Bakk eyed each comer with a slightly bleary but hawk like gaze. The animalistic senses his people are born with leapt at each new arrival, sometimes causing his hackles to rise, sometimes releasing a subtle predatory instinct. It was something akin to how a wolf may identify the weakest of the herd for its brethren, or in the other extreme the strongest beast to be avoided. Such a sense was untested and inconclusive, but it could be hard to hide one’s true nature from Bakk. He could almost smell true confidence, and judge a threat accordingly.

Utilizing his questionable gifts as he observed each comer, he made some cursory assessments of their strength and threat, albeit in a somewhat primitive manner. The first, a large human, well equipped and with the bearing of his people’s sword-fighters. Bakk hadn’t faced many human slavers, but he knew them to be one of the most diverse groups in terms of skills and they had a great capacity for war. The sword frightened him. He knew that in fair combat, he had already met his match as he regarded the man quaff great quantities of drink. However, the gluttony of his drinking was also a weakness. Bakk may be hungover from the night before, but he did not drink in excess when there was business at hand. He eyed him coolly as he introduced himself.

“Bakk.” He pointed at himself, in response to his curt introduction, nodding slightly, his jaw jutting. He had only a moment to consider the sort of individuals that were going to be assembled before he was shocked by almost the exact opposite kind of person following Haljon. A little woman of his kind, scarred and under-equipped for any task Bakk could immediately think of. However, though his people did not practice any formal martial arts, it was not unusual for female warriors and unarmed fighters to exist among the Venar. He could sense her confidence in her haughty tones, even if he could not quite follow everything that she said. He did not fear her in the same way he feared Haljon’s sword, he suspected that whatever skills she had developed would come undone against a Venar such as him, but he did not discount her worth. Not yet at any rate. She gave no introduction, so he offered none in return. 

The third was not of note to Bakk, he was a large human but he did not carry equipment to be feared. His presence was curious to the large mountain dweller, but he dismissed him for the moment, being more pragmatic in his observations. His introduction wasn’t necessarily one to the group, but Bakk still offered his name to the man, as was the custom of his people when one revealed their name first. 

The fourth was unassuming at first, and he was not one familiar to Bakk in his limited forays southward. He did however recognise the bow, a hunter’s weapon, he approved. Some Venar used powerful bone-like short-bows with a poundage beyond that which ordinary men could draw, and so he knew of the weapon’s power. It had its limitations though, Bakk would not test the man’s skill from afar, but he knew that as close as this his death would come easy. His eyes passed over him, satisfied with his conclusions. 

The fifth, was the worst. Human, like most, Bakk smelled the fear upon him immediately. Though he was equipped dangerously, and could have earned Bakk’s respect if not fear should he have carried himself like the tall swordsman, there was something false about the man who called himself ‘Sir Oliver.’ Bakk’s instinct for estimating the strength of a creature, born entirely from a survivalist life in the wilds, revealed the spirit of the so called Knight more so than any mannerism could. That, coupled with his flowery and mostly indecipherable speech inspired Bakk’s ire. He looked down on the man, though unless he were to do something directly annoying to the Venar, little would likely come of it. In a slightly more brusque manner than any earlier time (though it would take something of an expert to really tell, as Bakk’s deep resonant voice tended to sound similar to the untrained ear regardless of inflection) he gave his name to the Knight. 

Finally, with what seemed to be the entire group assembled, Eolas took them away from the tavern. Bakk was unhappy to be moved about again, particularly into the late morning light, and his heavy plodding steps lacked their usual grace. The Northman was not particularly bothered about what the others thought of him, likely in appearance he resembled little more than hired muscle. He was happy to leave them with that misconception, it would add to the satisfaction when they felt one of his axes protruding from their chest. Provided the party ended in conflict, which in Bakk’s experience was often the case with unscrupulous meetings such as these. They walked a short while to the water’s edge, and narrowly crammed into a row-boat. To say Bakk was unhappy with the situation would be an understatement. Bakk did not like swimming, he was bad at it, and he also did not like drowning. He also disliked being trapped on a boat with a group of strangers. Ultimately, though secrecy may be obtained, the plan had irritated the large Northman. With very little aptitude or skill, but plenty of strength and endurance, he took up an oar and helped row the party into remote waters, muttering in Venar the entire way a number of choice curses for the idiocy of such a plan. 

However, he soon changed his tune when the pouch fell into his hands, revealing almost half the sum he required for his personal concerns. His eyes lit up briefly, and desperate greed nearly overwhelmed him. Perhaps Eolas had chosen wisely, if they had been in the forest those around him would be dying as he spoke, two or three of the bags of coins would be all Bakk needed, and the blood of strangers would be a small price to pay for that. However, trapped on a boat with little room to manoeuvre and little ability to swim, betrayal would be suicide. Bakk settled down to listen to the proposition, deciding to bide his time. 

He did not show any visible sign of really understanding what the task at hand meant, though he vaguely understood that Eolas meant to steal some precious gem, he couldn’t help but query what sort of robbery required a party such as theirs. Evidently, fighters had been prioritized over sneak thieves, which suggested the robbery was going to be ransack rather than heist, or so Bakk thought in more primitive terms. He remained silent, assuming others would ask relevant questions and feeling unsure of how to articulate himself in the common tongue. However, all that emerged immediately was protest from the so called Knight, protest which served to irritate Bakk. 

“Swim then.” Bakk said pointedly, laying one massive hand upon the Knight’s shoulder as he had ended up behind him. It was evident that he meant to push the man into the sea, unless he or someone else spoke pretty quickly on his behalf.