Forni is no diplomat. His parents had realized quite early on that he preferred talking to listening, and had feared that the boy who never stopped running his mouth might run into a drunken fist or a dull blade.
Instead, his father's father had died and he had come into a position of prestige, power, and purpose. He left behind the trappings of childhood. Most notably, a nickname which had been fine among peers, but would not impress the laity. Now, he went by Ragnvaldr Ásketillson Hrönn, the name he had been given before the sea- at least, he did among those who needed to respect him. Not among this party.
They had been sent on this mission, the five of them, to expand Skathinaujo's reach beyond its traditional borders. They were simply another wave of their homeland. Where the vikings spread through military might, priests such as himself spread through words. Forni liked to think what he was doing was much more valuable for the cause. A priest, a diplomat for the priest, a translator for the diplomat, a guard for the translator...and a seidhkona for anything else. There was no need for these people to respect him at all.
"I wager that I can identify twice as many of the berries in these woods as you. Care to prove me wrong, Sjóna?"