[center][b]Ards[/b][/center]

[hider=The Lumberjacks]Horik trudged forward, approaching the skraelings. At about fiften feet away, he took one hand off the haft of his axe and put it against the chest of the man to his side. The rest of the line stopped, with Horik alone coming close to the blue people. Horik and the others no doubt looked rather ragged upon closer inspection. They all wore fur coats, the many layers giving them the impression of being far larger than they actually were. Long beards, fierce eyes, and scars adorned many of their faces. Even from ten feet away, the Cewri would no doubt be able to smell the Ards. They reeked of the smells of Njor: overwhelmingly like the smell of wood smoke from their bonfires inside the poorly ventilated longhouses, with a faint touch of salt air and wet dogs intermingling with that scent.

One of them spoke out a few crude words, in the Old Tongue. How did this skraeling know the old tongue? The Ards' speech had gradually changed to the point that they had their own language, yet they still remembered the Old Tongue of the first man, as it was in that ancient language that they prayed to their ancient gods.

After listening to the one called Aderyn and taking a few moments to try and understand (though the talk of pride and generations was lost upon the simple lumberjack's mind, he understood peace and coming from water) Horik responded in similarly crude language, as he evidently did not pray much. 

"We called Ards. Also came from water. Lived north, very cold. And gods sent more cold. So we go south for warm," the lumberjack spoke in a thick accent, his cadence emphasizing syllables sharply, like the cracking of ice. Horik glanced at the small party of Cewri. "But not just us. Lots of Ards come in big boats. Hundreds of Ards. We just out looking for wood."[/hider]

[hider=Summary]
-Horik peacefully approaches the Cewri and they begin to talk. The other Ards stay back.[/hider]