Neverwinter Forest (cloud) come shove it, shove it, shove it

trade: spiritualist

his ears, primed and attentive, picked up catamarans' steps before his words. though relaxed, mellowed, safe within the mánilundur, he knew that this was a sacred place. a place where tales and stories ebbed and flowed through the canopy; where máni's gaze shone, wise and watchful. and so his defenses were high. alert.

but he made no move. a twitch of his ear when northern words flowed to him, though, signified his attention while he continued to nose about the flowers, checking for any sign of damage, corruption, disease. you are not. he confirmed. tone soft, almost comforted and cozied by the glade, by the tall trees that encircled them.

i am doing my duty to the moongrove, rökkur said. a confidence laced his tongue: one of purpose, of finality. he had, after all this time, found his calling. not a warrior, but a lorekeeper. a religious man. tending to her. her heart keeps the surrounding forest alive. you see how it brims with life? a factual edge to his words. a true belief.

though they may not be true within the laws of nature, he believed them to be so. he looked back at the pale man, then, gesturing him forwards with a tail sweep and a nod. that is her doing. her will. strengthened by the moon and the loyalties to her. he looked over at him, then. a sense of knowing glittered beyond scarlet hues.

i will understand if you wish not to celebrate her, he pointed out. but she is my belief; my support; my life. and so i wish for you to understand me.

a bit ranty, he was. but a topic of such personal importance was worth it.