In the northeastern part of the continent, to the left of the mountains lies Skandia. Being placed in the cold Northern part of the continent, evergreen trees and the cold climate made this land a harsh place for ordinary humans, but this was nothing to the Skandian people. The capital of Skandia was a place called Hallasholm. The streets of the capitol were filled with robust energy, carrying the echoes of the seafaring adventurers and the resilience of a proud warrior culture. Murals of fierce battles, mythical sea creatures, and fierce warriors adorned the walls of several buildings. Laughter, music, and the clinking of tankards could be heard as the people of Skandia came together in bars as they came together to sing traditional ballads, share tales of adventure, and engage in competitions, some friendly and some malicious.
One of the men sitting in the bar held a large tankard of ale in his hand. He had a tall and broad-shouldered body. His robust build defined him as a powerful Skandian warrior. His deep icy-blue eyes seemed to hold the wisdom of the sea as if he had witnessed both the tranquility of the ocean and the ferocity of the waves. Adorned with the traditional Skandian fur attire, he donned a mixture of furs and intricately woven fabrics. A thick fur-lined coat, clasped at the shoulder with a distinctive Skandian brooch, which can only be worn by the Oberjarl, the highest position in Skandian society.
The man's position as the Oberjarl gave the men surrounding him a sense of respect, so they maintained a safe amount of distance from him, but another man who entered the bar sat down without care. He even smacked the Oberjarl on his back and said," Erak, what's going on with you."
Erak was not angry with the man," If you weren't my first mate Svengal, I would have separated your head from the rest of the body."
"Forget that," said Svengal," What's got you drinking in the bar so early in the morning? Is Oberjarl's duty becoming too boring for you?"
Erak rubbed his forehead in agony," Don't remind me about the Oberjarl duty. I have enough of my secretary reminding me about it once an hour. If I knew that Ragnar had to do this every day, I would have never been his successor as an Oberjarl.
"Then what else is bothering you on this fine day," said Svengal.
"Who else but Nathaniel!" said Erak, thumping the ale glass hard on the counter, causing the bar keeper to flinch. "All he does is sit in his room all day and do some fancy shit. Yesterday when I entered his room, I saw him painting Tharon holding a hammer and fighting the world serpent Jormungand. He even wrote a couple of poems on the walls."
"So?" shrugged Svengal," The boy was born with a creative bone in his body. Let him pursue his passion."
"That's the problem! He doesn't want to even try to learn how to fight like a Skandian. When I wanted to teach him how to use an ax, he looked at me as if I was a barbarian and said that the ax was 'inelegant.' He prefers to use a bow than an axe." said Erak, throwing all of his frustration at Svengal.
Svengal hid a smug grin in the corner of his mouth," You're just mad that he insulted your grandfather's ax right?"
Erak sighed," Nathaniel seems more Arulean than Skandian to me. He wasn't always like this. He started acting weird almost a year ago. He doesn't even go by Nathaniel anymore. He goes by his new name 'Nate'."
"Nate? Hahahah!!" Svengal laughed.
"I don't know what to do anymore," said Erak. "I sometimes wonder if Freya cheated on me with an Arulean man. When I asked her that question, she hit me on the head with a club and threw me out of the house."
Svengal shivered. He knew that Freya was a woman with a very fiery temper. Just then, a young Skandian lad, probably twenty years old ran into the bar and said," Oberjarl, there is a strange vessel approaching the harbor. It looks Skandian but has a strange sail."
Erak walked towards the harbor. He saw that many people had crowded the pier looking at a strange boat with a triangular sail. This was strange because Skandians used a square mast. Such a new rigging style was new to the seafarers.
Erak made an assessment seeing that the boat was drawing closer to the pier, without unfurling its sails," He looks as if he plans to sail straight through the harbor mouth," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "And he's heading right for my ship."
"That's the way I see it, sir," the man next to him agreed. Erak turned to the young lookout who had first sighted the strange ship.
"You. What's your name?"
The young man was pleased to be singled out by the Oberjarl and half expected to be praised for being first to sight the unusual ship that was now heading for them. He stepped forward and bowed slightly, bobbing his head to the Oberjarl
"It's Helligulf, Oberjarl," he said.
Erak looked at him in some surprise. "Helligulf?" he repeated. He was continually baffled by the trendy, exotic names parents were giving their sons these days. "What sort of name is that?"
"My mum made it up, Oberjarl," Helligulf explained, with some pride.
Erak shook his head slightly. "Why?"
Helligulf, sensing that the legendary warrior was less than impressed by his mam's creativity, shrugged his shoulders with uncertainty.
"Ummm … I'm not sure, Oberjarl."
"Well, while you're figuring it out, step aboard Wolfwind and fetch me my battle axe."
As the younger man hurried to do his bidding, Erak said grimly to Svengal, "Never hurts to be ready."
Svengal hid a grin. He'd been present on the previous occasion when Erak had pursued the offending ship's Skirl with his ax. It had taken three men to restrain the furious Oberjarl.
Erak shaded his eyes now and peered at the fast-approaching ship.
"He's got a helmsman's eye," he said, in reluctant admiration of the unknown skipper's judgment of the line he needed to maintain. "Anyone know who it is?"
"It's young Hal," a voice said behind him. Erak turned and saw a ragged, one handed unkempt figure standing close by. Erak recognized his former crewmate. Thorn was his best fighter back when he was a Skirl. Then he made the connection.
"Mikkel's son?" he said. "That Hal?"
Thorn nodded. "The same. That's his ship. He designed her and built her himself."
"He's just short of his sixteenth birthday, chief," Thorn told him. As a former member of Erak's crew, he was privileged to call him "chief" rather than his formal title of Oberjarl. He thought it might be wise to mention Hal's youth to Erak. It might make the Oberjarl more forgiving in case of any accidents. Helligulf chose that moment to return with Erak's battleax. The Oberjarl took it and hefted it, feeling its familiar weight and balance.
"He'll be just short of his head if he takes even a splinter out of my ship," he said grimly.
Thorn shook his own head confidently. "There's no risk of that, chief," although any decent politician could see that he was not confident with what he said.