Gunnar almost roars in laughter as you step into the shop and are greeted with a knife to your throat. He smirks mischieviously, curly hair abandoning against his rather scarred face. He smells of sweat, gore, and old leather. Rather tall and husky, he shakes his head and holds the knife to your throat speaking with a rougish accent, unable to be classified as anything particular.

"Stop crying like a woman, I've said I'll not kill you. Not this day, at least. Cease also your 'sorry-ing', for I am not offended. You fear the Barbarians, this needs no apology. Stop hiding - stand tall, with your face in the sun, as a man should stand. My kinsmen and I have a bloody business backhome, and we save our strength and our blades for our enemies. Once we have enough prepared for our journey, we'll trouble you no more."

He shakes his head, obviously not having a liking for weaklings. You may not be one, but to him anyone that knows not of shedding blood, is. He slides the blade back into its sheath and crosses his massive arms, looking down at you.

"You cowards, with your walls and your letters, you shall always amaze me. Your hands take to craft, but your arms and hearts have withered. Your lives are so easy and your bellies so full you have forgotten the first gift the All-Father gave you: strength, and will like iron. I am a Barbarian, born in the lands of savage cold. We cannot forget, or we would surely die. The ice in the North never sleeps, and the Joten and Aurochmengr - as you would say, Giants and the Minotaurs, do not take prisoners....... Be glad that we do."