Neverwinter Forest guide me to shelter

open to all forneskja wolves but maybe @Callyope ? <3

trade: spiritualist

máni shone bright upon the dark, navy sky. clear and cloudless. almost full. her face white in all of her roundness, her light dappling his dark pelt. rökkur sat by the forest's borders, the treeline only a few paces behind him. freshly bathed, smelling of the pines that protected forneskja. offering his presence to the light that guided him. both now, while he was travelling, and even in his youth.

the war that had raged from adolescence to adulthood had not allowed him much time to explore the religion that the málaliðar' bride had celebrated. both she and the women offered to the máni up above. his own deliverance atop the spire had been a present to the moon goddess, the ceremony said to have given him strength. and sometimes he wondered if such a thing was true.

would he have become málaliði, had his father stepped down?

rökkur shook his dark head, then. squeezing crimson eyes shut, as if to force the thought out of his head. when they opened, they returned to the figure up above. soaking in her light. enjoying her presence, feeling safe within it. he knew that the tunglbörn wolves would be gazing upon her, too. seeking guidance, maybe. he wondered how many stood atop the spire, searching for answers.

how many had been borne in reverence to her, since he had left?

her light was a gift among he lost.

he treasured it with all he had.

beneath the moon, she came to life. a ghostly figure when its light caught along her hairs, when it pierced through shadows to find her.

she could never hide from the moon.

it was in her blood.

she wondered if this man, too, felt some call. a natural pull that she read too deep into? it was her duty and right to read into these moments. to parse them through eyes that saw more than just the simple world.

foxfur rested upon her shoulders, composed and patient she had become in stance.

does she call you?

trade: spiritualist

and when he gazed upon her, it was as if she had sent down a star. one of her children, travelling to him. emerging from the treeline, her thick, pale coat looking almost like a sliver of the moon herself. a warmth filled him, then. a reassurance that perhaps the máni still cared for him after all. he nodded at her words.

yes. he said. he looked back to the sky, then. a wave of admiration shone within his embers. i am of tunglbörn. we call her máni, rökkur took a breath, then, careful, relishing under the light that shone upon him. she is both our goddess and our mother. a benevolence, a gift, that only she could provide.

the shadow looked to her, then, and judging by the strength of sólhárr's scent upon her, he gathered that this wolf was likely his wife-to-be. she calls to you as well, he said, a knowing nod accompanying his words. i can see it within you.

upon you, too, he wanted to say. gifted with a pelt that shared the same brightness of the moon, the stars. he looked back upon the deity, then. humming.

if these things were new to her, she hid her learning behind kind eyes.

máni. mother and goddess. there was a warm delight within her at these things. moon villages had stood long before these wolves had gathered here in the forests.

i can see it within you.

my mother is called moonwoman. if there was a trace of humor in her voice, it was soft and fleeting. how fitting then, no? her eyes left his face to follow where his own gaze had gone. up, up, up. gazing into the moonlight and finding how nice it was that it did not blind them like the sun.

do you worship máni? altars and offerings?

trade: spiritualist

then your mother must be hennar afrit. you are lucky. a firm nod of his head, then. to him, his words were fact; nothing more than speaking of his own bodily functions. his drinking, his eating. religion came as easily as consumption.

another nod, but this time it was softer, almost solemn, when he spoke: my own birth was an offering to her, rökkur hummed. his tone carried a trace of regret. tunglspíra is where i and the others of our pack were born. the tallest peak in the mountain range, therefore closest to the moon. to their lady. their goddess.

altars, not so much. she watches our life and our death; it is our souls that strengthen her, not our gifts. she does not care for such mortal possessions. only that she was joined by her warriors in the afterlife.

he looks over to her, then. knowing. ears twitching. do you follow her? but the lack of the north-speak upon her tongue made him weary. not the máni, i will assume. but another of her manifestations? she touched upon every place her light could reach. so, surely, he and his people were not the only one to celebrate her.

a thoughtful glance, then.