Two Rivers Isle spikeroog

The two brutes had broken their grasps on each other and stood – stiff legged – eyes boring into the other. Smokestep could not help but to allow his leathery lips to curl upward into a brassy smirk. His eyes twinkled with mischief at the other's rage-fueled reactions. He eyed the flippant lashing of the stranger's tail and once the other male had spoken in an outcry of questions, the pirate canted his head to the right and drew his lengthy ears forward atop his crown. It was a peculiar inquiry and one that seemed to have an unlimited number of answers that could be afforded.

Smokestep chuckled deeply; his lungs were working to bring air into his body and as his mouth opened, his tongue lolled out to drizzle drool on the ground. Blood still wove through his short muzzle hairs and into his mouth. The taste was not foreign to the seafaring scoundrel. “Ahh... ye giving up already, lad?” he drawled with another crooked grin that crinkled his muzzle.