Silvertip Mountain Traveling alone

The dark woman turned to him with moon-yellow optics. Smokestep cast her a crooked smirk and refrained from winking; he'd seen situations turn south quickly for taking a brash and cocksure approach to strangers. The glint in her optics suggested that there was a hint of curiosity in her wary expression. He would feed off of this until she tired of him, as he did with most companions in the wilds. Surely, the corsair would press his luck with the inky doll in only a short matter of time.

“Aye... I was born in Blackrock Depths, lass,” he responded with a fleeting smile that showed his yellowed fangs from beneath pitch, leathery lips. “I've been doin' me best to gather the roughest and toughest cads in these parts to join me crew on the coast.” The Ironsea wolves; and he would reclaim his home, just as his father had intended him to do.