Wheeling Gull Isle what does it mean to be descendent of something monstrous

One of the babes begins to let out a cry that might put a banshee’s teeth on edge. As his gangster counterpart took all of his experience and knowledge of children to the grave with him Witchdoctor is left in the “new father” stage. Fumbling around without knowing what the hell he’s doing because while, perhaps, there should have been instincts he has none. The babe, Droman or Reed — seriously how does Hemlock know? Is it a mother thing? — quiets down for a few moments and Witchdoctor breaths a sigh of relief believing that to be the end of it. He is dead wrong. The whines resume with the scrape of tiny paws against his flank. The doctor rolls onto his side, shifting so that he can look at the scrappy infant, drawing back in indignation when the babe lets out a disappointed whine. That…actually stung, his pride smarting. Though neither child could see it: he rolls his eyes. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual, pipsqueak.” Witchdoctor huffs at the lack of approval from his spawn. “S’not like you’re very impressive yourself. All you do is eat, sleep and poop yourself. You two aren’t even fun yet.” Despite the smarted grumble there is a distinct tone of unmistakable affection in the Witchdoctor’s voice ( a product of that spell they have over him, he would readily argue ).