The Sentinels shipwrecked

The dark woman explained herself, and not once did his mind stray from her reasoning. Smokestep was fond of teasing those who took a nickname that held such heavy background. His own father had adopted the title of Leviathan, and if that wasn’t pretentious enough, had wielded the calling as though it was his destiny. The pallid marauder knew how well looks could deceive, but even his father had managed to imprint upon him the ways of the Cairn and what it truly meant to be a Leviathan of the sea. Were it not for the fact that Smokestep had warped the founding of Ironsea and had cast aside the idea of recreating Blackrock Depths, he would have been very similar to his father at that age. Life had a funny way of shaping individuals, he thought.
 
The crooked smirk remained printed on his dark lips and the pirate flagged his tail once at her. “S’pose yer right, miss,” he concluded with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Sad that ye can’t recall yer youth, but I thinks I know yer family. ‘Least… me dad’s got himself a girl called Deirdre Mayfair and they’re awful keen on each other,” the young Captain elaborated with a forced tone of nonchalance. How strange would it have been for him to know that Emaleth was Deirdre’s sister – that they had both suffered a loss of memory – and that they had both returned to their place of birth. Perhaps, fate played mysterious games.