Stavanger Bay foreigner's god

A call has risen into the sky for him, demanding his attention away from his Queen wife and their four new children. Irritation swelled within the Viking's chest but dutifully the ex-Jarl rose, rousing himself from their sides and pushing himself from the den he shared with his growing family. If he was not glued to their sides, he was hunting, or border patrolling, but in favor of spending time with his family he had cut back on border patrols. Even still he did not know if the threat that female's scent all over his borders had burned off with time, but thus far they had been fortunate enough to be quiet. It was better this way for the four newborns slumbering against his wife's side made his already high territorial tendencies even more so. The call he had recognized as Aesop though Ragnar had not spent much time in the other male's presence. He knew that Aesop was loyal — or rather had stayed around long enough to earn the Viking's respect in this matter. For this, Ragnar made an effort to temper his irritation as he neared the other male, Aesop's silhouette cutting across the distance.

“Aesop,” The Northerner greeted him with a small incline of his head. It didn't matter that, technically Aesop held a higher rank than Ragnar. The Viking had not deigned to follow his own heirarchy once he stepped down. Likely this was something Thistle only put up with because without him Stavanger Bay would not exist. What fate would have became of Horizon Ridge if he'd not been there to step up in the wake of Pump's death only the Gods knew. He was Stavanger Bay's Patriarch — it was just as much apart of him as he was apart of it. “What can I help you with?” Ragnar inquired, steps slowing to a cease.