Neverwinter Forest störf

the glen held its breath in the cold, every pine bowing under the weight of winter’s touch. the circle of moonflowers surrounding the communal clearing glowed faintly, defiant against the frost. their pale light cast ethereal shadows on the weathered boulder at the glen's heart, a silent monument to the voices that had risen there before. sólhárr stood atop it now, his golden eyes surveying the space with quiet authority, his form a hulking silhouette against the endless sea of stoic evergreens.

the air was heavy, laden with an energy that felt unworldly; here, the veil between life and the spirits grew thin, their whispers carried in the wind. sólhárr inhaled deeply, the coolness filling his lungs as he tilted his muzzle skyward. his call split the air, a resonant summons that echoed through the glen and beyond, carried to the ears of those he sought.

@Y'var'la. @Pangur. their names left his throat like thunder rolling across distant peaks, commanding and sure. his voice held the weight of purpose, of decisions yet to be made beneath the watchful gaze of the moonflowers.

he lowered himself to sit upon the boulder, his gaze steady and unyielding as he waited. this was their place—where unity met purpose, where council was held, and where bonds were forged stronger than steel. the hárkonungr's patience was as enduring as the winter itself, but his mind burned with the flickering embers of what was to come.