Val - ka - ree, proper noun that should be uttered with reverence and eye boggling awe.
The Common Belief
Valkyrie have long been thought of as the stuff of Nordic myth and pubescent sexual fantasy. Traditionally portrayed as being strapping blonde wenches with thighs to crack walnuts and a cleavage you could get lost in, wearing horned helms, tight fitting leather jerkins and fur trimmed hot pants; a blood thirsty crew of about half a dozen sword-wielding nymphomaniacs all ready to horizontally accommodate any brave hero providing he has his own teeth and gets the ales in. Sadly this whole Valhalla, Ass-guard, Valkyrie and Norse Gods thing is nothing more than a pack of cheap lies hastily and badly written by the Nordic Tourist Board in the hope of convincing you they have something of interest to entertain you on your holiday other than reindeer shit and acres of snow.
Valkyrie is not a pack of horny women equipped with elbow pads and a bottomless box of 4-ply man-sized tissues, but actually just ONE stumpy-arsed sarcastic brunette variously in a state of indifferent outrage, indulgent mirth or righteous indignation. Little is known of her past beyond the fact that she was born in the UK and though extensively travelled she didn't care too much for them foreign types with their strange speech and suspicious looking food, so returned to live in Jolly Old Blighty after just a couple of weeks spent in Cornwall and a day trip to the Isle of Wight.
A fairly private and oblivious person, Valkyrie allows the slanderous tales of Nordic lust to go unchallenged as she can't be bothered to fill out the forms for Legal Aid that have been sat in her in-tray so long they have become a vital part of its structural integrity. Reluctant to allow reality to interfere with her life, she spends her time bumbling about the interwurb having a giggle and preaching to the Great Unwashed. When not online she likes to cuddle up with her cats Percival, Tosca and Mr Fluffynuts.