Neverwinter Forest you're so art deco,

trade: spiritualist

his approval came to rökkur like a tidal wave, and he let out a deep breath at that, prideful, yet soft smile upon his face. he nodded when sólhárr called her beautiful. he was right—she truly was, and he knew that the máni of which she was named after would approve. he could feel her light basking down upon the glade. comforted.

and then the king addressed him, personally, now. it was his time, time to choose what he wanted of himself. to choose his place within forneskja. how would he benefit the pack? how would he aid them? those were his first thoughts. and he thought, then. considering his place. his abilities, his wishes and, perhaps, even his hobbies.

when he spoke, it was with conviction. a confidence only further aided by his presence within the grove. i wish to share my stories, he said. part of him ached at the thought of his past, but he knew that the future of forneskja could benefit from his recitals. to tell the future children of my tales. to teach them.

rökkur breathed, then, looking back upon the pale, lilting flowers. and i wish to teach my beliefs to forneskja wolves, but he said this with a hint of uncertainty. was he over-stepping, now? my worship and my prayers to the máni. i wish to speak of her blessings and her benevolence. a hope shone within his eyes.

but if that is too far, if you or your wife have your own virtues you wish to instill within the pack, then i will not fight you. a dip of his head. a surrender.