Neverwinter Forest there was a thousand storms in his eyes

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“I will teach you.” Kjalarr agreed with a sage nod to his younger brother. “There is much I do not know, I am not practiced in all the traditions but we can learn together.” Kjalarr admitted and suggested, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls as he offered Cypress a slightly crooked, partially sheepish grin. As far as he’d been made aware of: there was no right or wrong way to worship the wild Gods of his faith only that occasionally they desired sacrifices and that there were certain rituals to be preformed. So far, he’d done none of these things and perhaps that was the issue. How could he demand their favor when he’d done nothing to earn it? To deserve it?

“Let’s agree to disagree.” Kjalarr offered when his brother protested that he wasn’t brave, offering his younger brother a nudge as he felt Cypress butt his head to the underside of his chin. “No,” Now it was Kjalarr’s turn to protest as Cypress spoke that he was like Scimitar. He wasn’t anything like his adoptive father, not really, and to pretend to be was nothing short of an insult to his memory. “I am like myself. And there’s nothing wrong with being like yourself.” Perhaps Kjalarr was like Ragnar and perhaps he wasn’t but he’d spent so much time obsessing over it when he was younger that now: now he finally understood. You couldn’t walk around comparing yourself to others or trying to be like someone else because you’d always fail. “If you try to be like others you only set yourself up for failure and disappointment. You just be the best you that you can be.” The scarred northman reiterated his thoughts aloud to Cypress.

“Maybe I should take you to Ondine for her to look at that wound.” Kjalarr mused as he studied his brother’s visage with a worried frown. “As a matter of fact I would feel a whole lot better if we did, so c’mon.” Kjalarr issued the soft command to let Cypress know he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.

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