Neverwinter Forest About how all her bones are broken

sólhárr studied the grey woman before him, her words steeped in faith and reverence. the sunlight bathed her in its pale glow, casting shadows that danced across her form, as if even the forest conspired to listen.

your gods, he began, his voice low, carrying the weight of the ancient woods around them, they are strong. their will echoes through your words. his gaze followed hers briefly upward, to the máni that hung watchful above them. and here, beneath the máni, i think they see you still.

he took a deliberate step closer, his own presence a blend of calm and command. my gods, he murmured, they do not speak often with words. they guide through the trees, the rivers, the wind. perhaps they, and yours, have whispered together to lead you here. his eyes narrowed slightly, not in malice, but in contemplation. we are not so different, you and i.

sólhárr tilted his head, his voice softening though it retained its deep timbre. will you devote yourself, wanderer? to prayer? to mending? his gaze was steady, seeking something in hers—faith, resolve, or perhaps a glimmer of shared purpose. these woods are sacred, but they are also a sanctuary for those who seek balance. will you walk this path with us?