Stavanger Bay fancy thinking the beast was something you could hunt and kill

what would he give for food? murgash had hoped szymon would bring that delectable subject to light; a base, indecent smile split his drool-ridden jowls as he contemplated eagerly the many atrocities he would happily commit for a simple meal. "jus' about enythin'." he answered forcibly, one of his torn ears pressed forth in a mixed gesture of anticipation.

he did not question why the stormbringer-like wolf hadn't yet spoken; but the silence expelled from skellige was not lost on murgash. where do your loyalties lie? the mange-infested male drew his gaze back to szymon solemnly, a strange gleam haunting the soulless grey of his unclouded iris. the air of austerity was a ruse -- he leaned forward, his salacious smile reappearing: "that depends; 'ow much food ye got?" as much as he wished to end the strangely-lopped interrogation on the finality that he'd do anything for food, he added quickly in afterthought: "naem's murgash. purvey'a ov fine foods an' skilled red hand of the brotherhood."