Thunder Dome three wise men

The Scandinavian enjoyed a good social gathering as the next guy ...but he'd never been much of a speaker. He favored being the observer of these sort of things if only because he was always ready for a fight. He was a Berserker born of blood and war. This was how his people survived ...and despite the Priestess' best efforts it was how he'd always seen things. He was a barbarian, notably a dangerous friend as he was an enemy and he did nothing to hide this. He saw no sense in pretending to be something he wasn't, though he had the potential to be charismatic ...when he thought it would benefit him to be such. Currently, he didn't think it would benefit him. In truth, he could not help but see them as his competition. For rank and ...if he was being entirely honest with himself ...for the dragoness. He had yet to explore the libertine side of him but it would be a lie to claim that he wasn't looking forward to it; and of course only the strongest female among them would catch his eye. Thus far, he saw her desire to lead as strength and naturally, the Scandinavian gravitated towards it as he had been and always would be.

Names were given and tucked away inside the Viking's mind. His accent made some names hard to speak, accenting the wrong syllables or vows. Nevertheless he supposed it was his turn to give his own name. “Frostrar Loðbrok,” Because of his name his sire name held the most weight to it. Technically, he was a Ragnarsson but he wasn't currently looking to be technical today. Besides, Loðbrok would sooner be recognized before Ragnarsson. Now that that was out of the way the Berserker fell back into his comfortable silence though his posture remained taunt with dominance.