Gilded Bay where man cannot, love can; love will

When she spoke to him, he knew that there was something off – something not of his kind. But she was very much of his kind. The girl introduced herself as Moor, an awfully dismal thing to have named a child, he thought. But they all had that sort of ring to their names if he thought hard enough about it. At least, those of them who were named by their father. Sea-feeling and writhing with undertones, he couldn’t have done better if he tried. All of that and then she offered him a spot at her side, sharing her meal.
 
This fine woman was most certainly not of the Cairn culture.
 
“I’m Knaven Cairn,” the rogue called to her in tones that were devilishly sweet. “I’m assumin’ we have that in common.” Then a chuckle that felt warm like whiskey on the way out. It burned just the same too. The way he prowled forward was youthfully brazen, but Knaven did too hold something of a guarded nature. He was sly in a way that was fiendishly delightful and dangerous. “At least the Cairn bit, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that bastard named two of his kids Knaven. He seems the type to throw them out and hope that they stick,” the druid prattled on for a bit, watching her to see if any of it registered – seemed familiar.
 
“I wouldn’t mind at all sharin’ a meal, though.”