Sea Lion Shores smite him with the edge of the sword

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The great brute was tired. He could feel himself staggering against the bleakness of his own life and existence. The fire that had burned in his gut had faded to a quiet smolder, and though he knew that his purpose had been clearly laid out by the ancient spirits of the sea, he could not help but to feel distant from them and their hopes for him. It had all been so clear when he had resided on the Warsaw islands. He had known without a shadow of a doubt what his destiny was to be. In time, he had found himself realizing that fate was merely another means of saying that he did not have a choice. In this, Skellige resented his path and the empty promises of a powerful empire. The wraith had grown restless in his time on the shores of his sacred Blackrock. More so, he found himself disgusted by the idea that he did not have the strength to merely abandon it.
 
Pulling himself away from the sandy beaches of his home and the sweet aroma of the neighboring Donnelaith, the shadow trudged along the coast. His head was held low and his dark eyes scoured the beach for signs of hope and promise. Those lands had been teeming with potential when he had been founding his claim, but it had seemed that those with the greatest strengths had moved on to their own paths. Could he fault them for this? No… but he wished that he could.
 
The tossing of the waves drew his attention upright, and the titan paused in his steps to witness the joyous youth of a man as he plunged into the crashing waves and was tossed back to the shores. Narrowing his brows, the silver-ribbed leviathan whisked his tongue across his muzzle and held his ground with a quiet resolve to witness the strange lad. Had he once loved the thrill of the sea in a similar manner? Perhaps he had, but those memories had faded from his mind and his heart carried only a sickening heaviness to it.

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