Neverwinter Forest you're so art deco,

his king was calling him.

rökkur was padding through the forest, now. quick-footed, quiet amongst the undergrowth. he returned sólhárr's howl with his own. short, announcing his arrival. the smell of the king and the faintest accompanying scent of the bride-to-be rode the winds towards him, and the shadow used such scents as a compass.

he was approaching, now, upon the man painted in dawn. fire and ice, battling amongst his coat. hárkonungr, he dipped his head; a telltale sign of respect. looking up, then, scarlet eyes scanned the clearing that they peeked upon. then turned back to meet oceanic hues. what do you require of me? a hum, curious.

a pretty place; what was he here for?