Neverwinter Forest kaleidoscope

night had fallen upon the neverwinter, and so rökkur was where he had so often been. lately, he found himself withdrawn, as if the moon wished to whisper something to him, and him alone. it seemed to beckon him, calling for his name, his spirit, although he could not decipher exactly what máni wished of him. a sorrow expression took hold of his dark features - his tail swishing back and forth while he looked upwards.

a call for him, then. his name sounded from the king of forneskja, and so the storyteller, chronicler, faith-man would respond. he had only gone for a walk for a few moments, an attempt to clear his head, but these days he was rarely ever far from the moongrove. he arrived at sólhárr's side in a quick, precise manner, slinking into a spot beside him in a way that contradicted his burly, thickly-furred body. moving like a feline.

sögumaðr's face was weary. tired, as if he had been exhausted for several nights.

what can i do for you? northern words graced his tongue, throat almost rough from disuse. his retreat had not been purposeful. winter was a harsh time ; it only ever reminded him of the past. soon spring would come, and he would be well again.