The year, by the reckoning of the followers of Christ, is 8978 AD and you, Halla Skyfire, have just turned twenty. You stand across to Steinarr, after a round of light sparring, with a question on your mind.
"So, what other Martial Styles do you know?"
"What other Martial Styles do I know?" Steinarr repeats back to you as he quirks his head to the side. "Well, that's a difficult to question to answer. I've been all over the world and seen many things, so much so that a lot of the information gets cluttered," he taps the side of his head. "You'll have to be a bit more specific than that."
You frown as you adjust your post-spar messy hair. "Well, you were taught by Ironjaw, right? Why didn't you learn his Martial Styles and, speaking of that, what kind of Martial Styles would a man like that even use?"
Steinarr laughs as he sighs, eyes looking off to the distance — towards Bornholm. "Bram... is a man I don't agree with on a lot of things. He was instrumental in getting us off Gotland, but his personality and mine just don't mesh well together. He's the greatest wrestler alive, as far as I'm aware, but I don't particularly like wrestling all that much." He shrugs, "It's just not for me. His other Martial Styles rely on his hugareida or had requirements I didn't fit, like with Blaze of Glory."
"Blaze of Glory?"
"The signature Martial Style of the men of the Hammershus, Ironjaw's Warband. It..." He frowns, searching for the right word, "I could've learned it, if I wanted to, but I refused. It is a Style that encourages the practitioner to throw themselves into the frenzy in search of ever-greater deaths. That's not something I was looking for, even as stupid as I was at the time."