Neverwinter Forest When I was a child, I heard voices

mother. father. the words that any man dreaded to hear. his lips curled to a light grimace at the notion, not used to asking for permission. but it would be done, one way or another. freya demanded such pleasantries. it would set good faith for the future. pave the way for good deeds to be done.

other deeds, as it may be, would to know his songbird. to be the one at her side. to prove that he is worthy. it brought a wave of introspection to the man he knew not he was capable of— what if it had been his own daughter to confront him of a proposition? what had ljósgleypir have that her kingdom did not?

he had nothing. he had nothing except for the kiss he offered him, a silent promise that vowed her to him. he took it, stole it, and returned the gesture with a nip against her nape. a long swipe of his tongue.

he had nothing yet. she would be his, one way or another.

it boiled thoughts and dreams for a man to turn reality. he'd build a kingdom, proof that he was a worthy man. he needn't it, or so he thought, but this had been his sagnaheimr all along. a place for respite, a safehaven.

he'd build it. come. he wanted to lure her with him. i give you a kingdom. then, we speak to móðir, faðir.

can fade in your next if you'd like, and i can start us a new one;)