Viktor laughed as more tankards were pushed towards him. He cared little for the quality of the ale since it was being given out freely. He was not so proud as to turn down or waste free food if it was offered. He downed the tankards as they came heartily. Mixing his concentration between drinking and listening to his other fellows. And though he probably had four or five tankards in quick sucession they were hardly strong enough to stagger him, though he did feel a slight blur cloud his thoughts and vision after twenty or so minutes that seemed to persist. 

When it was time to leave he pushed himself to his feet. With no more free ale this tavern held little to keep his attention. He followed his new comrades outside and back towards the docks. He tried spying his friend in the skies again but could not. He was either still eating or off doing something else entirely. He would find his way back to Viktor if he wanted to. He paid little attention to the man reading off lists, he found that many of the people in cities loved their lists and had them for every possible occasion and reason. Trying to simply read such lists much less understand their purpose or gods forbid try to make one himself was enough of a strain for him. 

The same could be said of the crates being loaded on to the ship known as the RAGGATON. They and their contents meant little to him but it seemed the symbols stamped on the side of the boxes meant something to the others around him. He gathered that the cargo was dangerous somehow, but the particulars were lost to him. He may have seen explosives in his year since leaving the tribe but he was not familiar with any names that could be attached to them. Or even how they worked. Though he was not overly afraid of having to travel with this cargo. He was more worried about being on the ship in general. While it would certainly make for a new experience and interesting tale he did not think anything was capable of crossing the great seas and enduring the storms it's spirits could conjure. A death at sea was no way for a Kordish Man to die. 

And when the call was made for a good and hearty brawl was made for the rights not to ride on the ship, Viktor roared in approval as the simple but reasonable rules were laid down. No weapons, only fists. A test of skills and abilities then. He eagerly jabbed the but of his glaive into the dock planks and rested his cap on the tip of his blade before he raised his fist along with a throaty roared curse in his native tongue as he charged towards one of the men of this enemy squad. 

The man was wearing his heavy armour, and was clearly a head or two larger than himself. But Viktor hardly cared. Size did not make a warrior and if viktor played to his strengths in this fight well it should be a damned fun time. He took a fraction of a second to take in his opponents armour, Made of cold and inflexible metal. That hardly mattered to him. He would try and take advantage of this and in return avoid those steel wrapped fists that could easily crack a rib if used right. He instead focused on the man's un-helmeted head as he closed the distance. By that meaning he quickly grasped the mans neck and sent his own forhead forward with a loud and dazing crack into the other mans. The many tankards of ale definatly helped absorb some of the shock of this attemptand was probably some of the reasoning behind it. 

Both men stumbled backward in a slight daze but the Heavy was much more solidly built and recovered first to launch a meaty punch into viktors side that he only just managed to turn enough so that it more connected with his hard chest and not his soft kidneys. Even still, It was a respectable hit. And one he was not keen on allowing a second through.