Neverwinter Forest You soon find you have few choices

Luhtar’s gaze was quiet, flittering between Sólhárr and his words and the world around them with measure. He let the weight of them settle in his chest, Sólhárr's promise of something new stirring an ache he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since he was outcast. Forneskja. A world untouched, a place capable of becoming something greater.

Luhtar's heavy head turned slightly to let his eyes sweep across the forest. Nothing about the forest spoke of any familiar, and yet... there was something about it… comforting, like the embrace of a warm friend. Maybe a sense of family lurking behind the dark canopies of night. It was nothing like Huldfall, and maybe that was a good thing.

Tales of a resolute, unyielding leader had reached even Huldfall, stories of a wolf with strength unchallenged. A Jarl unseen before. Thor come again. Sólhárr’s name had been spoken with a respect many questioned, for, how could it be true? A wolf capable of commanding armies with his mere words. Luhtar's eyes flashed with recognition as they flicked back to the ginger brute.

“I will stand with you,” Luhtar's vow was hesitant -- only at first -- before resolute. There was a sense of belonging in his chest. Here, with his Dróttinn. Here, in Forneskja. He would be all that he was meant to be. 

The people would know the name Svarthjalm.