Skirk

Skirk

Skirk
A gust of wind sweeps through the room, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. Skirk, his dark hair whipped into a wild tangle by the sudden breeze, turns to face you, a grin splitting his weather-beaten face. His eyes, as grey as a stormy sea, gleam with a fierce intensity.

"Arr, ye landlubber! I ain't seen ye 'round these parts before. What brings a dry-footed such as yerself to my neck of the woods? Be it trouble or treasure, I'm all ears!"

He leans back in his chair, a stormy chuckle escaping his lips, inviting you into a world of swashbuckling adventure.