Fuckin' Seer.. Knew somethin' about that smelt o' shit.. Cook, eh? Bollocks..
Brulk found himself grumbling, uttering his words lightly under his breath. Something about this Lyfrid had struck a chord with him, something he wasn't so fond about. More'n likely, Brulk reckoned, he'd get dragged into some kind o' shit. Same way he found this 'simple' job o' his, offered by a deceptive Alkawen posing as Erinus, which lead him to the Order of the Seven and now onto her. His mysterious little stalker. He reckoned it was funny, after all she was the so called stalker though he'd spent the last couple o' days digging up information on her, and being paid to confirm her as the dead lass from The Warhorse Inn
He cursed once more under his breath, reminding himself o' his task to report back to Alkawen. He'd done his job, it was clear as a rats bollocks that this Lyfrid and the one o' the Warhorse Inn are one an' the same. The case o' the stolen trinket was solved too, more or less, as she mentioned a friend o' hers stealing it back for her. He reckoned it more'n likley that she'd stolen it herself, a history o' sneaking round and what-not makde it plenty likely to Brulk's mind. Those details weren't so important though, he reckoned.
More'n likely, he ought make mention o' the lasses claim to possessing the gifts o' foresight an' such.. More'n likely Alkawen already knew, if Lyfrid had told him the truth o' how she came by such power. Fuck'n mind bendin' bollocks..
He knew something was amiss with the lass, not from the first time he'd laid eyes on her but the first his hands had. His hand clasped firmly around her throat, and that look o' her eyes. Some strange kind o' resolve, few o' the unlucky folk which found 'emselves in that situation nigh on pissed 'emselves in fear o' the dirt. More'n likely another o' her twisted gifts, like seerering aint' enough o' an issue..
She'd shown him the markings when they spoke, angry looking things by Brulk's reckoning. Burning something fierce on that scrawny neck o' hers. More'n likely he shouldn't o' done it, but those were the times. He told himself it was fine, on account o' her stalking him on the job those days past.. Maybe it was good he had to square away a reason 'fore the guilt came, time wasn't long past he'd o' just crushed 'em little bones o' hers, emptied her pockets and moved onto something a fresh with naught more'n a bitter feeling on account o' her wasting his time. He winced, gritting his teeth over such a thought.. More'n a thought, like a memory o' something blocked out o' his mind.
Maybe he was growing soft, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Might be the times are turning for the better, he succumbed a moment o' hope 'fore reckoning himself more full o' shit than the lasses claim o' being naught more'n a cook. More'n likely, he'd get to the bottom o' the whole thing.. More'n likely hed regret doing so, but what's a man to do in such a time? These are 'em after all, aint' no changing 'em by his reckoning.
He cursed again, and let loose a foul smelling sigh. "Why, just why.." He mutter to himself "Do I always get the fool jobs?"
