Neverwinter Forest the void of a world

the tale the man spun was not unfamiliar—worn threads of loyalty, loss, and survival wove through it, binding them in shared knowledge of what it meant to endure.

valiant, sólhárr said, his voice a deep rumble that carried both respect and skepticism. he studied stark’s wounds, the set of his jaw, the single eye that met his gaze with defiance and pain. few would stand as you did. fewer still would survive. your scars speak louder than your words.

he stepped forward, his massive frame looming yet not threatening, his posture a blend of authority and solidarity. the snow crunched underfoot as he stopped just shy of stark, his breath visible in the cold air.

your name, warrior? sólhárr asked, his tone demanding but not unkind. after a pause, he added, needle—she is young, you say? if the gods favor your bond, you will find her again. but for now, forneskja offers you respite. take it. heal. strength is not found in recklessness, nor in abandoning what is given.

he straightened, his gaze drifting toward the horizon as if seeking the path stark might one day take. when the time comes, you will leave this place sharper than you arrived. that is my word, as sólhárr, hárkonungr of forneskja.