Stavanger Bay I have no home; I make awareness my dwelling.

It has been too long since the beast has set eye upon his master but he trusts, as any mindless thing must trust, that one day they will reunite.
'Seek out my children,' the boom of the master's voice was still so fresh in his ears despite the months abroad. 'Make sure they are honorable to the Cairn bloodline.' 

He did as he was instructed: the coast reached out before him like a glistening path, hugged closely by the black smudge of mountains and the ever present sea. It had taken a number of months, yet had returned to the wilds. The creature was a hulking mass—a homunculi—and his pace was slow but deliberate, forceful, seemingly equipped with an endless resolve. He did not sleep but merely waited; he did not hunt, but ate what he found, and was unafraid of challengers. Due to this lifestyle of tremendous focus Tetsubō had worn away what precious winter fats had clung to his body and replaced it with muscle, but now even the muscle had begun to wear away. With it went his patience, and some level of control. He crashed his way through forests; he bludgeoned mountain paths so that they would accommodate him; he took more risks for meals when such actions were inadvisable; he'd even taken to prowling the fringes of packlands as he came upon them for something to play with, in a sense. Those unfortunate enough to cross his path were privy to a display of his expertise, and he carved a bloody trail along the coast until he came upon familiar territory.

Even in the thick darkness—beneath a cloudy, starless sky—Tetsubō could recognize this place where he once tread. The brine scent was heavy here, the wind merciless as it continued to sweep the clouds inland; he stood over a large pool of trapped seafoam, glowering and sullen, clearly having little patience—it was as if he decided to rest by merely standing in gargoyle fashion upon the beach, and here he would sit and wait for daybreak. He wondered if this was his intended target—if those of the Cairn bloodline resided here, or nearby—and then he wondered, rather spontaneously, if he would follow through with his master's command after all. He had developed a need for bloodshed that was deeper than his usual desire for violence, for use, and as he stood glaring across the pool at his dark reflection, he wondered if he would contain himself this time.

He was not meant to harm the children—Skellige wished for the opposite, and he knew his lord's word was law.
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