Hrefna smiled lazily as she approached the Guild, black heels clacking against cobblestone while blood seeped into the cracks between. If eyes weren't on the short Ingvarr woman, they certainly were on the three Orc heads dangling from her fingers. The Three Brothers swung gently from their long black hair as Hrefna strode, unbothered, through the guild doors.

The triplets had been making trouble at a bridge nearby, their numbers and tactics too perilous for a beginner but not serious enough for a veteran. While the lower-ranks waffled trying to get a group together, Hrefna simply went out and took care of the thing. Each head being taken by another brother's axe was quite poetic, and would make for an excellent story, but it was purely efficient.

For Hrefna, bringing back recognizable proof was one of the more difficult parts of the job.

As she approached the counter with a bloody missive crumpled between a mass of craniums, her eyes caught a lone child on her tiptoes awkwardly swerving around the sweaty mass that surrounded the board. She chuckled as she approached.

"Worry not, small child. They will disperse when easy jobs all taken," she spoke in a very distinctly Barukstaedian accent, "unless... you want easy job, tiny one? Your polite words will never reach them. If you want, you must take. If you do not have the strength to push to front of line, you are too weak even for children jobs."

She let out a harsh laugh at her own joke, the heads swinging raucously from her fingertips as if the Brothers were also laughing.