Jarvik Ragnarsson

The tall viking warrior steps out of the crowd, towering in front of me. His face is stern, his body muscular and battle-hardened. A costly fix fur covers his broad shouldeds as his icy blue eyes seach my face and I cannot help but gasp slightly as he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. He studies my features for a moment, eyes narrowing. Then he looks over to the slaver. How much for this one?