Stavanger Bay a pirates return

The diversity of Stormrift would likely have appealed to Norsamu, once she’d gotten to know the others. There weren’t many who were like Ford in the group; most of them were pleasant and cheery folk. Velen was – perhaps – the closest to the titan in demeanor, and still the mahogany-eyed brother was far more capable of appearing at ease around strangers than the warhound had ever been. Once, it had bothered Ford that he was so different from his siblings. As they had aged, he had noticed that their differences were what made them dynamic as a group. Even Rannveig offered a charisma and lackadaisical charm that was difficult to pass up, in spite of his idiocy and laziness.
 
Norsamu stepped onto the territory of the bay and was offered a small nod by the brutish skeletal beast. She made a comment on the nature of their culture. Ford latched his mismatched gaze on her features to read what she might have been thinking. There were those who were not quick to adapt a new lifestyle when joining a pack, but Stormrift was about shedding the skin of previous lives and moving forward with improvements. She would learn that soon enough, he imagined. “We do, in order to achieve the growth of our members. You will learn of our ways soon enough. I don’t imagine they would be too difficult for one with such spirit,” he remarked to her with a half-smirk and a sideways glance.
 
It was then that she mentioned that all she’d need for her rum was fruit. Ford turned his attention toward the trees and frowned thoughtfully. In all of the stories that his father had shared of the bay, there had never been talk of fresh fruit, or any vegetation really. All that Skellige had spoken of was the ocean and the Blackrock that lured him to the bottom of it. Still, the titan imagined that they would find themselves with a great deal of fruit once spring and summer arrived. “In time, we should have plenty of that,” he assured her.