Neverwinter Forest trinkets

taktu þessa hluti, farðu langt.

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never before had she been so far. each step was new and each pushing breeze carried new scents. she grew tired — for perhaps the hundredth time — by the time she found forest covering.

so many gathered here, she could tell in the thick of scents.

her thin limbs became rooted to the spot. uncertain if it was worth calling or if she would be best suited scurrying along to the next gathering. she thought she could hear her mother's soft tsk. her narrow head turned side to side, looking for something that was not there.

she set down the rather tattered looking raccoon fur. the only thing left after her long walk. whatever had once been carried in it had been traded, stolen or lost.

yet it held something none could take — memories of home.

her head tilted back. eyes fixed on the winter canopy that loomed above this forest. the cold wind nipped at her nose, it tried to tussle the clumps of travel-beaten fur.

finally she called for someone.

@Solharr but AW too!

solharr approached, his form emerging from the shadows of the forest, his dark pelt dusted faintly with snow. his broad frame moved with purpose, yet his steps were unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to address this call. his golden eyes caught the sight of the young woman, her thin form nearly blending into the dull winter backdrop. she looked fragile, weathered by her journey, yet something in the way she stood suggested quiet resolve.

he stopped a few paces away, his gaze lowering briefly to the tattered raccoon fur at her paws before rising again to meet her arctic blue eyes. there was no immediate warmth in his expression, only the hard scrutiny of one who had seen many strangers at these borders.

you call, his deep voice rumbled, breaking the stillness. what do you seek here, thin one?

his tone was not unkind, but it carried the weight of his station. he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her more closely, looking for signs of deceit or hidden strength beneath her unassuming frame. the raccoon fur did not escape his notice, and his gaze lingered on it for a moment longer before returning to her face.

one eye.

auburn flamed.

she did not fully bow, but she lowered her head from its curious raise. his scent was strong, his words stronger. it did not take much thinking to know this was likely his claim. not just some wild warrior come to halt her.

halló, she offered with a tepidness befitting this interaction. deilum við orðum? she did not think it would hurt. this place was not as frigid as home but there was a northern presence here all the same.

perhaps it was only winter's winds giving her false hope.

solharr’s golden eye burned against the frost as he regarded the auburn-flamed woman. her voice reached him through the chilled air, her words carrying the cadence of the north. the recognition tugged faintly at the corners of his mind—a familiarity not of person, but of place, of shared roots.

he did not rush to answer, letting the silence stretch between them for a moment before his lips parted, his voice rough but steady.

já, við deilum, he rumbled, his tone low but not unkind. he gestured with a subtle tilt of his muzzle toward the forest beyond them, as if to show the breadth of what he spoke of. his gaze did not waver, weighing her, measuring her, as he added with purpose, en orð þurfa að vera sterk. þetta er ekki staður fyrir veikleika.

then he stilled, awaiting her response, the sharpness in his eyes softened only slightly by the faintest edge of curiosity.

this had been why she had heard her mother's tsk.

maybe the cold winter winds had been spirits ushering her on, pushing her into the forest instead of beyond it. could it be such? she did not know and allowed the thought to settle in comfortable silence instead.

móðir og faðir senda aðeins sterk börn í heiminn. she dared to allow herself a moment's smile. brief, but it had been there all the same.

ég meina að vinna, ef þú hefur störf að vinna.

for she had no more things to trade or barter.

the winter only grew heavier and she still learning far too much of the world to face it alone.

solharr's auburn eye flickered over her, taking in her thin frame and the way her words carried both resolve and uncertainty. he shifted his weight slightly, his broad frame moving with a predator's grace as his tail gave a slow, measured flick.

hvað getur þú gert? he asked, his voice even, but with the faintest edge of curiosity. his head tilted slightly, a gesture that demanded clarity without pressing too hard.

there was no room for idleness in the world of wolves, and though he saw her willingness to work, he wanted to know more. his gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering, waiting for her response.

her tail offered a hopeful flick.

her eyes kindled with a fire.

ég ferðast. sendu mér langt. she said with a seriousness about her. gerðu mig að hauknum þínum. every king needed its royal bird who might go far to spread his word, to be his eyes.

it was a rather lofty thing to think she could ever rise to it, but she must try.

would he admire or despise such?

sólhárr approached her with his single golden eye gleaming, his presence heavy as the weight of the frostbound earth itself. he stood firm, his voice deep and unwavering.

trúfesti er ekki gefin, heldur sýnd. sanna þig fyrir forneskja áður en þú flýgur sem sendiboði.

his gaze lingered on her, measuring her resolve before he offered a nod.

ég er sólhárr, hárkonungur forneskja.

he waited to hear her own. this hawk. his hawk, still wet from the egg.

her offer not declined, but redirected.

she felt youthful before him and this spoken wisdom. her ears quickly swept to show her understanding and willingness to learn from this moment.

ylva, she started with and now bowed to him. high king. einu sinni af norðurslóða fjöll. there was a silence that lingered after her words now. one that left her future unsaid.

she could be of forneskja now, if allowed...

ylva, sólhárr repeated, his single golden eye narrowing slightly as the name pulled at the edges of his memory. yhe northern accent in her words struck a chord deep within him, a thread of familiarity.

bjorn? erik? elissa? do you know these names? his voice carried weight, curiosity woven with a hint of caution. the names tumbled from him like stones dropped into a still lake, their ripples spreading as he awaited her response.

his gaze swept over her, assessing once more. the northern blood in her voice, her bearing—it was unmistakable. if she carried these names, these ties, her presence here might be more than mere chance.

should she know him?

perhaps a brother's friend, maybe a sister's dalliance or —

erik is my father... there was a child-like surprise painted on her face now. her father had never been an unnecessarily cruel man but for her own selfish sake she hoped that to this man he had been kind.

i am but one of his many children.

lest she somehow be confused with another sister!

erik, sólhárr tsked sharply, his single amber eye narrowing slightly as he weighed the name on his tongue. he rolled his broad shoulders, brushing past whatever thoughts clouded his mind. your father was...a man who knew his wants.

he left it at that, not delving further into the unsaid weight the name carried. instead, he let his gaze settle on her, sharp and assessing. she had the look of the north about her, a spark of familiarity that flickered in her presence.

you are welcome here, ylva, sólhárr said finally, the low rumble of his voice carrying an unexpected warmth. forneskja thrives on those who know loyalty. prove yours, and you will find a place among us.

his head tipped slightly, signaling her forward. come. you’ve traveled far. now is the time to rest. your blood ties may be many, but here, you will forge your own name.

fade? <3

one delicate brow raised with a curiosity. mainly because her father had only ever been spoken about in...well, fatherly ways around the children. if this high king held stories she wished to hear them all! in time, she told herself.

with loyalty would come bounties.

like the welcome given to her at least. a door opened, she was allowed in. quick was she to welcome herself into this man's forest. as if she had always been here in some regard. perhaps the tie between them made such a thing easier.

"...here, you will forge your own name."

he spoke to her soul in this regard.

as last child she had lived in many long shadows. now she could see the light, a bright future meant to be carved by her own hands.

her tail swished and her tiredness perhaps spoke in her silent willingness to accept his generosity. keen to follow him into the depths of forneskja, to meet the faces that would help forge her too.