The Floodlands feel like i don't even know me

you must be sick of my babbling. <3 if you want we can fade with another post from you? or if you'd rather leave it, you can archive it. aaaaaand we can just zip forward to the new one.

 

The wraith was uncouth on even the best of days. The words that fell from his dark lips were rarely ever composed of niceties. This very well could have been the reason behind the coywolf’s suggestion for manners from the brute. Nevertheless, Skellige had managed to get along well enough without them. The comment on his blood had not been intended insultingly, but simply stated as a fact that had been observed by his eye. Were it not for the shape of his figure and the sly light of his eye, the inky sea king would have settled for something that could have been deemed worse to be called. Those around him very rarely got the words that they deserved from his mouth. But the diplomat seemed to brush it off well enough and so it did not register as a thought in the titan’s mind.
 
The man extended the same offer as Skellige had with a nod of his skull, and the brute watched him with a careful gaze. Flicking the tip of his tail, the man listened as another deal was placed on the drafting table; one of respect. This was something that the sea wolf could understand. Feeling it necessary at this point, the salty wraith dropped his head just slightly and peered at the face of the other. “Agreed,” he confirmed with the rumble of his voice. “I will offer this to you as well; should your ambitions not prove as fruitful as you anticipated, my shores and ranks will be welcome to you. Since you were kind enough to offer the same to me,” he spoke in a level voice. There was no need to suggest this other would fail in his endeavor; he seemed ambitious enough to accomplish the task he had set for himself. After the extension of his home was made, the wraith shrugged his broad shoulders as if to say that it did not matter if the coywolf accepted the offer or not – it would still stand.
 
Once he continued to explain where he imagined he would stake his claim, the brute followed his gaze toward some distant territory that he could not see. An isle would make for a fine location for a pack, should no one else seek to claim the territory. The halfling seemed to be open to the thought of relocating if need be, which was admirable, and somewhat humbling. It was not an emotion that had frequently struck the sea wolf. Once he had finished speaking of his aspirations, the smaller wolf gestured for the vole to be given to the brute. A moderate expression of surprise flashed across the titan’s face and he held the gaze of the man before him for only a fraction of a second, before lunging his crown toward the earth and swallowing the vole in a serpent-like manner.
 
The man was then introduced as Arturo Fearghal. The ink-cloaked wraith drew his pink tongue along his lips and muzzle and bobbed his skull once. “I am Skellige Cairn,” he returned, drawing his lengthy ears forward. “You have honor… a rare trait. Come and seek me at the bay if you should need me, Arturo. My legion will be your aid.” And though honor was not something that the wolves of Warsaw had ever found to be a necessity in the wolves of their leadership, Skellige was intrigued by it. With a final bow of his skull, the shadow of a beast turned from his new ally and sauntered on toward the sea.