Ivar Ragnarsson. Some call me Ivar The Boneless.

[Indeed, he's not just a Viking, but a famous one at that, or so he's gathered from those farther along in time than himself. He shakes Marcel's hand, his own rough and callused from a lifetime of crawling around on the ground. He clinks his beer against Marcel's before drinking. His eyes keep roving over the other man's skin color. There's only curiosity in his gaze. He'd never even seen anyone with such dark skin before coming here and he's yet to see anyone this up close.]

So, they stuck you in here. I'll tell you this much, you're on an interesting floor.