Neverwinter Forest atoningwishes

Y’var’la’s eyes glittered, the challenge in his words igniting a fire in her chest. She felt the gravity of his command settle over her, a weight that stirred something deep within her—something hungry, something far more than simple pride.

She held his gaze as he spoke, absorbing each word, each nuance. Náttfari. The title was a mark of distinction and strength, it would set her apart. It was a commitment. To be the night traveler of Forneskja meant to become something more.

Her lips parted slightly, the flicker of a smile dancing at the edges of her expression. Anticipation. The woman did not do half-hearted efforts—she would lounge when she pleased, but never before the work was done. To serve was to be useful, and she was nothing if not useful.

"Consider it done." 

With a subtle flick of her tail, she turned without another word, stepping lightly through the snow, her form blending into the darkened wilderness around her. She moved with purpose, her strides long and sure as she melted back into the shadows.