"I've been dealing with the possessions of the dead since I was a boy, and won't no crew of woman born disobey me on a serious order," Tulek promises. Of the "officer" positions he could've been given, this one was ideal. He could spend his time counting loot in quiet contemplation when he tired of drunken revelry, and back in the Guild, he'd had a knack for keeping men in line without force. Something about the vague, unspoken promise of what he could do was much more fearsome than what most others would do.
"Mr. Fowler, Captain needs yeh," Tulek calls to the other room, wary of approaching too closely after the traps in the room he'd just visited and watching the green arrow shoot out at Marcus. "Anyone else what's done like to come check Mr. Dorian's locker with me?"