Stavanger Bay come wayward souls who wander through the darkness

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The pearl was growing upset with him for speaking of things and not elaborating. The passion in her voice spoke to him of how she truly was a rational thinker and her reaction was not unwarranted by any means. He was a difficult creature to get along with; even his siblings had found that he was a trying man, even on his best days. Skellige was not certain that Deirdre could handle him at his worst. Already she was using his words against him. What the pearl did not realize was that he was not a man of many words; he was forged on anger and action, and it made him dangerous and it made him fiery. The heat of his head was immeasurable, but she would come to know this in due time.
 
Instead of harboring that rage, the wraith forced himself into a calmer state. The water helped to soothe his ruffled mind and spirit, and he turned back to face her, looking at the face she wore against his previous words. She had not deserved his anger, but he had given it freely, and it would surely not be the last time that she would find herself wondering what could have happened to spark such an intensity inside of him.
 
Taking a few steps towards her, the great sea king and narrowed his brows still and breathed a sigh through his nares. “I am not good with words,” he elaborated softly; the gentle rumble of his voice sounded like distant thunder. “But you are. So speak to me and tell me what it is you assumed,” he implored of her. The expression on his face was genuine, though not lacking at all in the intensity that it typically wore.  

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