Ankyra Sound rule number four, gotta be lookin' pure

There was something about the bright-eyed Witchbaby that seemed to turn Kierkegaard off. Something in the way she demonstrated herself – the unabashed demonstrations of interest in Nyx, or the tone of her voice – caused his pelt to bristle and his brow to furrow. It may not have seemed an evident standing, but Witchbaby had called upon the company of three cacti and had seemed shocked that they didn't want to chit chat over drivel. The ghost was not interested in watching a stranger make a fool of herself, and was regretting having arrived at all.

Wylla inquired to the girl why she might have been searching for a new start. The pink-eyed female began a short story that laid out two mildly unfortunate events that had left her stranded in an unknown location with nowhere to go. Witchbaby still seemed as though she was intent on getting into Grimnismal and answered the questions without issue, offering to provide skills in exchange for a spot in the ranks. Kierkegaard frowned, setting a scowl to his face and swiveled his ear curiously toward Wylla for her next step.