Falkor watched the woman remove her ring, examining it the best he could without actually picking it up. From the looks of it, the piece could fetch a fair price from some of the traders he knew. What had the viking pulling his dark gaze from the ring and back to the woman was the murder she wished to have happen.<br/><br/>It was a bold statement to make, especially in a place such as this where the loose lips of a drunkard could spill all your secrets without a second thought. Upon hearing what came next, Falkor could understand why she was so eager to have her uncle dead. Of course, had something similar happened in his own homeland, no one would have batted an eye. Kill or be killed, that was just how it was.<br/><br/>Warming to the idea, his axe having seen little blood shed in a short time, Falkor’s attention was drawn to the changing of places of the man beside him with another of his group.<br/><br/>“I can tell you the feeling was and still is mutual.” The viking sneered at the man. As the man slammed his hand on the table, Falkor’s eyes narrowed at him. Feeling the blade drawn on him, Falkor’s hand flew to his own, not leaving the handle even as the weapon directed at him was taken away. Watching with distaste as the man and his group left, Falkor swung his attention back to the woman.<br/><br/>“And you want us to work with that filth?” He inclined his head towards the door. “I’ve seen better crawling through the streets on their bellies after a full night of rum.” Crossing his arms, Falkor continued, a scowl on his face. “I may not be the man you had originally hoped for, judging by who the letter was addressed to, but I can assure you, I am much better suited for the job.”<br/><br/>Noting how his men had already indulged in the ale, Falkor waved the barwoman from earlier over.<br/><br/>“I hope you weren’t expecting this sort of assistance for free.” He directed to the woman seated across from him. “Miss…” He trailed off, hoping for a name by which to call her.