Raven's Watch Pathetic Use of Potential

The islander was lost at sea in the Stormskýli‘s quicksilver eyes, adrift upon the reckless vessel named S.S. Pleasure Cruise, first stop Blackbeak Bluffs – all aboard! Valmúa began to move besides him, ripe for their escapade, and Njord tried to contain the fluttering bird in his heart. He looked at her, genuinely affectionate yet amorous, when the sudden crashing of foliage and a bellowing voice demanded his attention.

A swift flash of white moved like lightening against a dark sky. Njord recognized the face – those eyes, that curling scar that looked like a smirk. “Kigi?” Njord blurted with a confused smile, half-expecting this to be some kind of prank. The two had a good exchange, last they met, and Njord was looking forward to fulfilling the promise of hunting together. When Kigipigak did not alter course or slow his approach Njord became alarmed. “Kig-oof!”

Awww F**k -- I can't believe you've done this.

His words were cut off by the forceful impact to his back end, shoved away from the beauty. The Sveijarn stumbled to the side, catching himself before he could fall, and braced for a second impact that would not come. Kigipigak coiled himself ‘round Valmúa, a sharp gaze filled with poison for the red-tailed man. Njord flinched, feeling the metaphysical bite.

Valmúa reacted before Njord could (who was still processing why such discord had sunk their love boat) and turned on her bastion with a nettled snarl. In Kigipigak, Njord saw his brother Aegir: daggers for eyes, taking whatever he wanted (and especially, what his little brother coveted). On one hand, it was the law of their kind known by any wolf; but it would leave the younger brother with little to his name. Njord had not crossed the sea to relive what he had left on Meares Island.

He stood, muscles tensed, and narrowed his neptunian eyes to steel himself against the pale man. The fluttering chickadee in his heart was now a focused bird of prey. Though Njord did not show teeth, there was a new severity to his intonation. “Seem’s t’me the lady doesn’t like you speakin’ for her, Kigi. I didn’t take ya for such a brute last time we met.” His eyes glanced to Valmúa, her muzzle wrinkled in dominance, blue shell at her paws. Clearly there was some backstory to this whole situation, but the woman wasn’t having any her comrade’s nonsense. “Why don’ you relax, friend,” he told the other man, “’an we’ll be on our way.” Njord defied Kigipigak by taking a rigid step forward, though a tiny voice whispered in his ear to remind the seafarer that he was not on home turf.