Sawtooth Spire light be sinister

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A soft rain begins to fall and Kjalarr takes shelter beneath a sharp outcropping of jagged rock upon his mythical kingdom of Sawtooth Spire. Lingering upon this mountain, a carved tooth of some ancient and long dead dragon surely, was not exactly progressing him towards his initial goal when he left behind Neverwinter Forest: find a place for him and Arrille because his plan to take full custody of his son is still in his mind. It was his intention but such selfless acts make no room for his selfish tendencies. He does not much fancy the idea of bowing to a leader he does not know, does not like the idea of submitting to a stranger on the belief that Ondine will just give him Arrille. As much as Kjalarr desires to be a good father he desires the power he came to know intimately much more. His father’s famous words: power is dangerous. Kjalarr agrees with the sentiment but unfortunately it is much too late for the scarred northman. He has known it and he refuses to relinquish that which is his birthright, that which the Gods and Norns have writ as his fate over and over. So he sits in his stone citadel, exploring and planning. His exploration is cut short due to the foul weather which earns a scowl from the crown less king as thunder booms overhead: a strike of Thor’s anvil. The outcropping offers respite from the rains which have picked up since he has ducked beneath it and as soft rain turns to harsh downfall the viking settles into a sphinx-like position as he waits out the storm.

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