Archaic fancied himself a bucky lad. Meaning, of course, that he liked to cause a bit of trouble now and again. It was fun, which happened to be rather hard to come by in such a cruel land, with even crueler wolves. Arc didn't want to participate in wars, and diplomacy, and grovel before every other wolf he came across. He just wanted to dig his claws into life and live a little! All things considered, the islands seemed to be a pretty good place to do that. It was actually warm here, go figure! More the reason for the man to never leave. He was growing to like the taste of fish too, though catching him had taken some practice. Better than crab, anyways, with those nasty pincers. Arc scrunched up his nose in memory of one particularly nasty encounter, that had left the tip of his nose bleeding. "Godsdamned son of a bastard's whore," he grumbled. Oh, he'd eaten the fucker after of course, bruises and all. Served him right, too. Arc kicked at a bit of sand as he walked, fine and white and laced with bits of sea shell. The way it carried in the breeze, light and wispy, made him smile. Yes, he could get used to the ocean life, crabs and all. "Talk" "You" Think

Walk. "Talk." 'Think.' The pirate had wandered many seas to reach a new land of many islands. He did not yet know that there was a mainland known as Alacritia, but he was satisfied with island-hopping for now, perhaps to find more wolves to add to his posse. Powerful legs would kick at the water and thrust him through the salty sea, until pads reached soft sand, as he approached an island of inexplicable beauty. "A fine island we got here." The voice would roll from the pirate's inky lips, as a green bird would approach from above, perching upon his shoulder. "Nice to see ye, Nick." He cooed silently. Surely the man was happy-go-lucky today. Usually the parrot's presence would be greeted by hurried shushing and shooing. A high-pitched squawk would leave the curved beak of the small parrot, as a golden hued boy met his gaze. Ah, he was colored like the sand. And seemed to have a bit of a lip to him, as he had arrived in timing to hear his curse. 'Look at 'tis scurvy dog. He'll do fine in me crew.' The patched man would only do good to approach in a way to pose no thread, giving a belated greeting, as it appeared this man had been on this island sooner than he, with dry fur. At this thought, he would step back and shake himself off, a light spray falling on Nicholas and the sand. "Ahoy thar, sandy boy!"