Neverwinter Forest About how all her bones are broken

“I pray to the gods of my people,” she replied, her voice steady, carrying the quiet strength of conviction. “Óðinn, for wisdom. Þórr, for protection. Freyja, for the hearth.” Her gaze flicked upward briefly, taking in the ethereal glow of the moonlight cutting through the pines. “But the gods do not always answer when we call.”

She stepped forward slightly, her movements deliberate, her presence unwavering even in the face of his towering form. “Your woods bear the mark of gods, though they are not mine. Still, their will may yet guide me. Perhaps it is their hand that brought me here.”

Íruna’s tone carried neither defiance nor submission, only an unshakable faith in the path laid before her.