Sleeping Dragon Syn

The dark figure approached, returning a greeting to the one-eyed man. Jörmungandr watched her with an impassive expression. It was clear that she was of the Svart-worshiping wolves. She had likely traveled with her kinsmen to the new lands. He wondered if she would help to spread the faith. They were not typically missionaries, but new lands would mean new opportunities to share the blessings of their dark-winged god.

Maiken, he repeated her name with a small nod. I am called Jörmungandr Svartravn. For they had not met before this moment. The one-eyed man wondered how many expansions of their clan had been created since the dawning of their people. He wondered, too, what the new land would look like when it had been claimed by the believers of Svart. It would thrive beneath the blessing of the dark-feathered one.

Jörmungandr was not much for a conversationalist. His single eye shifted from her face to her figure without wavering.

You are far from the homeland.