Skäna Snjármǫndottir's page

Skäne waves a dismissing hand at the barbarian woman. "He wouldn't know the difference anyway. Har!"

The freebooter shakes his head at their friend, "Nei, elfur, the Bear isn't claiming her. That would be too easy for the einfaldur bjáni. He is holding her to weregild. 'blóði, vatni eða weregild' Her choice. Very fair of him, if overly complicated."

"Might you want to take a step back from the Bear. We are 'aviking, and while it's no huldra, it is a fair catch all the same." Skäne drolly advises the others.

Back in town...

Oblivious to his friend's behaviour, Skäne grins at Helena. "You should not fear sharing my tent. Know you fear when you see how the Bear sleeps. Har!"

In the present...

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

Knowledge (nature): 1d20 ⇒ 20

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

Skäne peers down at the tracks left by both the patrol and the goblins. He knows their sign well enough; even in the north such vermin infest the woods. Turning to remark upon the similarity, he goes still. Cocking his head as though listening to the wind, he turns to look up ahead. At Björn's headlong rush, he springs into action, spear in one hand drawing his battleaxe as he goes.

Looking to the wild woman, Skäne nods, "Ja, we are already doing that."

Seeing no one else has picked up the remaining supplies, he grabs them up and arranges them in his backpack. "Nothing left to waste, no?"

Hearing the witch's question, Skäne shakes his head and picks up one of the tents. Motioning to his companion, the viking tells him, "Grípa þau. Aðrir geta ekki virðast til að bera þá og þeir geta komið sér vel."

Looking to the bear shaman, Skäne slowly shakes his head, "Nei, bróðir, ég held að það er ætlað að vera tjald."

Fortitude Save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

A loud *crack* resounds through the dawn quiet immediately followed by a bellowed curse as the first of the northmen staggers out of the inn. Holding his head, a knot forming on his forehead from the collision with the door's lintel, he winces from both the pain of the impact as well as the sound of his own voice. Muttering, he waves behind him at the door, "Hurðin ramma ... hugur dyrnar ramma."

Squinting at the wan morning light, he exclaims, "Guð! Við drakk nótt þurru."

"Right, off to glory!"

To Bjorn he adds, "Við vilja fá þú nógur bolli til fylla þinn hjónaband borð, neitun? Har, har, har!"

'Well, that went better than I expected.' Skane mutters before following Bjorn back to the horses.

Skane does a double take at Bjorn's words. He looks to the stopped group. Smiling, he holds up his hand and calls out, 'Hold for a moment.'

Turning back to his fellow northman, he responds, 'A sanngjarn tilboð, til vera viss, en þeir ert ekki líklegur til taka okkur upp á það. Að auki þeir gera ekki útlit eins og stigamaður, hvernig sem; þeir gera útlit eins og þeir hafa peningar.'

To Dieredon, the viking loudly whispers, 'He offers the riders go free with equal shares if they do not stop us killing the occupants of the carriage. I don't know if they're the ones meeting Lucien or not. Either way, it's a good offer, nei?'

At his oarbrother's words, Skane curses, 'Svikja!' Quickly dismounting, he rushes after the bear-who-walks-on-two-legs. As he kicks off his of his horse, he calls out to the others, 'That berserkur auli actually meant it when he suggested killing everyone we come across on the way to the meeting place!'

...On the plus side, "Skana" will be much more in tune with Bjorn for the next several days.

Oh, Bjorn, you're so big and strong with that manly warscythe. I just have this little hatchet and scrap of MDF hanging on my arm to defend myself. Whatever would I do without you?