Neverwinter Forest there's no crowds in the street,

rökkur, the name was distant as it wrung through his head. ringing, echoing through his skull as if it were more distant than it truly was. but, being faced with a woman of cool, blue tones, he blinked for a moment, and her next words came clearly: you called for me.

ég gerði, the lorekeeper said, his voice rough from disuse, slowly warming the more he spoke. ég veit hvað þú heitir, en við höfum ekki kynnt okkur almennilega fyrir hvort öðru, formalities lingered within his tone as he gave a nod of his head. ég heiti rökkur mánison, og þú ert íruna ... ? prompting a sirename from the woman, though not offended nor upset should she not provide one, instead raising his dark head.

he watched her face curiously, hard, scarlet eyes assessing her, approving, warming.