Just as quickly as it had all began, just as Bjorn was able to tackle and strangle a screaming goblin, the would-be bloodfest turned into... dinner.

It was an odd moment for Bjorn. There he stood with a large, heavy slab of stone he'd picked up, ready to hurl it at the offending goblin that had attacked them all from above. In those moments, the Norsca had a chance to make a few very important observations:

First: he realized the dwarf was right, and these were all probably going to be his brothers-in-battle. [i]These people[/i] would be the ones he'd depend on for survival.

Second: he realized that while he [i]could[/i] possibly kill them, that would leave him [i]without[/i] brothers-in-battle.

Third: he'd probably lose the job if he killed his compatriots.

Fourth: [i]food. Eat.[/i]

Therefore, deciding it was best to belay his killing urges, Bjorn sat himself down at the feasting table and grabbed a whole platter of mutton for himself. He ate voraciously, much as befit a hungry barbarian, and displayed all the courtly niceties of a rabid, starving wolf.

As he ate, the Skaeling began to look over his... battle brothers... for the first time. Well, he had [i]seen[/i] them before, but things were finally calm enough that he could [i]inspect[/i] them. The dwarf he gave his attention to first, wiping grease off his chin as he eyed the fellow. He seemed caught in a conversation with the woman that had entered the room last, grumbling something about the "manling lordling" that Bjorn couldn't make out over the sound of his own chewing. But what struck Bjorn was he was staring at an obvious veteran, a man whose hand appeared to be made of metal. His hair was graying, and his scars were numerous. Perhaps he couldn't reach the top of a bookshelf, but he seemed like an asset at the least.

Then there was the woman. Truth be told, Bjorn found it hard to be attracted to her, as much as he missed having a warm woman pressed against him. True, she was beautiful enough, but she was still [i]young.[/i] What's more, she was shaped like a twig. She didn't have the girth of a proper Norsca woman. She did, however, have a warrior's confidence on her face - and that confused Bjorn, since she didn't seem to carry any [i]real[/i] weapons on her. What in Khorne's accursed name did she intend to do with that skinny sword? Still, she had those guns as well, and if she was any good with them, well... that would be useful. That would be very useful.

His eyes flicked to the hobgoblin next. What little experience the Norsca had with hobgoblins told him they were a treacherous lot, not to be depended on in a pinch. Though this greenskin's attire was a little foreign to him, Bjorn had no doubt the best way to make sure the little monster actually fought was to keep it in front of him.

Bjorn trusted the smaller goblin a little more, specifically because he could throw him farther. He also noticed the goblin was eyeing [i]him[/i] specifically, the same way he'd seen soldiers and adventurers staring at well bred horses for sale. The goblin, being weak like goblins naturally are, must have decided that the biggest person in the room was the best to keep close. This made sense: in greenskin bands, it was often the biggest, scariest ork which ruled them all. 

Of course, that probably meant the goblin, like his taller kinsman, would turn yellow as soon as any of the fighting went south. And it could very well be the goblin was just thinking about stabbing him in the back first, or contemplating which boot to steal first should he die. Once again, the Norsca made a mental note to make certain the greenskins marched at the [i]front[/i] of the battle lines.

There was one more fellow among these battle brothers: the halfling. He just... boggled Bjorn. He was musclebound, like a small, rounded ball of raw fury. If he didn't know any better, Bjorn might have thought the halfling was a tiny ogre, so muscular was he. He ate like a champion, too, tearing at a haunch of ham like some sort of ravenous beast. His face had a sort of scowl to it, even though he certainly seemed to be enjoying his meal, as if he were going to rip off the arm of anyone that threatened his platter of meat and vegetables. And his cleaver... it was...

Well, Bjorn knew he didn't want to learn if the halfling could swing that cleaver just yet.

Really, when Bjorn looked out at the group as a whole, he realized something: there was an awful lot of distrust. The greenskins were hard to read, but that's because they were the little sort, and the little sort always wanted to find good fights while being more than eager to switch sides at the wrong moment. Nobody seemed particularly enthused about the state of affairs. If [i]this[/i] was going to be his band of brothers, and if [i]they[/i], as a group, were going to do any work for the crazed lord that gathered them together... They were going to need some sort of camaraderie, weren't they?

"You've got a mighty healthy appetite, shortstuff," Bjorn grunted to the halfling with a belch, grinning over at the halfling. "And you've got a mighty weapon, too. If you fight like you eat, woe betide our foes, eh?" With a chuckle, the Norsca grabbed at the nearest pitcher of ale and took a solid gulp from it, belching yet again. Then he looked about the table with another sweep of his head.

"So, we're [i]all[/i] here for this Lord of Guh-cargo's job offer, eh?" Bjorn thought aloud, pausing in his meal and setting his elbows on the table. "This seems a damned motley crew. It might help if there were [i]names[/i] to go with these ugly faces, or else I might just call you something we'd all regret!" The huge man slapped his hands into a bowl of water, splashed the stuff over his face, and started to clean his face just so.

"My name is Bjorn. They call me bear-blooded, though I can't imagine why." Wrapping a giant hand around a haunch of meat, the Skaeling then tore off a piece, swallowed, and grinned in a friendly manner at his company. "Well?" he grunted. "Spit out your names! I'd rather know who I'll be singing of should any of you die in battle."