"A Viking? What's next, a cowboy?" [i]A figure jested as he stood just behind the figure that was Bjorke, though he was quite an ironic once given the phrase he just allowed to escape his lips, Texan accent and jesting tone lacing his fluent English words. He who stood behind Bjorke was a strange man in all honesty, standing at ten foot tall and clad in an exoskeleton suit of armour that made him look like a walking, mini mech-suit warrior even though it was all frame with layers covering his body. The armour was painted in an olive green pattern even though the arms had been purely white, with scratches and few flecks of dirt lining it. Despite all this he still had a brown cowboy's hat sitting atop his head and armour frame, with a matching duster that looked to be comprised of rubber surrounded by a thin layer off Kevlar, because bullets and electricity won't be -blam!-ing his paint job up. Now this man was not without weaponry. A three foot long blade sits on the bottom of his left forearm just waiting to be extended and used, with it's polished blade gleaming in the sunlight beyond. He had a set of four strange revolvers on his hips that were each different, one looking normal and one a black frame with golden lines, one looking straight out of a fantasy sci-fi crossover and one mounted with a grenade launcher on the bottom. On the back off his hip was a G11 Chainsaw LMG, with a box magazine attached to it, and also mounted in place but pointing left. On the front of his hip was a strangely ornate dagger, in a black sheath that the cowboy painted, beside a whip that crackled with plasma and energy. Lastly, his right forearm was braced by five metal canisters, each holding a 40mm HE grenade inside it. "What, the other raiders stuck with Eriksson?"[/i]