Neverwinter Forest you're so art deco,

@Rokkur ; callyope tag for mention

sólhárr left his elska, @Callyope, within the heimtré, where her duties called her to the sacred heart of forneskja. her presence there felt natural, a force that grounded the pack as much as the roots of the tree itself. he had lingered for a moment, watching her with a quiet pride, before turning his attention to the forest beyond.

his steps were deliberate as he moved through the dense thickets, the earthy scent of pine and moss filling his senses. he was seeking rökkur now, the shadowed figure who had recently pledged himself to forneskja. sólhárr saw promise in him, a strength tempered by sorrow, and now he wished to test that strength, to see how it might serve their growing kin.

pausing at the edge of a clearing, he tilted his head back, a low, commanding howl leaving his throat. it carried through the trees, an unmistakable call for rökkur to join him.

his king was calling him.

rökkur was padding through the forest, now. quick-footed, quiet amongst the undergrowth. he returned sólhárr's howl with his own. short, announcing his arrival. the smell of the king and the faintest accompanying scent of the bride-to-be rode the winds towards him, and the shadow used such scents as a compass.

he was approaching, now, upon the man painted in dawn. fire and ice, battling amongst his coat. hárkonungr, he dipped his head; a telltale sign of respect. looking up, then, scarlet eyes scanned the clearing that they peeked upon. then turned back to meet oceanic hues. what do you require of me? a hum, curious.

a pretty place; what was he here for?

sólhárr stood tall as rökkur approached, the shadow moving through the forest with a quiet efficiency that pleased him. the returned howl had guided him, and now, sólhárr met him with a firm nod, his golden eyes appraising the man as he dipped his head in respect.

follow me, sólhárr said simply, his voice steady but laced with purpose. without waiting for a response, he turned, his steps deliberate as he led rökkur deeper into the woods. the scent of pine and rich earth surrounded them, and the forest grew denser before giving way to a glen, hidden like a secret.

large trees encircled the space, their boughs thick and protective, yet the clearing itself was open to the sky. at its heart stood a boulder, encircled by blooming moonflowers that glowed faintly in the dim light, as if holding their own against the encroaching dark. the scene was serene yet powerful, the shrine of light cast upon the stone lending it an air of reverence.

sólhárr turned to rökkur, his gaze steady. this is a sacred place, he began, his tone carrying the weight of tradition. the moonflowers bloom here even when the seasons turn against them. they are a mark of strength, resilience, and beauty—a reminder of what forneskja stands for.

trade: spiritualist

following, loyal, the king. his own personal shadow. eyes scanned the clearing as they emerged, breaking through the treeline. quick to glace upwards, the canopy strong, though slinking away to allow space for the night and all of her stars to shine through. the máni would approve of this place, he knew, as his gaze finally settled upon the boulders and the pale flowers that encircled it.

a place of worship, he thought. somewhere he could visit when he prayed. his ears turned to the king, then, and his head followed suit. eyes were careful, though something swam deep within them. a gratitude, maybe, for allowing rökkur to gaze upon such a beautiful place. so deeply entwined with the spirits and the æsir.

sólhárr's tone garnered respect. he approached this place with an honour that rökkur could not help but worry that others may not appreciate. the shadow was not an anxious man, but it was things like this that he held dear to him. the moonflowers, the king had said. surviving through every season. and rökkur felt a sense of kinship to the tunglblóm, at that. strength, resilience, beauty. he nodded.

this place, he murmured, looking from forneskja's hárkonungr to the boulder, to the petals, to the break in the canopy. eyes wide and shining. admiring. have you a name for it? part of rökkur hoped that he did not, so that he himself may have the honour of bestowing a title upon this hideaway. a connection between himself and the máni.

but, if it did, rökkur would respect it. present it to his goddess. find his faith within it.

sólhárr stood silently for a moment, watching rökkur’s expression shift as he took in the sacred glen. the way the moonflowers glimmered faintly under the break in the canopy seemed to draw something deep from the shadowed man—admiration, reverence. sólhárr saw it, and it pleased him. perhaps he had chosen wisely in bringing rökkur here.

no” sólhárr replied at last, his voice steady and calm. he shook his head slowly, his gaze lingering on the pale blooms encircling the boulder. it does not have a name. his golden eyes flicked to rökkur, holding him in a quiet but pointed stare. perhaps it’s waiting for one.

he stepped closer to the boulder, his paw brushing against the cool stone, as though testing its solidity. this place feels... timeless. untouched, he continued, his tone thoughtful. it should have a name that honors its spirit, something worthy of the norns light. he paused, letting his words sink in before adding, i’ll leave that to you.

sólhárr turned to rökkur fully now, his stance open but firm. if you can name it, you can hold it. keep it safe, protect it. his voice carried a subtle weight, testing the man before him. if you take this on, this place will be yours to guard—not for yourself, but for all who seek its peace.

he tilted his head slightly, a faint glint of challenge in his gaze. so, what will you call it, rökkur?

trade: spiritualist

and so he was bestowed this great gift. rökkur's heart felt heavy with pride, beating within his chest, providing him the lifeblood that had been granted by his goddess when he had been born atop the spire. he met the kings eyes when he had said perhaps it's waiting for one, a clear suggestion. and he did not take it lightly.

when sólhárr stepped forwards, so did he. rather than his paw, his nose met the boulder, the coolness stinging mauve skin. you are right, his voice was low, quiet, as if he was speaking to the earth itself. or a creature that laid deep within it, slumbering, still, under its mothers light. an unworthy name would condemn this place. and he spoke with such conviction. almost unusual for him, should one not truly know him.

a breath, two passed. he looked from the blooms to the king, then. a firm nod. her name is mánilundur, he said. a sense of finality accompanied his words. a holiness that surrounded the grove. she is the moongrove, and i will protect her. respect ran deep within his voice, like sanguine running within a warrior's veins. he would make his den nearby. within the woods, as to not disrespect the glade.

but then there was a gentleness upon his face. do you approve, sólhárr? but part of him knew that even if the king did not favour the name, she would always be mánilundur within his mind, his heart. he was her guardian.

he listened intently as rökkur spoke, the conviction in the shadow’s voice as steady as the ground beneath them. the name, mánilundur, resonated with a quiet reverence that sólhárr couldn’t ignore. his golden gaze swept over the glade once more, the pale blooms glowing faintly as though they approved of their new title. he nodded, slowly at first, then firmly.

she is beautiful, he said, his voice low but carrying a weight of approval. mánilundur. the moongrove. it suits her. his gaze lingered on rökkur for a moment, watching the pride and purpose settle into the man’s frame. it was a good name, chosen with thought and respect. sólhárr could see that rökkur would honor it.

he stepped closer, his posture relaxed but his tone inquisitive as he continued. and you, rökkur? sólhárr asked, his head tilting slightly. you’ve given purpose to this place, but what purpose do you seek for yourself? his eyes glinted with curiosity. is it only to guard the mánilundur, or is there more you wish to do for forneskja?

there was no judgment in his voice, only genuine interest, as sólhárr waited for rökkur’s answer. this was a moment of possibility, and sólhárr was eager to see where the shadow’s path might lead.

trade: spiritualist

his approval came to rökkur like a tidal wave, and he let out a deep breath at that, prideful, yet soft smile upon his face. he nodded when sólhárr called her beautiful. he was right—she truly was, and he knew that the máni of which she was named after would approve. he could feel her light basking down upon the glade. comforted.

and then the king addressed him, personally, now. it was his time, time to choose what he wanted of himself. to choose his place within forneskja. how would he benefit the pack? how would he aid them? those were his first thoughts. and he thought, then. considering his place. his abilities, his wishes and, perhaps, even his hobbies.

when he spoke, it was with conviction. a confidence only further aided by his presence within the grove. i wish to share my stories, he said. part of him ached at the thought of his past, but he knew that the future of forneskja could benefit from his recitals. to tell the future children of my tales. to teach them.

rökkur breathed, then, looking back upon the pale, lilting flowers. and i wish to teach my beliefs to forneskja wolves, but he said this with a hint of uncertainty. was he over-stepping, now? my worship and my prayers to the máni. i wish to speak of her blessings and her benevolence. a hope shone within his eyes.

but if that is too far, if you or your wife have your own virtues you wish to instill within the pack, then i will not fight you. a dip of his head. a surrender.

sólhárr listened with intent, his blue gaze fixed on rökkur as the man spoke. there was something stirring in the shadow’s words, a passion for both his stories and his faith that sólhárr recognized as deeply personal. he nodded slowly, encouraging rökkur to continue, his expression thoughtful.

beliefs are the roots of any strong tree, sólhárr said, his voice steady. and forneskja grows stronger when its roots are fed by many stories, many truths. he stepped closer to rökkur, his posture open yet commanding. i would hear your stories, rökkur.

he let the words linger, glancing at the pale blooms of mánilundur. faith is a gift, not a burden. your prayers, your blessings—if they can guide forneskja, strengthen her wolves, then they have a place here. no one voice carries the whole pack.

sólhárr’s gaze returned to rökkur, his tone softer now but no less firm. do not doubt what you can bring to forneskja. tell your stories. teach your prayers. the light may align with ours more than either of us realize.

a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. and as for my elska... she will listen, just as i have. she may have questions, but questions are good. they strengthen faith. he paused, letting his approval sink in before adding, this grove, this purpose—it is yours, rökkur. share it with us as you see fit.

trade: spiritualist

and the king had washed his doubts away, just as he washed away his own when he had gone to pray to his gyðja. he would hear rökkur's stories, and a warmth bloomed within him. a nod that, rather than his usual firmness, was grateful. thankful.

he was quiet, then. listening to his king's words. a newfound loyalty that ran deeper than the simple respect he had held for the man before. gentle voice assured him. gave him confidence. inspired him. he already knew what he wished to share first: the tunglspíra and its importance. the power that his people had revered it for.

when sólhárr had finished speaking, the shadow took a breath. in my homeland, the tallest spire had a name, he moved closer to the boulder, then. circling around it. observing it. though the mánilundur has been given her title, i believe it is only fit for her totem to receive a name, as well.

as it was the boulder that he would sit upon when he wanted to be closer to the moon. this was no spire, but it was something. it is the tunglhjarta. the moons heart, he looked up to sólhárr, then. strong like her soul. firm like her strength. and it sat upon the earth, vulnerable, just as the moonchildren were beneath the gaze of their mother.

he drew closer to his king, then. thank you for this, sólhárr, his voice, low, truthful. eyes bearing all of his spirit; his past, his presence, and his future, within this grove. this gift means more to me than even the wisest could ever comprehend.

happy to fade with your next post, if you like! :D

the words spoken, the names bestowed, carried a weight that sólhárr recognized as divine. he allowed the silence to stretch between them as rökkur spoke of his homeland, his belief, and the naming of the tunglhjarta.

when rökkur finished, sólhárr stood still for a moment longer, letting the significance of the moment settle like the gentle fall of moonlight. the mánilundur and the tunglhjarta—both names chosen with care, born of faith, of reverence. it was not simply a grove now but a sanctuary, a place of deeper meaning that would bind rökkur to forneskja and its growing spirit.

the tunglhjarta, sólhárr said softly, the name rolling over his tongue as though testing its weight. it is fitting. his gaze lifted briefly to the moonlight breaking through the canopy, then returned to rökkur. it is strong, like her soul, as you say. a name worthy of her heart and her guardian.

his posture shifted, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor. this is no small gift, rökkur. what you bring here—your faith, your stories—it is not just for you. it strengthens us all. forneskja will be better for it.

he stepped forward then, closing the distance between them, and placed his paw lightly against rökkur’s shoulder. you are no longer just a shadow. you are her keeper. her voice. his words carried the weight of approval, of trust. and for that, i thank you.

he let his paw fall back, his golden appraisal holding rökkur’s for a moment longer. may the tunglhjarta beat strong within the mánilundur, and may you find strength in her light.

fade!