The surf slams like a war drum against the barnacle-crusted walls of Krakenfell Citadel, ancestral seat of House Krakenfell, in the heart of Krakenfell City. Seafoam batters the stone like an impatient beast. Seagulls wheel overhead, their cries lost in the wind as if mourning some ancient shipwreck, or perhaps warning of one yet to come.
Lord Noah Krakenfell, half a pirate, half a merchant, half a lord, and full menace to coastal decency, reclines, freshly bathed, on his throne of driftwood and whale bone. The fragrance of his shampoo clings to his dark curls, with his lithe muscular frame disguising the wild, ruthless feral cunning that Lord Noah Krakenfell is often associated with. The hall smells fresh, a pleasant surprise from the strong smell of the sea sprays outside, that often ba
