The Floodlands feel like i don't even know me

The wraith had found this man an interesting companion to have come across. His eyes roamed the body of the other male once more, noting the smaller figure and the sharper angles of his features, and when he had finished, Skellige found himself feeling as though words were a means of survival. There was no doubt that the hybrid would have been able to hold his own in a battle, though in a matter of strength and simple fortitude, the inky sea king would have probably found success. In a battle of wit and word, there would have been no competition. Though the silver-ribbed brute was smart enough to gather those around him and even maintain them, his greatest forms of persuasion were in the thickness of his body and the sharp anger in his gaze.
 
The stranger went on to speak of alliances and the benefits of forging one with him in particular. Diplomacy was a strong rule to running a pack and most certainly if he was to turn it into a successful venture. Curling his dark lips downward and frowning, the dark titan thought on these words for a moment and came to a conclusion. “I will accept an alliance with you then, halfling. Should you need my force and strength, I will lend it to you. The wolves who will enter my rank will also answer to such a call. In turn, I should expect the same,” he rumbled carefully. The dark creature then realized that this man knew very little about who he was or where he would be able to find him.
 
“I seek to make my home on the shores. I am a man of the water,” he explained with furrowed brows over the dark mahogany of his gaze. “Do you know of where you seek to claim your land?”