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[@Silver Carrot][/center][hr]They often said that the work of a sellsword never ceased, for as long as gold and hatred of mortals for other mortals existed, mercenaries would forever be employed. That said, Gellert thought that was a load of shit; a sellsword was only as tireless as he let himself to be. Right now, he was stoically sitting on a discarded pile of empty crates. Tracking down a thief required said thief to make the first move, and thieves rarely struck shortly after a previous heist. The urchins of Wellborough seemed to be reluctant in pointing the Grey Wolf to his prey as well. No doubt they of all people would provide asylum for the thieving bastard. Which meant that he was mostly on his own.

Stirring him from his rest, Gellert caught the unpleasant scent of onions (and...blood?) and amidst it, a strangely familiar presence. Looking up, he witnessed a small girl-a miniature woman, if you will-approach him. Undoubtedly a Fae, she offered him an 'apple'. Apple, his ass. The Grey Wolf took the 'cleverly' disguised onion and pulverized it with the just the curling of his gloved hand into a fist.

[color=888866][b]"Nice try,"[/b][/color] Gellert uttered, his voice dry as the Wasteland itself. This would-be prankster's face didn't register anything in his memory, but he was sure he had caught her scent once before, but when and where? Frustrated at his time-weathered memory, the Grey Wolf lived up to his name and let out a low growl of irritation. If this Fae was smarter than him, she could make the connection between his wolf-like demeanor and the scent of blood about him.