I've got a Jar of Dirt

Artorias gave a short bark of laughter. Now that the shock of the midnight attack and anger had burned out of his heart, Sparrow's sarcasm and wit were almost endearing. Almost. Whether that remained that way would be determined by how this parley went. "You know, in some strange way, I did. I kept looking over the borders expecting to see you skulking around some more. Imagine my heartbreak when I didn't see you leering in the shadows." Artorias didn't often get to clash wit for wit with someone in banter like this; it felt like an exercise in sarcasm without being insulting to either side. "Tell you what, next time you want a raid, how about a little coordination and we can see about squaring off. I know my fighters would enjoy going up against your crew again—just maybe not when you're coming at us in the dead of night." Artorias had no issues with raids if the pirates had truly wanted them for fun and not malice—but fun was only had when both sides were enjoying it. A surprise attack in the middle of the night had not been fun for any of his wolves.

Another chuckle from the obsidian and azure wolf while Sparrow jested about distracting him, then enticed him with the "trade of his life". The monkey then unveiled what was inside the wagon. Artorias eyed the jars while each was introduced in much the same way a merchant might try to peddle their wares, with fanfare and exaggeration. Jars of exotic moonshine from far-off lands, a dark and high proof liquor, and a jar of rare black volcanic sediment that housed another gift within if he traded. And all she wanted back was Artisan. Artorias chuckled again, idly swirling the bottle of wine in his paws. "Hmm, your offer is very tempting, shrewd captain," he said, having thoroughly enjoyed the theatrics of Sparrow and her companions. "As much as it would break my heart to give him up, I will give you Artisan back. The poor bastard misses you all terribly. Though he might miss you a little less when he learns he has to memorize the sordid details of your love life." But before that, he had things of his own he had to say.

Artorias lifted up the bottle to Sparrow, giving it a little shake so she could hear it slosh about, filled to the neck with the high quality red. "This is my gift to you. An apology, for taking the raid too seriously and escalating things. Artisan... he's taught me some things. If you'd consider it, I'd like our packs to not hold grudges. I think we could learn a lot about how to enjoy life to the fullest from you, and I think having a safe place to come to if you need aid could be valuable to you and your wolves too." Artorias rose to his paws and moved over to Sparrow, placing the bottle at Sparrow's paws. "It's one of the finest vintages in our cellar. You can keep it for yourself or share it with your crew. I know we'll likely never be allies, but I'd like us to at least be amicable. So, if you promise us no more sneak attacks out of the blue, I'll promise we'll chill the fuck out when you raid us for fun or booze or whatever the hell it is pirates like. My fighters love a good clash as much as anyone—just not when we think our home is actually under attack."

Artorias offered his paw out in truce, the healing scars from where Artisan had stabbed him visible just above his wrist. "Do we have an accord, Pirate King Sparrow?"

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian" | "Corbin" | "Argent"