First comes the description,
Then comes the self indulgent poetry,
Then comes the lights at the end.

She is hawklike, upon first impression; sharp and lovely in equal measure, to say nothing of the obvious wingedness and implied divinity.  Yet the jade green eyes suggest a furious heritage not angelic at all; but cast by the ancient hands of the Aesir and Vanir to steward the fallen to Valhalla.

Here is a Valkyrie; beautiful in her ferocity, and terrifying in the motion of war.  Blonde hair falls principally to her shoulders, though a substantial braid runs between her wings to the base of her hips.  She is the dream of a lecherous war-god; selected for her curvature, amplified in might, flung like lightning into combat to murder the enemy and ecstasize the ally.

A keen judge of character could deduce that the fiery edge of her war aspect has been softened with time; and the age which does not show on her skin nonetheless quenches her temperament.

Her voice is low within the bands of conventionally feminine, and bears the distinctive accented corners of her Asgardian pedigree.

The Saga Of Yvette's Glory

Here's the saga, here's the story
Of a hard fought and won glory
Spanning Asgard's peaks down to the glutted grave;
For though life leads to death, as sure as pain,
Death yields a life back up again
Atleast for those souls the gods see fit to save.

Observe the shieldmaiden named Yvette,
Child of Olaf and Sigrette,
Borne to blood and iron as is the viking way;
And Agnetta, her handmaiden,
In Yvette's protection laden,
Sheltered at a price of flesh she'd gladly pay.

And so Yvette sailed with the raiders
When they slew Al'Mosel's Bladers,
And sailed back to home with ships sagged low with loot;
And though quite outdone by her kinsmen,
She mete out her share of sins when
Her blood was up, in glorious pursuit.

This is standard viking fare
A pillage here, a burning there,
But that all changed on one fateful winter's night,
When, as the skalds have darkly sung,
Wotan was broken, body flung
By a foe beyond the gods' power to smite.

Though their names are rightly stricken
From the songs lest mem'ry quicken
Them from history; we shall not take the chance.
But after Wotan's funeral pyre,
Frija charged handmaiden Eiyr
To raise an army and, upon the foe, advance.

So these vikings, before slavers,
Found themselves reluctant saviours;
An honor they'd profoundly failed to earn;
And so Yvette's clan scattered far and wide
For allies across dune and tide,
O'er bridges that, just weeks ago, they'd burn.

Yvette found the task before her
To make the Hellenists adore her
And add hoplite bronze to Eiyr's swelling crew;
She felled their champion named Euraylia,
And, to add sting to their failure,
Made Euraylia, like Agnetta, lover too.

When they'd rallied all together,
Having bargained hell for leather,
Eiyr's host was truly wondrous to behold;
Golden Khopesh armed Ozirans,
Blue faced warriors from the highlands,
Every champion found: the scared, the mad, the bold.

In a war with no civilians,
Men will take up arms in millions
And tear apart the monsters that can scare the gods;
Yet the listener should prepare for shock:
Though they averted Ragnarok,
Yvette, with valor, failed to beat the odds.

Sounds of victory bells a'tolling,
Found her brides beyond consoling,
And they wept as Yvette's pyre went up in flame;
Yet in the halls of battered Asgard,
Eiyr'd not forgot her vanguard,
And called her champion from death by a new name.

"I call you Yvette Eiyrsdottr,
Reborn from this godless slaughter,
Against a foe so foul, its name must too be slain;
And you've earned more than warrior's rest;
What three boons then, would you request
That I might call on you for labors yet again?"

Reborn Yvette knew that she
Could ask any miracles three,
But to ask would mean to never sheathe her sword;
And after some meditation,
On her life, and immolation,
She offered to Eiyr the following accord:

"As the first boon of the three,
Raise me up as Valkyrie,
With might beyond the frame I left to burn;
Second, give my brides a sacred place
Where age, and plague, and sword can?t chase
Yet each night I shall effortlesslessly return.

"Third I ask with trepidation,
For even with my meditation,
I cannot know if what I ask is truly mad;
But unsex me here, and give instead
The means to take my wives to bed
And give what for womens' love they have not had."

And so here we end the story,
The epic tale of Yvette's glory,
May her saga inspire others with its score;
For at the price of highest valor,
One can win their own Valhalla,
Built of maidens' love, and steel, and blood, and war.

- An Unknown Skald

As for the lights:

Whites:

Characters with coherent religions and backstories, Discussion, Slow-Burn Attraction, Delayed Reward.

Green:

Consummated Friendship, Adventuring, Aftermath of Adventuring, Storytelling, Warrior/esses, Outsiders, Interesting Individuals.

Reds:

All the typical ones.  High-maintenance partners.  "Lol so random" goof-characters.  Random hookups.  Characters with no purpose except sex.  Pregnancy.  Attempts to tie Yvette down long term.

Final disclaimer:

The nature of my work is such that I can be called away at all hours fairly abruptly, and maybe during inconvenient or intimate moments.  I won't drop without saying goodbye, but RP with me comes with a risk that I might just have to go at some point.  You pays your money, you takes your chances.  I'll try to make it worthwhile, and make up lost time later.