The cloaked figure stood in the shadows of the alley looking at the sea. He was like a creature enraptured, leaning forward as if to dart to it and being held by some unseen force. He moved his right hand and laid his pack down, taking care not to lower his hood. The hand was covered in what seemed an over large glove, as if to conceal scars. Beneath his shadowed hood a forked tongue flicked in and out, tasting the salt air and he exhaled with pleasure.
He was close now, the Seaseeker. He had left his home among the Blue Claw tribe and set out across the jungle to this port. He had fought many of the pinkskins trying to get here, the voice of the sea calling him ever onward. Now, at the threshold of his goal, he seemed caught by some riptide trying to drag him back. Behind him he heard pinkskins moving, a group of sentries perhaps, and he could not move.
"This one looks good and big." said one as he drew a sap.
"Something about this one don't look right boss, look at the way he stands all hunched like." whispers another.
As the blows began to fall the voice of the sea called out to Slissk Seaseeker once more and he felt his body become his own again. He dodged the first blow and lashed out with talons, as they caressed the throat of one of his attackers they tore through first glove, then flesh. Another he gutted with his off hand, trying to fling him away from the pack and his weapons. Another stepped in his way so he lunged, biting into soft underbelly with vicious fangs and rolling to one side twisting loosened flesh away. He was almost to his ax when the blows began to take their toll. He blacked out, and in his dreams he felt the sea draw closer.
