"Blythe, you map spankin' old devil you!" roars a voice he hasn't heard since the Tapir Incident. Nasty business that, and yet so tasty. Grey still stands annoying tall, ducking his great, grizzled head under the door frame and flashes that maw of teeth. Ah, werewolves are a peculiar lot, especially this one.<br/><br/>"You message reached me and I must confess that pirate has never been on my resume before. And adventure sounds more fun then collecting dust with the rest of the muses in that cave."<br/><br/>He's a big lad, covered in shades of gray (what can he say, his mama wasn't real original with names) with a wolf's head, legs and tail and wearing a battered pair of baggy shorts with a tool belt. but it's a weird tool belt, festooned with felt mousies, wooden carrots and rubber bones. He grins, toothy and charming.<br/><br/>"I hear there are small, cute critters that need tending."