Neverwinter Forest tasklane

stærk emerges from behind a cluster of frost-laden pines, his pale coat blending with the snow that clings to the branches overhead. the faintest limp still plagues him, a reminder of wounds not fully healed.

he hears sólhárr’s summons and offers no haste. his single eye takes in the northerner—tall, formidable, the cold making no dent in his resolve. stærk draws closer, stopping a respectful distance away, his breath a thin plume in the frigid air.

you called, he says.