Infobox
Property Value Aliases — Race Human (Blond) Sex Male Born 9 Namtaran (III Winter) 3756 Died — Status Alive Dynasty House of Fjolvilje Titles Roles Commander Jorsala Origin Bers Island, Kilde Sector Religion Pagan Factions Jorsala Height/Weight 195cm / 141kg Family Ivar Fjolvilje (Father, 💀)
Frigg Veverdir (Mother, 💀)
Magni Fjolvilje (Brother)
Thrud Fjolvilje (Sister)
Sif Fjolvilje (Sister)
Egill Fjolvilje (Brother)
Overview
The ferocious commander of the elite Jorsala troops with an eternal smile on his face, driving enemies into terror and allies into thoughts of his frivolous lifestyle. A child of the elites…
Quote
«There are warriors who growl to frighten the enemy. Gunnar smiles. A growl promises pain, but this smile promises that you will simply die, and your death will not ruin his mood.»
…whose name is spoken with reverence in the capital, but whose appearance evokes only bewilderment in the uninitiated. While his elder brother Magni bears the granite weight of titles and intrigues upon his shoulders—something Gunnar lightheartedly left to the “master of the craft”—he himself enjoys the intoxicating freedom of war. In his relaxed posture and lazy squint, there is no weakness, only the terrifying privilege of one who knows how to kill you in three different ways without spilling his ale. He has cast aside all that is superfluous: bombastic speeches, complex rituals, and the thirst for glory, leaving himself only pure, unclouded efficiency.
The Rule of One Mistake
Do not attempt to be snide with him or play at intrigue unless you are prepared for the joke to end with a broken neck. And never, do you hear, never touch his face.
With your permission, I will add a few lines of personal experience regarding a meeting with him. I… I looked into the eyes of this “luck” in the dense forests of the Mott-Neses Mountains, and that gaze haunts me to this day.
I was one of the volunteers who believed in the reliability of our reports about blocking the paths for the Franorian squad. We thought ourselves hunters cornering a beast, but in reality, we were blind kittens following false tracks that Gunnar had left for us with the same carelessness with which one throws a bone to a dog. When we realized the mistake, it was too late—the forest came alive, and the trap snapped shut not with a furious roar, but with a frightening, businesslike silence.
In the chaos of battle, when our formation crumbled like sand, I saw him: a giant moving not like a warrior in the heat of a skirmish, but like a tired lumberjack clearing windthrow. A lazy, almost apologetic smile played on his face as he broke our best fighters with stingy, barely perceptible movements, economizing every breath and every heartbeat.
And what possessed you to drag yourself along with those ignoramuses into the thicket where Jorsala already holds sway? Your death would mean the end of the Laurus chain, and, strange as it may sound, I am sincerely glad that Gunnar decided not to dirty his hammer with you.
We ran like stung beasts. I thought no one would be saved. With every step, only one thought spun in my head: “Is this my last breath?” But after running for some time, I stopped, turned around, and… froze in amazement. No one was pursuing us. Most of our men were still alive. Hah, he simply considered that finishing off fleeing enemies was an unnecessary waste of time and resources. It wasn’t mercy—we simply weren’t his main objective.
He is a monster of efficiency, a man who will not take a single step unless that step benefits the Empire. His combat doctrine can be broken down into two brief parts:
- Team Player: Unlike many “heroes,” he listens. I saw how he, Fjolvilje, silently nodded to a ragged scout, accepting his advice. Rank does not matter to him; only the result matters.
- Dormant Volcano: He does not shout orders. He speaks them so calmly that a chill runs down your skin. But preserve you the Creators if you touch his face. I witnessed a stray shield bash graze his cheekbone. The smile vanished. For one second, I saw not a man, but an elemental force. Poor bastard, that shield-bearer was turned into mincemeat faster than he had time to be frightened. And then… he was smiling again.
Appearance
Physiology
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Head
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Posturing & Body Language
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Equipment
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Psychology
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Friendship
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Hierarchy
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Ambitions & Intent
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Background
13 Solai (I Summer) 3773
The story has begun
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Relations
Family (Dynasty)
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Friends & Allies
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Enemies & Rivals
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Organizations
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Interesting Facts
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Arts & Gallery
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