Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

The name Kaertok caused quite a reaction. Njord surmised that the Tartok must not have been a very good daddy. Maybe one of those ‘just going out for a pack of cigarette and never coming back’ types. It didn’t make much sense to the islander, who admired the stoic man. Njord always perceived him as the honorable sort and a decent father figure. His chin tucked as he frowned and shrugged as if to say ‘sorry.’ All of his information was, in fact, hearsay.

She seemed to become more agitated the longer she dwelled on her circumstance. Concern for her family twisted the teen’s porcelain expression. Legion… the Bypass. Njord hadn’t a clue where that was. It wasn’t by the coast or Sunspire, so it must have been a few days travel away. “Easy there lass,” Njord encouraged as she got worked up.

Eventually, her resolve solidified and she began to move past him. Njord shifted out of the way, but he managed to get in a “I don’t think you should–,” before she froze at the sight of the outside world. Their predicament was precarious because of the deadly blizzard.

He sighed empathetically out the nose. “Lass, a few minutes out there an’ yer nose will freeze right off. What say we hunker down ‘ere ‘till the storm’s past an’ then we can ask the Alphas ‘bout seein’ ya back to yer Legion, eh?” He tried to compromise with the girl as he laid down on the den’s floor.