Helvegen of the Wind
- Who Am I...
- Romantic Interests
Women – the more dangerous, the better.
- Relationship Status
- My Story Is...
HELVEGEN, NAERVUI and HELVERACCOON
So this pretty girl kind of sort of tricked me into journeying to the far side of the world to get this awesome magical sword that she really wanted.
I found it, all right. Turns out, the sword is possessed by the spirit of a warrior so powerful and bloodthirsty, that it binds itself to whoever agrees to carry it until death, and devours the souls of whoever it kills. It comes when summoned and leaves when dismissed, giving its wielder incredible martial prowess while it’s there. Cool right?
As long as it is summoned, for every second it’s not killing someone, it’s draining the wielder’s soul to stay present, effectively shortening their lifespan every time they call it. Also, once you’re bound to it, you can’t use any other weapons. That’s it – it’s the sword or nothing. And I can’t get rid of it.
So I figured, no use going home to that girl – she obviously doesn’t care about me at all, and I think I might say some rather mean things should we ever cross paths again. Instead, I decided to travel the world aimlessly, meeting interesting people and seeing interesting places. They’re all over, if you know how to look.
Hello. You’re probably here looking for the continuation of Helvegen’s character profile. This isn’t it; rather, it’s Naervui’s intermission. You might know me as Helvegen’s ghost sword. I’m delighted to announce that I am no longer a ghost or a sword. Helvegen’s body is mine, and it’s suiting me perfectly, I find.
What does this mean for you? Well, I’ll tell you a bit about myself, and then you can decide.
When I was twelve years old, I killed an archdemon (also known as a balrog, a balor, a bloodthirster, etc…) with a pair of knives, because I wanted to see if I could. By the time I was eighteen, I had conquered the orc tribes of the Northeastern Foreworld and earned their unswerving loyalty. Three years later, I was waging war on the great nations of the West – and winning. It took an army of titans to finally stop and kill me. To put that into perspective, I would have taken over the entire Foreworld if the race of immortals who preceded the gods hadn’t personally seen to my undoing.
Luckily, I had a contingency plan. When my body was destroyed, my spirit (which the titans had foolishly not obliterated) shaped itself into a sword, bound itself to the Foreworld and lay in wait for some unsuspecting sap to pick it up. Three thousand years later, someone did. Thirteen year-old Helvegen Jormungandsson, hoping to win the heart of a comely evil lass by presenting her with me. Lucky for him, as soon as he touched me, I bound myself to his soul (which resulted in me draining it whenever he summoned me). I must admit, it was a bit of a step down for me when my objective went from “conquer the Encircled Worlds” to “troll a kid and make him miserable” – somehow, though, the latter was more entertaining and about as challenging, given the physical faculties I was in control of then. Thankfully, when Helve later appeared on Hellifyno and was invited to find a book in a magical university on a floating island, Ruby’s baby, along with the power of a god, loosened my bindings, enabling me to summon myself at will. When he tried to rebind me, I conquered his mind and body.
After that… well, can’t tell you that, or everyone’ll be an overdeity before long. Can’t have that. Only Freedom can be truly free.
Now I’m free of Naervui, looks like. That being the case, I can’t fight quite as well (I’m not a bad fighter – was trained in martial arts by a rat-monk), but my magical ability is in much better shape. My specialty is utility magic – I taught myself the basics of magitechnology/technomancy using engineering schematics, and I’m pretty good at utility magic. Finally, I can be helpful!
I’m trying to learn how to bake. Hopefully I don’t kill anyone.
Alas, in the end, it was you who died, Helvegen.
And here I am again. I’ve learned my lesson, I think. I think. I’m The Wanderer now, taking up the Allfather’s spear and walking the world. Not much has changed, to be honest, except now an evil raccoon is gallivanting around in Space, scheming as fast as he can think and slowly drawing closer to enacting his master plan. And it’s partially my fault, seeing as how the raccoon is me, and I’m the raccoon, but we’re also not each other. To simplify, he was born out of a wayward fragment of my soul. Thanks, Niabi. His story is told through The Ringed Reaver and Helveraccoon series of blogs.
- My Appearance
I’m about 5’6, with straight, thick, shoulder-length dark hair that I let loose – it looks decent flying in the wind. People used to tell me my eyes look like they’ve got rainstorms going on inside them. Not sure what they meant – take it as you will. I usually wear a simple green n’ brown tunic, along with my spiderweb cloak.
Not quite Helvegen, but close enough
My eyes are grey now, and so’s my hair. I’ve got crow’s feet around my eyes. I look like a kid in mid-transition from late adolescence directly to middle-age.
Spiderweb Cloak. Allows the wearer to speak the language of spiders and climb nonmagical surfaces. Doubles as a net.
Pendant. A simple pendant with no magical effect.
Lightsaber Shoto. Proof of his skill in close-quarters combat, Helveraccoon keeps this short lightsaber as a trophy from his duel with the Sith assassin Sha’nas Raion. Of all his weapons, this is the only one that never leaves his side.
Storm Bolt Pistol. A deadly product of Helvegen’s technomancy, this large machine pistol fires explosive rounds at incredible speeds. Tipped with diamantium, these rocket-propelled bullets can even punch through Astartes power armor and take out small ships with ease.
DL-44. While the bolter is almost always enough to take care of whatever needs shooting, its ammunition is finite. In case of a shortage, Helveraccoon also carries this heavy blaster pistol, which sacrifices much of the destructive power of the bolter for viability in prolonged battle.
Crozius Arcanum. The raccoon rarely uses this Force Mace in combat. However, it remains a deadly weapon if put to the test. It’s equipped with a gravitic energy field capable of disrupting matter, making it the blunt equivalent of a Power Sword.
The Satchel. A Bag of Holding in the form of a satchel, taken with Helveraccoon wherever he goes. It allows him to have immediate access to all his weapons at most times – except in heavy combat, during which he wears…
Artificer Armor. A testament to the technomancy Helveraccoon inherited from his spiritual predecessor (among other things), this custom suit of power armor combines visual elements of Mandalorian inspiration with the stalward defense of Astartes power armor. It is also designed to fit a 3-foot tall raccoon, resulting in changes to conventional power armor structure. Miraculously, these changes haven’t lessened the armor’s effectiveness. The armor boasts:
– a chainsaw fitted on the right forearm
– a storm bolt pistol mounted on the left wrist
– power nails on the left fingers
The raccoon rarely wears this armor, except on premeditated missions involving heavy combat. When he does, though, it boosts his already ludicrous speed and strength and provides defense from injuries that might otherwise distract him. His using it is a sign that he has gotten serious, and aims to kill whatever is in his way.
Triffie. Although he’d never admit it, Helveraccoon has grown fond of his personal droid tri-fighter. For a human, she’d be just spacious enough to fit in. For the raccoon, she has room to spare. With a hollowed-out cockpit and custom dashboard for manual controls, as well as improved rocket thrusters, Triffie is capable of competing against higher-end starfighters far out of the league of unmodified, unmanned tri-fighters.
- My Secrets Are...
I have none. The raccoon has many.
- I Believe...
in the Road.