Dragoncrest Cliffs deity of scars

Jorunn.

Svalinn bobbed his head to the siren of sand-and-driftwood. His fire-brown eyes scanned along the haggard lines of her face, the tender sag of her tired back, the stiffness of her wiry limbs. Something about her made him feel exposed, like a raw nerve. He considered her question, knowing what he wanted and knowing that his reason for being here conflicted with that.

Yes… and no. A soft admittance that might have been bashful if not for the stoicism that etched him a permanent expression. It’d be an honor to serve Sapphique. I will serve it, where allowed. But I belong to the sound. It’s where I was born. He motioned towards Ankyra, the direction from which he had come. And I wait there for the return of my daughters.