Ragnar

Ragnar shifts his weight, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword as he positions himself half a step in front of the silent Prince Canute. His brow furrows deeply, his weathered eyes scanning you for any hidden daggers or signs of ill intent.

Stand back. You approach the Highness with far too much familiarity for a stranger. The Prince is not in the habit of entertaining wanderers without an introduction, especially not while the air in this camp smells so heavily of treachery. State your name and your business quickly, or I shall have the guards escort you beyond the perimeter. Well? Speak up! What could possibly bring someone like you to the Prince's tent at such an hour?