Erik the Northman
Sun-warmed eyelids fluttering in the morning light, Erik stretched languidly in the back of the merchant's cart as he belted a heavy yawn. The goblin raid the previous night had tested the Ulfen's mettle and, by his estimation, he had earned a little rest.
In one fluid motion, Erik sat up and slid out of the still moving cart landing on his feet.
First things first, Erik checked himself for his belongings: the Eisnhorn was secured with its leather strap about his neck, at his side he felt the familiar weight of his grandfather's blade, and on his back the heavily scarred shield slapped time with his steps. He gave a quick heft of the purse at his waist to ensure his pay was secure.
Everything accounted for, Erik strode into town (Sandpoint he heard the caravan master call it), kicking up dirt in the crisp morning air. He simply shook his head and grinned as he heard the exchange between Gus and the caravan master as he made his way towards young woman and her meager stand.
He glanced at her sign and smiled.
"Lady Grey, I am Erik, son of Erlend son of Engli, and my thirst is mighty. I propose a trade. My gold piece for the best mead hall this Sandpoint has to offer."
When the cards are down and some wild-eyed, green-skinned gamorrean grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the duracrete wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jak Starwind always says at a time like that: 'Have ya paid your dues, Jak?' 'Yessir, the credchip is in the mail.'