Stavanger Bay a pirates return

Ford had learned very little of the pack that his younger brother had established in the bay – the wolves of Ironsea. Had he known more of it, he would have thought the idea a foolish one. While it seemed fun to run wild and free and take whatever was desired, there was little to no growth in such actions. The very premise of piracy was one of contentedness and complacency; perhaps, the idea that great wealth and good fortune were all that was needed to lead a happy life. Those were all shallow thoughts to the titan. He knew what it meant to bask in the glory of good things, but he also knew that those were only fleeting moments of happiness. None of that would last if they remained the same.

The warhound took to the edges of his terrain in hopes that he might mark them more clearly. The others had done well enough of showing their intended claim over the land; Ford had been pleased with their dedication to the bay. The more that they added to their numbers, the better off they were. It would not have been long before he would send a call to them to announce that they had accomplished what they had arrived there to do.

The scent of a stranger caught his attention, and the skeletal brute changed his direction slightly to intercept the foreigner before they wandered any further toward their land. Upon sighting the figure in the distance, he furrowed his brow thoughtfully and paused in his approach. It seemed as though they had paused on the edges of the beach and were waiting for something or someone to draw nearer. The figure was not one that was familiar to him at all, but the warhound did not allow that to prevent him from prowling closer.

“Greetings,” the brute offered in a smoky baritone of a voice. He drew his crown upward and approached on swift limbs – limbs that knew how to move within the sand.