Stavanger Bay The coffin-bangers were about to arrive.

The beast had no memory of this place, in so far as the topography, but the foul smells in the air were reminiscent of some travels. The salted wind was ever-present; in this moment the rotting of the freshly deposited plant-matter was there, smelling strongly of chlorophyll. He nosed at a piece of pinewood that had washed ashore; grasped a ream of arbutus bark that ran red on the inside and pinched it until it splintered apart, ribboning as he raised his head again.

Two bodies were approaching him and Revui had been distracted by his investigation, only noticing once they were very close. The heft of the man sagged against the shell piles. His voice was deep like the tide. Beside him roamed a shadow - Revui glanced at this other body but not for long, deeming them unimportant - and turned his full attention to the man.

He spoke of a claim to this beach. It is no longer free to traverse or hunt upon. The stranger outlined.

Were there scents here that supported such a tale? Revui had not scoured enough of the beach to find them, nor was he going to get the opportunity. The other man was impressive (and so was the woman, but she reminded Revui too strongly of Ikkalrok, and he did not want to heed her for the similarities); he huffs to himself as if he is thinking.

Ironclan? He repeats, watching the man carefully, envious to some extent of the lionine quality of his physique and the pride that flows from him. I am Revui, of Moonsong. The glacier a day or so towards the mountains.

It is nothing more than a pipe dream, nothing solid, nothing that can be backed up. He does not have a shadow that follows him nor any bodies to defend his claim and title. But he offers it all the same, standing with a mirrored pride before the gray king. Your claim must be fresh; how long has it been yours? How many are you?