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THE SKAVIK


Mickaelhz
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Hafþór raised a horn of mead to his shield-brothers.

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Týr bashes the broad of his sword against his round-shield. 

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Yngvar Nefjólfrsson would examine a mound of Almarian rocks as he searched for the best rock. He would eventually find the perfect specimen. With his tools in hand, he would begin to inscribe his name as he giggled knowing that his name would exist forever on Almarian soil.

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Arnkjell blew a horn of war as the Skavik dismounted their longships and descended upon the realms of Almaris. 

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Fridgeir sits on the longboat headed towards the shores of Almaris, carefully painting onto his Sagasteel the account of his journey across the vast ocean, a small depiction of crashing waves splashed now onto the edge.

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Svulf would finish bathing his face in a fresh pool of sacrificial goat's blood, the time of the axe was nigh.

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 Olaf Krákasson had his feet up high, his hand fiddling with an empty mug while his eyes began to lay rest. When suddenly, he heard the horns of arrival and a grin grew on his face, his eyes no longer tired but now the opposite, the man knowing what was to come.

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The Brathmordakin approve of humans accepting their facial hair

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