava, and Tanakalian saw the faint curl of a smile on her lips — a detail that took his breath away.
[DoD, p. 195]
'[…]' She rolled her shoulders in a rustle of chain and buckles. '[…]'
[DoD, p. 197]
She sheathed her sword and strapped it on. '[…]'
[DoD, p. 464]
Something flickered in her hard eyes before she turned […]
[DoD, p. 464]
Her expression darkened beneath the rim of her helm. '[…]'
[DoD, p. 720]
Krughava's bright blue eyes were fixed on him, calculating, thoughtful. '[…]'
[DoD, p. 724]
[…] the tall iron-haired woman pacing in front of him. […]
[DoD, p. 733]
[…] the eyes of the hard, iron woman […]
[tCG, p. 81]
[…] Aranict drew a sharp breath. 'That must be Mortal Sword Krughava. She alone could command a palace tapestry.'
Brys grunted. 'I know what you mean. I have seen a few hard women in my time, but that one… formidable indeed.'
'I doubt I could even lift that sword at her belt.'
[tCG, p. 113]
[Spax] […] 'That Mortal Sword,' he muttered low, 'she comes across with all the soft sweetness of a mouthful of quartz. […]'
[tCG, p. 115]
The grey-haired woman bowed. '[...]'
[tCG, p. 183]
[…] The skin of her thick forearms, where they were crossed over her breasts, had deepened to bronze, a hue that seemed as dusty as the patches of bared earth all around them. The sun had bleached the strands of hair that escaped her helm, and they drifted out like webs on the hot wind. [...]
[tCG, p. 275]
She sat alone, head lowered, her fur cloak drawn tight about her. Weapons laid out to one side, hobbled horse behind her. […]
[tCG, p. 375]
[…] And Mortal Sword Krughava rode it with all the ease and familiarity of a veteran. […]
[tCG, p. 703]
[…] Grub glanced again across at Krughava. She was wearing her helm, the visor dropped down and the hinges locked. The wolfskin cape was too heavy to skirl out behind her, despite the swift pace the Ve'Gath were setting, but still it flowed down with impressive grace along the horizontal back of the K'Chain Che'Malle, sweeping down to cover its hips and the projecting mass of its upper leg muscles, so that the fur rippled and glistened as the muscles bunched and stretched.
[tCG, p. 703]
Krughava's thinned eyes switched to the Teblor commander. '[...]'
[tCG, p. 706]
[…] Because [...] could smell that Mortal Sword, and that woman – that woman was a thing of war.
[tCG, p. 718]
[…] She set her helm down, and drew off her gauntlets.
[tCG, p. 723]
She drew herself up, settling one hand on the pommel of her sword. '[...]'
[tCG, p. 723]
[...] Beneath her heavy armour, she was suddenly cold. [...]
[tCG, p. 724]
Ah, I love Krughava
This post has been edited by Puck: 27 January 2014 - 12:13 PM
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