Dragoncrest Cliffs Coffee Shop Playlist

Njord was in the middle of doing the wiggle-worm on his back when a packmate caught him being oh so childish. The islander stood up abruptly, strands of dead grass caught in his fur, and addressed his packmate. "Aye, I am," he replied with a sheepish grin. Njord shook his coat, embarrassed to have been caught red-handed goofing off by his cohort.

Njord's posture straightened when he realized who he was talking to. The other male was, well, a man. Something the seafarer didn't consider himself to be (yet)... and not by choice. His Grandfather had it. His brother had it. A certain je ne sais quois that separated real men from the boys. He could never quite put a finger on what they had that Njord lacked... a predatorial stare? A burly figure? His blue eyes looked away for a moment, signaling his lower rank to the other male but also feeling quite small.

Kaertok Tartok. Geez, even the name sounded impressive! Something bubbled inside of the islander. All of a sudden, he felt the need to extinguish these deprecating thoughts and stave his place in Rusalka. This was a fresh start! He wasn't supposed to feel all those old feelings here.

His posture straightened a bit, studying Kaertok. Maybe if he could act more like him... "I met Erzulie on the Moors not long ago. I left my family's pack and I've been looking for a home for the winter. She said Rusalka needed hunters," he explained. "My name's Njord," he paused. He should add his last name, too... like Kaertok. "Sveijarn. Corten," he stumbeled. "Njord Sveijarn-Corten."