Neverwinter Forest call to arms; pack meeting [11.21.2024]

calling all my forneskjans! feel free to post here after callyope posts. round two won't happen until the following saturday (11.30.2024) to give everyone enough time to post.

the glen was alive with the soft murmurs of nature—a gentle wind rustling the leaves, the faint call of distant birds, and the rhythmic hum of the forest that only those who listened carefully could hear. sólhárr stood at its heart, atop the ancient stone that rose like a sentinel in the clearing. he could see tunglhjarta—the heart of the moon—bathed in a faint glow under the filtered light of the evening sky.

his amber eyes swept across the clearing, his frame towering and commanding upon the revered stone. for a moment, he closed them, breathing deeply, feeling the pulse of the forest beneath his paws.

then, with a slow lift of his head, sólhárr let loose a resounding howl, deep and reverberating, calling for the pack to join him. it was not a summons of urgency but of unity—a call to bring them together beneath the protection of the towering trees and the watchful gaze of the moon.

his gaze shifted to his elska, @Callyope, her presence grounding and luminous beside him. with a gentle nod, he extended the silent invitation, stepping aside to offer her a place at his side atop the sacred stone. together, they would stand as a beacon for their wolves, a symbol of strength and kinship.

pride, pleasure and the tiniest touch of surprise.

everything had come together so...smoothly. new faces had gathered until now forneskja stood strong. not just a flimsy gathering of hunters and guardians. it had a sturdy base, it had the proper makings.

enough for them to stand here and send a gathering call.

it was with adoration in her gaze that she looked to sólhárr now. admired how strong he looked, how well his autumn hues matched the world around them. the realization (that she continued to have, day after day) of her luck to have him.

alongside him, she stood tall. silent but warm. as if she was more prepared to listen than she was to talk — which was very much the case.

a call from the king.

one that sounded from mánilundur, of which he was close by. the guardian was quick to heed the howl, dark paws venturing forwards, navigating nimbly, confidently through the weave of thick pines. pushing through the treeline, then, he saw them: the leaders, the foundations of forneskja, standing upon the moonheart. he aimed a low nod at them, a bow that was deep with respect, with loyalty, almost reverant.

moonflowers would ebb and lilt beneath the stone, and he would find his place within the glen, moving to sit a few ways away from the boulder. one of the first to attend, though not the last. one number within the swiftly growing pack. the sögumaðr.

lorekeeper of the pack. faithful. scarlet eyes wandered over ginger and white pelts, watching them, observing, awaiting their words and their wisdom. ears perked and anticipating the footsteps of other forneskjans.

his people, his pride, his ættin.

The echo of Solharr’s howl carried through the trees, settling into the quiet rhythms of the forest. It was a sound Luhtar could not ignore, even if he wanted to. The summons tugged at something instinctual, a pull that resonated deep in his chest. Forneskja’s leader had called, and like the others,

he would answer.

Luhtar’s approach was unhurried but purposeful, his broad paws pressing into the soft earth with a weight that made his presence known long before he came into view. He paused at the edge of the glen, yellow eyes sweeping the gathering.

Solharr and Callyope stood atop the ancient stone. Luhtar’s gaze lingered on Solharr, a glimmer of respect ringing the norseman's gaze. He had known this wolf since he was little more than a pup, and seeing him atop that boulder affirmed his choice to follow him.

His ears twitched at the soft rustle of movement as others began to gather. Among them, he spotted Rokkur, already seated with a quiet stillness.

With a short grunt, he moved further into the glen, his steps firm as he claimed a spot near the edge of the gathering. Sitting down heavily, his shoulders rolled as he settled in, his gaze fixed upward toward Solharr and Callyope. He offered a slight nod, a simple gesture of acknowledgment.

The summons was not a comforting call to Catamaran, who remained cautious despite the kind invitation of the carol. He was half convinced that this would be it; the thing he'd been worried about. Bloodletting or sacrifice or scarification. All things that Catamaran had successfully dodged in the past, but had now, perhaps, inadvertently signed up for.

"I'll make your excuses, if you don't want to go," he said to @Seastorm, worried for the state of her leg. But he would not stop her if she decided to follow.

Arriving at the scene, and seeing Solharr and Callyope stood above them on their rock, he could not help the sinking feeling in his gut. He couldn't help thinking that, if he were a leader, he'd meet his pack mates as equals. None were more important than the rest, in the grand scheme of things. But this was the way of the woodland pack; he had seen it over and over again.

He waited, appearing as sedate and open as he ever was.

Not a social beast by any means, to watch the gathering of bodies brought only a sour look to his face that Glaukos was not quick enough to hide. He did not care so much about the pageantry of it all; there was work to be done, and celebrating something like this was not something he cared to do. There were bodies, there were teeth, they needed feeding; there was land now which bore the scent of Solharr which needed guarding; there were herds to track, boar to monitor; and here was everyone now, taking a moment.

He lingered near the back of the ensemble and waited for the inevitable cheering, or singing, or whatever would become of this union of people. If his boredom won-out, he would go; if he found himself more invested in his work, he would turn and find a path of egress. Let them enjoy themselves, he decided—who knows how long it will last.

At the call Eydis emerged from her den with clear hesitation. She made haste in her efforts to enter the meeting spot, sitting off to the side of the group.

Such things were not familiar to her in the least - a gathering like this was not something she had expected. Warily, her eyes looked to the darkening sky. She could only hope that this would not take long.

The resonant howl reached Y’var’la’s ears like a strand of silk pulled taut across the forest. It was commanding, yes, but it carried a warmth that tethered her thoughts. She didn’t hurry—there was no need. Her steps left delicate imprints upon the forest floor as she wove through the familiar labyrinth of pines and undergrowth.

When she arrived at the glen, she paused just beyond the treeline, her gaze sweeping the scene with discerning sharpness. Solharr and Callyope stood upon the ancient stone, their figures framed by the twilight’s glow, the moon’s light brushing their pelts with reverence. Her nostrils flared slightly, catching the subtle mingling scents of gathered wolves. Forneskja was assembling.

With a slow, deliberate stride, she entered the clearing, her slender figure cutting a graceful path through the moonlit space. Her pale eyes glimmered, taking in the mix of wolves as they filtered in, each settling in a way that suited their temperament. Finding a spot neither at the edges nor too central, she settled herself with her limbs folded beneath her. Y’var’la’s lips quirked, ever so slightly, in acknowledgment. For all her aloofness, she felt the stirrings of pride—a quiet ember that warmed her chest. She had chosen to be here, among these wolves, and that decision had been hers alone.

For now, she would listen, her sharp gaze fixed on the leaders. Every word would be weighed, every subtle movement observed. Y’var’la was no follower to blindly accept, but she knew the value of unity—and of understanding. This pack was her new home, and it was her duty—no, her ambition—to understand it in every detail.

As the murmurs of movement quieted and the glen stilled, Y’var’la let her focus settle on Solharr. Whatever words he and Callyope chose to share tonight, she was prepared to listen.

Íruna stepped into the glen, the thick canopy above casting dappled light onto the gathering below. Clutched within her jaws was a bundle of freshly gathered herbs, their faint, earthy scent mingling with the cool breeze.

She moved towards the center of the clearing, her steps light but deliberate, the soft ferns underfoot barely bending beneath her weight. Once there, Íruna set the herbs down gently between her paws, before taking a cautious seat near Y'var'la. Her lavender eyes scanned the gathering, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces alike.

Briefly, they landed on Y'var'la, whom she offered a small dip of her head to. A silent greeting. She had wished to begin making efforts to meet some of the other women of Forneskja, and she supposed now was as good a time than any.

Her gaze drifted briefly to the herbs she had brought before returning to the wolves around her. Though she said nothing, her posture was relaxed yet attentive, her ears slightly tilted forward as she waited for the gathering to begin.

sólhárr stood atop the jagged stone that marked the heart of forneskja's land, his gaze sweeping across the gathered wolves below. autumn hues kissed his broad shoulders, the sunlight tracing the strong lines of his form. at his side stood callyope, her silent warmth grounding him as much as it elevated him. her presence spoke volumes without a single word, a queen in her quiet strength.

the hárkonungr's amber eyes burned with pride as they moved over each face, old and new alike. the wolves of forneskja had come together, not by chance, but by purpose. the base was strong, the roots deep. this was more than a collection of wanderers—it was home.

he raised his head, his voice carrying over the crisp air like the roll of distant thunder. forneskja, he began, letting the word settle, powerful and unshakable, we stand as one. hunters, guardians, seekers of the máni's light. this place—our place—is strong because of all of you. your steps carve its trails, your howls fill its skies.

his gaze flicked briefly to callyope, as if drawing strength from her, before returning to his pack. new faces have come, and you are welcome. here, there is purpose. here, there is unity. but with it, there is also responsibility. the gods favor us because we honor them, in our hunts, our bonds, and our strength.

a beat of silence, the pause deliberate as he scanned them once more. stand tall. forneskja is not just a place; it is us, together. and together, we will thrive!

he stepped back slightly, his gaze softening as he nodded to callyope beside him, inviting her to speak if she wished. her silent but steady presence, her strength, was the heart to his flame, and he was ready to let her light guide them too.

many gathered and a soft pride swelled within her.

she looked over their faces as they gathered. noted some to meet with later, some already known. her betrothed's voice vibrated with warmth across those who sat.

he spoke of their unity, of their strength.

she adored him always.

and she treasured those that had gathered to share their faith with forneskja.

as Hárkonungr says, the strength and peace of forneskja is with us all together. do not shy, do not hide. come together. be one body for what is the heart of our forest.

her cheeks were warm and yet as her own words had instructed, she did not shy away from those who looked to her!

Sólhárr’s words stirred something deep within him—a sense of belonging that had eluded him since he left Huldfall. He spoke of unity, purpose, and strength, and Luhtar found himself nodding faintly, the corners of his lips curling in a subtle, approving smile.

When Callyope spoke, her tone softer but no less powerful, Luhtar’s ears perked, his attention fixed on her. Her words carried a quiet conviction that made the space between them feel smaller, her call for togetherness resonating in a way that felt personal.

He glanced around at the others gathered, noting the mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. He stepped forward slightly from where he stood in the crowd, his broad frame visible as he raised his head high.

“Hear them!” he barked, his deep, gravelly voice carrying over the clearing. “Strong words, strong pack!” As he stood, his tail pitched into a fast wag behind his thick, burly frame.

the words of the hárkonungr fell upon the grove, gracing them, rallying them as a single unit: as the lifeblood that coursed through the forest, that found strength together; peace. and the guardian felt a pride run through his own veins, like those of the neverwinter, and smiled. a trust that an expression could hardly convey.

callyope, as well. she brought together forneskja, just as sólhárr did. they were not merely husband and wife, they were leaders, the forthbringers of a culture, of a community. their histories, mingling and mixing both together and with those who were now gathered to create a home like none before. woods that protected, nurturing them, and rökkur hoped that they could guide the future generations within this forest, too.

and luhtar cheered. he stood, wrought with what seemed to be passion, pride, for forneskja. and rökkur, sögumaðr, grinned, now. eyes alight, shimmering with the reflection of the stars, the máni above. his lady, his leaders, his people. his home. And so he would stand, too, looking back to luhtar, approving.

strong words, strong pack! he echoed, calling those within the grove to rise, to speak the mantra. to rally for their packs' strength. he looked to their king and queen, then. smiling. tail high above him, swaying. so, so, proud. of them. of the people.

proud of all of it. one with the forest.

Catamaran stood in silence and stillness near the back of the pack. These words chilled him. Turned his stomach. He had come here for purpose, yes, but not for unity. Not for religion. Not for the light of any flash-in-the-pan god they said lived in this land. The velocity of the movement struck him as an especially dangerous sign.

He was not sure how much longer this place would be a safe haven for he and Seastorm. All gods, he thought, demanded one thing or another. Rarely something a wolf wanted to part with.

He kept his expression clean and calm, but Catamaran was quick to exit as soon as the first signal of their dismissal arrived.

sólhárr let the silence settle after his words, the weight of them carried on the crisp air as the gathered wolves absorbed his command. his golden gaze swept over each face once more, finding purpose in their postures, readiness in their eyes. the heart of forneskja beat strong today.

go now, he rumbled, his voice steady, carrying over the crowd. to your duties. hunters, seek the bounty of the forest. guardians, walk the edges of our home. seekers, bring the gods’ light to those who need it.

his words were a command, but not harsh—a shepherd guiding his flock with strength and care. sólhárr stepped down from the jagged stone, his frame a towering presence as the wolves began to disperse, their purpose set.

as the crowd thinned, his focus returned to callyope, her quiet strength like a beacon drawing him in. sólhárr moved to her side, his steps slower now, the weight of leadership giving way to the softness reserved only for her. he lowered his muzzle, brushing it tenderly against her cheek, his warmth a silent promise in the cool air.

elska min, he murmured, the norse word a reverent whisper meant for her alone. his gaze softened as it met hers, pride and devotion written in every line of his face. she was the heart of this place, of him, and with her, forneskja would always thrive.

last for solharr!