Barrow Fields once there was a queen named gioma

ingram considered what she had just imparted on him: the siren, capable of killing -- or rather, capable of making other people do her dirty work for her. it was dark news, but he took it in stride -- mostly because he didn't think anyone at grimnismal would even so much as give the reclusive wretch a second glance. she was powerless presently, and ingram believed she would stay that way -- as distant and irrelevant as the denizens that gurgled in the grotto's endless keep.

"that wasn't very nice of her." he commented dryly, though his expression was humorous in light of the small laugh she had issued. rosalyn's mention of a pack brought him to sharp attention, though he did not seem perturbed by the news. "oh? nah, not really. as long as you don't come to visit." he joked, though it was kind of true -- grimnismal was not very well-receiving of anyone. "what's your crew called? mine's grimnismal."