Ankyra Sound i'll tell you a secret

temperament roll: choleric.

though the kraken is soothed by each predictable crash of the waves upon the shore: frothy with foam and tangles of seaweed, illuminated by bioluminescence which paint the shores an eerie blue; lulled to a near placidness like a child at the end of a tantrum it is a tentative thing. his mood remains, still, choleric though what this general irritation is borne of he cannot say. there is rarely an explanation for it when he wakes as grumpy as a bear premature from hibernation.

at first, the ebony gargoyle goes seen but unacknowledged. in fact, the temperamental cairn hopes to slip on by; like ghosts whose paths cross but do not intersect. these hopes are rapidly dashed, as if the sea herself saw it to be so with the next crash of wave upon the shore — higher than before so very near touching his toes — as the stranger moves to intercept. never one to speak much since the drop — and in no real mood to converse —, arinbjorn's muzzle raises ever-so-slightly as he regards the other man with his mercurial gaze, a low grunt given though the noise is, presumably, lost in the ever present roar of the sea.