"Come, gather around! Her Luminance sits highest in the sky this hour, gaze at Her Glory and bask in Her Radiance."

The Frostmoon Scions are regarded as more traditional in contrast to the other denizens of Nod-Krai; while technological innovations have taken hold of this small, isolated land, there are the few who still stay true to their roots, their connection to the world around them.

▇▇▇▇ was born to a priestess and a Lightkeeper, born when the sun sat highest in the sky - an irony, considering her heritage. Though, this was considered no ill omen. In fact, the priestesses saw it as an answer to their plights.

The Wild Hunt seeks any opportunity it can to seize the light the Moonchildren possess - even with the help of the Lightkeepers, weakened they may be now, they still struggle to keep these forces at bay. She was just a child at the time; curiosity was her fuel, her fire. Despite her elders warnings, she wandered into the darkness of Hiisi's forests, and met a cruel and painful end by The Wild Hunt's hand.

A blessing she had been given - the child, attuned to Her Luminance, could better guide Her people to safety. Though the distant sound of hooves haunts his every waking moment, Byggvir, as he goes by now, took up the mantle bestowed upon him to seek out an end to his people's torment. Though he couldn't stop the Wild Hunt, he could warn his people of their arrival - and better yet, he could guide them precariously through the forests they prowled within.

Truth be told, despite his importance, there is an unspoken loneliness about Byggvir that is rarely regarded. Carefully poised and eloquently crafted, he is a talented speaker and is capable of captivating masses - and yet.. after his sermons are done, and after he's guided his chosen few back to his homeland.. he's left alone again.

They say your destiny is written in the stars - whether you believe that they're real, they're fake, there is inspiration to be found in the silver weavings in the night sky. To the Moonchildren, the stars are a gift from the Sisters themselves. Carefully decorating the veil of celestial darkness, telling stories old and yet to be told. To talented interpreters, they could tell you every miniscule detail about your life.. The decisions you'll make, the sicknesses you'll endure, even how you'll meet your end.

When the Moon wept for the fallen child, the gift of Wild Sight was not the only item bestowed. Though no brooch would bare it, the child inherited the gift of the Frostmoon. For a Moonchild, it is rare for your antlers to grow much longer than your finger. The larger your crown, the grander your blessing. Even priestesses do not adorn such large antlers - Byggvir had grown into his in time, of course, but the Frostmoon's blessing did not only crown your brow. With the stars at his whim, he had become what he desired - embodying the Stag of the Moon.