"Our Anacreon has spoken. His word is law. Nothing more needs to be said on the matter, and anyone who would care to speak to him can first speak to me!"

Odin Thorsblood

Odin was born to a Troll father and a mortal mother in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1860. His father was a blacksmith by trade, and hoped that his Kinain son - who was quite the chip off the block by all other standards - would follow his footsteps.

His father would have to be slightly disappointed, though. For some reason, Odin's hands went to wood before they went to silver or any other metal.He also had a bit of a nasty streak in him, and would lose his temper and go on angry rampages, breaking things about the home. He was also a bit of a risk-taker, and though Pittsburgh had opportunity it didn't quite have enough interest for him.

After some time, Odin's father decided that some travel and adventure might be good for the boy. So Odin left his home and his parents and went West, travelling with a small company of Trolls and Troll Kinain. They'd been sent to the region to watch over the fledgling freeholds of European Changelings, all under attack from the Nunehi of the region.

Odin was a servicable fighter, but his primary responsibility was to maintain the carts and other materials the soldiers needed. However, when forced to choose between one or the other his gambler's nature kept coming back to haunt him, and he would sometimes go for the warhammer instead of the carpenter's hammer. This led to a few problems, as he would practice his martial skills instead of tend to a wagon in need of repairs, or some such. He was once reprimanded and disciplined for it, and he tried to improve, but he was quite tempted to do otherwise...

It was during a reprisal for a sneak attack on a nearby freehold that Odin's fate came upon him. He brazenly attacked the shaman of the tribe they were after, and laid him low with a plunge of an iron dagger. As he lay dying, the shaman cursed Odin: "I see duty, the joy of abandoning duty, and anger within you," he murmured, "So it shall be. If you ever abandon your duty, you shall suffer for it."

Of course, Odin did not speak the language of that tribe, so he did not heed the warning. One day, as he worked at his job, he was overcome with the desire to sneak away for a little practice with his warhammer. Lo and behold, as he hefted the weapon above his head, he lost all coordination and nimbleness, and fell to the ground. The hammer fell down and broke his foot.

Now, Trolls are not very well-versed in the nature of curses and cursing, as they've very straightforward and forthright. So no one could really explain what happened to Odin. It was bad enough that he'd broken his word, though the camp leader let a broken foot be punishment enough for Odin's stupidity, and hoped it would teach him one last lesson.

But then came five temptations Odin simply could not ignore. They arrived by courier - and they glistened and gleamed and were poison to the touch. They were five swords, made of the finest and purest cold iron to be had in this land or any other. "For the war," the Nocker courier explained, and rode off, glad to be rid of them.

They sat in the weapon's tent, stinking of the death of the dream. And the gambler and the beast within Odin wanted to take one out and give it a try, though none were allowed to touch them until authorized.

So one day, as Odin sat in the tent, hammering away at one thing or another, he could not resist any longer, and he went to the stand and reached out to take one for a quick swing. Just then, he lost all balance, and fell forward. In a quick, strange moment of confusion the entire brace of swords collapsed on him, and Odin died, run through by all five iron swords at once.

Now, those true changelings who die go back to the great cycle to find new shells to ride in. Kinain, being at least half mortal and half changeling, go the way of the mortals. And as mortals are sometimes wont to do, Odin awoke to a horrible, dead world where the trees were bent and cracked and the greenest things were brown and sere, or blackened. His friends were dead men walking, every one of them, and he was, well... different. He actually looked like a true Troll.

He tried to speak to his fellows as they carried his body away, but to no avail. They could not hear him. He watched them give his body a Viking funeral, out at the great, wide Ocean he'd sometimes fought along the shores of, and he decided he would do all he could to protect them even now in death.

Still, that was not to be. They came back to camp to find a war party waiting for them, and though they were mighty and well-trained they were also outnumbered and surprised. They were all killed to a man, first in spirit and then in body. The war party took their weapons and beards back as trophies, leaving the carcasses to rot. And Odin could do no more than stare, disbelieving and unable to do more than weep and scream abuse at the tribesmen. After a time, Odin realized there was nothing more for him here, and he walked to the Ocean, looked left and then right, and started walking up the coast to the right.

That was 1885, the same year that he walked into the Seattle Necropolis, causing no small amount of stir. He was readily inducted into the Emerald Legion (as, despite the curse, he was the victim of an accident, and if the Legion of Fate wanted him they remained silent) and has served it faithfully ever since.

It was Odin, in fact, who pulled Jeremiah King, now Anacreon of the Legion, from his caul close to forty years after his own induction into the Legion. He knew, without fail, that he was looking at the face of the man he must serve above all others.

Odin swore fealty to the bewildered Enfant that day, and since then he's been Jeremiah King's steadfast Ally. Whatever strings needed to be pulled to get him up and through the ranks was accomplished. And when the previous Anacreon was lost in the storms, Odin nominated then-overlord King for the post, and none of the other Overlords dared stick their own neck out for fear of Odin's wrath.

Nature: Squire-Gambler

Demeanor: Squire

Cohort: Emerald Legion - Overlord

Born: 1860

Died: 1885

Life: Risk-taking Troll Kinain

Death: One risk too many

Regret: Died in disgrace

Physical: Strength 5 (Crushing Blows), Dexterity 4 (Able-Handed), Stamina 4 (Tough as a... well... Troll)

Social: Charisma 2, Manipulation 2, Appearance 2

Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 2, Wits 3

Talents: Alertness 3, Awareness 1, Athetics 3, Brawl 3, Dodge 3, Intimidation 4 (Overpowering looks)

Skills: Crafts 3 (Carpentry), Etiquette 2, Melee 5 (Warhammer), Stealth 3, Blacksmith 2, Falconry 2

Knowledges: Bureaucracy 1, Enigmas 2, Occult 2, Politics 1, Faerie lore 3, Heraldry 2

Backgrounds: Allies 1 (Anacreon King), Artifact 2 (Overlord's mask), Eidolon 2, Legacy 1, Memoriam 2, Notoriety 2, Relic 3 (Warhammer), Status 4 (Hierarchy - Overlord)

Passions: Serve my chosen leader (Duty) 5, Protect changelings (Love) 3, Seek transcedence (Fear) 3

Fetters: Iron swords that killed him 5 (1 pt for each), Troll under the bridge in Gasworks Park 2, Old Troll friend 3

Arcanoi: Argos 4, Castigate 3, Lifeweb 2, Outrage 3, Pandemondium 2, Flux 2

Willpower: 7

Corpus: 11

Permanent Angst: 4

Shadow: The Monster

Thorns: Shadowplay 5

Dark Passions: Kill my chosen one's enemies (Duty) 5, Kill the enemies of Changelings (Love) 3, Seek Oblivion (Self Loathing) 3

Merits: Full of life (+1), Code of honor (+1), Reputation (+2), Past life (+6)

Flaws: Distinct appearance (-1), Cursed (-3, if the psyche ever abandions its duty, it will lose all Dexterity dice)

Image: Odin appears in simple, Trollish clothing, but often "wears" the clothing of a well-to-do man of the early parts of the 20th century, much like Anacreon King. Given Seattle's sumptuary laws, Odin has to hide a lot of what makes him so distinctive, courtesy of King's skills with Moliate. The horns are hidden under a hat, but he keeps the blue skin, long teeth, long beard and enormous muscles. His warhammer rides at his belt or in his fist at all times.

Role Playing: You are quite aware of your failures. These bring you nothing but shame, even if it was your D'an to bear them. You hope to alleviate your shame by doing better in the future. Still, you fear that you may one day be weak at the wrong moment again. Dying as you did has given you memories of your previous lives - one of which was your own great-grand Uncle, no less - and you think you can find a way to make your own D'an through what is known as Transcendence. But your duty is now to your leader - King - so this must wait.

Your code of honor prohibits you from allowing King to come to harm. Be very protecting of the man, and refuse to leave his side unless you're sure the man's guarded to within an inch of his unlife. This also means that you will do and say anything possible to put Anacreon King's needs, ideas and beliefs higher than your own, as any good servant should. If King has a good idea, everyone should see it's a good idea. If King has a tactically erronius idea, you will still support it and then, privately, see if you can get King to change his mind... or at least suggest other things that could be done as well.

Shadow: "I. Said. To Go. AWAY FROM. HERE!" (Starts swinging the hammer...)

The Hierarchy reminds you of nothing more than a bunch of foppish Sidhe arguing languidly over where to put the chairs for the party. So many problems can be solved with one, good blow of the hammer... so why all this parleying and dancing around the subject? But no one wants to let you do what needs to be done, and that just makes you angry.

Very, very angry...

Big Secrets: As might be expected, Odin knows all of Anacreon King's secrets, especially since he does all the man's Castigation for him. He also knows a great deal about the Changelings in the area, since he knows where and how to look for them, and he is one of the few individuals who know the secret of the Troll in Gasworks Park. Both he and his Shadow would rather die a thousand deaths that reveal any of what they know about either King or the Changelings.

Odin also knows about the hole in the Tempest, and the fleet it contains.