Dragoncrest Cliffs prophet margin

Haunt seemed to be calm, now, and willing to share. She recalled the events leading up to the storm… hunting, a headache, dad. Njord felt his chest pinch as grief struck anew, sad for the death of the great Tartok and even sadder for his daughter who was unaware he was gone. The islander feared, however, than enlightening her would cause more distress and tempt her to leave the den… and so, Njord remained quiet and steady like the sea (perhaps roleplaying as if he was the stoic @Rosencrantz).

At that moment Njord promised to himself that, should he ever become a father, he would be the best dad of all time. A little fantasy of @Valmúaa and him watching over their beloved kids flickered in his mind. If Njord was good at one thing, it was daydreaming… if only his fighting skills could match his imagination he would be set.

He smiled when Haunt decided to curl up on the floor alongside him. Njord tucked his paws under him like a cat to keep them warm. “Suppose I can’t know fer certain,” he admitted, “but I remember a wicked bad sea storm when I was just a lad. Rained fer weeks! Even a part of tha island capsized into tha sea. I thought my family was a goner for sure… but I’ll never forget me ol’ man calmin’ me down. My dad told me all storms in life will pass… bad weather and bad problems. Everythin’ has a way of sortin’ itself out. So far, that’s been true. Eventually tha rain stopped and the sun shone… we just ‘ad to hunker down an’ stick it out. Some said it’s ‘ow life, or the gods (dependin’ on what ya believe) tests ya.”

“But it’s a good thing thing they found ya,” Njord mused, “else you would ‘av been buried in tha snow. Did ya hit yet head? How’re ya feelin’ now?” he asked, the concept of a randomly occurring headache strange to him.