Phantom Hollow sweet potato pie

It may have been unfortunate for the pirate to have come across a creature who was not entirely fond of spoken word in comparison to bodily action. Smokestep was a man of words; he favored them far over most of his siblings and even his father. Perhaps it had been in a stage of rebellion that he had found his true calling as a wordsmith, or even in the company of the wolves of Warsaw. One way or another, Smokestep had inherited all of his father's recklessness and had developed a taste for his own wild troubles. All the while, loving the power of words.

No.

The pale corsair almost sighed with relief, but he held his breath and offered a bit of a curling smile instead. “S'alright, mate. I've met plenty who ain't fond of talkin',” he assured the other brute with a kind bob of his head. Wafting his tail a bit, Smokestep cast the male a bit of a curious look. “Ye got a name?”