Dragoncrest Cliffs pick up a crew in tortuga

The cadence of Njord’s footsteps quickened, a happy bounce in his trot. The man did not hesitate in his approach and circled Rhaegal to take scent, a comfortable familiarity woven into his posture. The smell of sea brine was there, chased by notes of the inland Taiga. Where had his travels taken him? Njord had so many questions.

“It is good ta see you, lad,” Njord said warmly as he took a step back to better look over his relative. It was true that they did not know each other well. Njord had only been back to visit Meares Island a handful of times – a blip in the youth's daily life. Secondly, Njord had never been very close with Rhaegal’s father, Aegir. Growing up, the brothers were like oil and water. Yet, in their maturity, they had found common ground and harbored goodwill towards one another… especially with the recent coup and the death of Rhaegal’s grandsire. That was the last time he had seen the boy… at Valtyr’s wake.

Njord would do his very best to watch over his brother’s son, though the lad looked like he hardly needed it. He was not a boy, but a young man, and cut a figure like sharpened basalt.

“You av’ dispersed from Meares Island?” he observed. “How did you find yer way to Dragoncrest… to Sapphique?”