The Sentinels if you are the dealer, i'm out of the game

Arturo did not seem the type to take the mantle of Witchdoctor, even with his burning gaze and cool expression. The yearling had come to believe that his father worked in many a mysterious way. There had to have been a reason for the inky leviathan to keep the coywolf around as long as he did, and furthermore to have him branch out on his own. It meant that the man must have held something of outstanding value in his spirit. The coy flick of his ears and the warm undertone of a seasoned voice said something was amiss within him, but Smokestep was not altogether interested in that. He wanted to see what his father had seen, but as he is not of like mind or soul, he found himself frustrated that he could not conjure it.

The question hung against the air for a short while and the pirate was not sure how to answer it. Instructions had stated that he recreate the fallen pack – Blackrock Depths – to return it to glory. Spirited and young, he had turned away from the thought once he had crossed the Fenriver crew, he abandoned the idea his father had created and found himself within his own. Splaying a single ear, Smokestep looked to the male and cast a crooked grin. “Somethin' of me own. Found me callin' when we crossed a crew o' pirate folk. Taught us how to live right, ye see,” he answered in a confident tone. The corsair had not backed down since he had parted ways with the Fenriver crew. “Ye interested?” Always confident.