Dragoncrest Cliffs 'cause london is drowing and i live by the river

@Thuringwethil

 

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"A dumb wolf is a dead wolf,"

His father had said before vanishing with his mother into the great beyond, never to be seen again; Isengrim despised him for it. Everything had fallen apart in midst of the disapeerence of the costal king and the martiarch of Blackrock Depths, including the intrusion of those who had stolen his father's land upon the water (or so he was yet to learn and believe to be true). Rage bubbled within him at the seperation of his sister, the abandoment of his parents and the destiny of a childhood that was due to end early; anger mixed with sorrow at what had been stolen from him, and what he would never have again. Perhaps his anger was dumb, but the boy was far from dead. As if reborn to the mindset of what was and what was not to be, in the mere weeks leading up to his presence on the borders of a truly united pack, the boy had grown more self-righteous than ever. If it was his fate to forever be parted from everything he held dear, so be it. He would fight it every step of the way. But he could not do so alone, talentless, defenseless. If the boy was to grow, develop, become a man worthy of his father's mantle, he could not roam the wilds without purpose. If he was to reclaim all that was his by birthright, he could not remain a mere child. So, he did what child-Isengrim would never do. He waited. And then he howled.

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