Stavanger Bay the inner claims i hadn’t breadth to shake

Anything.

The great inkhound exhaled in a short laugh at the simple word. Simple, but ridiculously vague and unhelpful to him. His brows furrowed slightly, but he waited a moment longer for her to expand on her request. Part of him hoped to oblige, but he was not fond of revealing pieces about himself. When she inquired about his mother and father, he began to rifle through thoughts in his head that would appeal to her.

“My father is a very devoted man, and I guess my mother is devoted too... to her craft, and to him. If it weren't for her patience, I don't know that there could be someone who could dedicate their life to him. It must be hard to know that she comes second to the sea,” he offered to her with a contemplative shrug. The concept of love meant very little to him, and it was difficult for him to understand how Deirdre had given up everything she had ever known and loved to be with the tyrant that was Skellige.

Love was a powerful spell, and he aimed to cast it over anyone that he could.