Stavanger Bay rows of houses sound asleep

He waited, but these pirates proved a fleet-footed bunch. The echoes of his call hadn't even eroded by the time he saw a silhouette cut through the dimness of night. Gallows bowed to meet them, and tipped his head until his nose nearly brushed the ground. There was neither time nor favour to gather his wits about the wolf before him, but from the stature of their approach, he knew enough. They were part of the crew, and saw themselves with enough authority to meet him here, stranger as he was upon their shores.

He waited for a voice, but nothing came, even when he cupped his ears forward. Whether or not this was usual procedure, Gallows couldn't tell. Strange lots, these pirates were, every crew a little bit different than the next. It made life difficult - but curious, and he pressed a silence, long and ample for the other to speak before he slid his name through the dark expanse, "Gallows."

His family name was usually enough to herald at least a vague sense of recognition and respect. They'd held renown for decades as a clan proficient in botanical arts, and as a ready supply of healers to a vast many crews along the coast. But if this pirate hailed from a region unaccustomed to their name, he added with equal brevity, and for their sake, "Botanist, toxicologist, physician."