(Stein) "Is This Ireland???"
(Ulf) "No, you fool, this is England...you got us lost!"
(Stein) "Well, should we stay here? We could trade for weapons, perhaps"
(Ulf) "Umm...maybe. The Franks make better iron though."
(Stein) "Well, let's trade for sheepskins."
(Ulf) "No way, the gamey sheep in this land sprout the meanest bristles in all Europe. If it's wool you're after, we'll check in on the Scots."
(Stein) *grinning* well, it's back to the second-oldest profession in the world. Pass me that axe, we're going to Church."
(Ulf) "Stein, we'd be much better off sacking an Irish monastery. The goldsmiths here are amateurish in comparison the the Gaels."
(Stein) "Beer?"
(Ulf) "Back to Denmark then, I won't drink this swill."
(Stein) "Furs?"
(Ulf) "Sweden."
(Stein) "Slaves?"
(Ulf) "Ha! Not if you're planning on selling them."
(Stein)*worried* "Umm, this England sounds like a harsh land, the natives must be hardy, brutal warriors."
(Ulf)*laughing* "Um, let's stick around..."
