Neverwinter Forest All that we are and all that we have ever been

sólhárr’s nostrils flared, the coppery tang of blood weaving its way through the crisp scent of pine and moss. his ears twitched, his sharp gaze narrowing as he followed the trail of crimson droplets that marked the intruder's path. it wasn’t the first time a stranger had stumbled into forneskja wounded, but the audacity of it always set his teeth on edge.

the hárkonungr moved through the shadows like a wraith, his steps quiet yet deliberate. the soft hum of birdsong seemed almost inappropriate in the face of the crimson trail—mockingly serene. when he finally spotted the source of the disturbance, a woman, peach-pelted and limping, his eyes darkened with wary curiosity. she smelled of cougar. interesting.

her posture was odd—relaxed, almost nonchalant, despite the blood that smeared her limbs. his approach was measured, deliberate, a steady presence that emerged from the trees like the embodiment of the forest itself.

you bleed on my soil, wanderer, he rumbled, his voice low and steady, the tone carrying the weight of authority. his gaze flickered briefly to her wounds, sharp and assessing, before returning to her face. what business brings you into forneskja? cougar claws? or poor judgment?

there was no immediate hostility in his stance, but no warmth either. he was a mountain, unyielding and watchful, awaiting her answer before he decided if she was friend, foe, or simply foolish.