Dragoncrest Cliffs Don't Do Sadness

Sapphique’s queen disappeared from Njord’s sight as she sorted her supplies, returning with a small parcel of weed in her mouth. He could tell, even in the dim light of the alcove, that the crease in her brows had smoothed when she learned her subordinate had been injured over matters of the heart (or rather, his other head). Her gentle presence and kind aura was cut by the sharp sting of the salty medicine. “Heyyy, I am a man-Owowowow-tsssstststs!” Njord’s rebut hissed between his teeth as Erzulie dabbed the compress against his angry wounds, trying his best to hold still even though if felt like she had poured acid into his skin. He looked to Rosencrantz for help, but the two-faced knight sat silently to the side.

However, his mood was lifted when Erzulie asked for Njord to recount his siren as she worked. “’She’s called @Valmúa af Stormskýli, an’ she is as beautiful as ‘er name sounds,” Njord began, drifting off into la-la-land. “She’s a Northerner, mountain lass with copper colored fur like a fox, but ‘er mane is gold, almost white. Never met a girl like ‘er before… she made me feel like a lightning bolt hit me square in tha’ heart. Sent me fur on end! Tha look in ‘er silver eyes… I’ll never forget it. Never thought a woman like 'er would go for a guy like me. Things were different back home... I couldn’t wait to get to know ‘er better… but then…” he paused, the image of snarling Kigipigak blockading their prize. “Ahh, Erzulie. I gotta see ‘er again. I gotta try. She lives at tha’ Watch where tha ravens gather. Rose said he'd train me, right Rose?” he turned to the knight, hoping he would affirm the promise he'd made with their alpha as his witness.