Neverwinter Forest the void of a world

sólhárr studied the man before him, a faint twitch at the corner of his lips betraying a semblance of amusement. stærk, he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with the weight of his northern accent, shaping it into something uniquely his own. his gaze remained steady, golden eye catching the subtle strain in the other’s posture, the weariness stark couldn’t fully hide.

she will be fine, you say, yet your heart worries, sólhárr remarked, voice carrying both understanding and a hint of challenge. this needle of yours—must be strong, yes? but strength is not always enough. still, if you are her shield, you will find her. this i believe.

he shifted his stance slightly, the weight of his authority matched only by the slight incline of his head, a gesture that spoke of his respect. your word holds meaning, stærk. you may call these lands a haven until you are ready. fight, if called upon, and you shall find a place among my warriors.

he paused, his golden gaze sharpening. but remember this—rest does not mean surrender. a strong man knows when to gather strength before the storm. when you find her, she will need you whole, not broken.

with that, sólhárr took a step back, giving the man space to process his thoughts. there was no pity in his gaze, only the weight of a chieftain who understood what it meant to carry burdens heavier than oneself.