[b]Jarl Henrik Havarr of Tyr[/b]

Well respected amongst those who supported the former monarch, Henrik was beset on his flanks by thanes of his hold, their names not as important as the steel they carried. As the Jarlmoot began, his entourage faded back as Henrik found his seat at the great table and eased into the airy pleasantries of greeting the other Jarls as they neared him or made eye contact. The hearth was hot and the drink plentiful, but as the monk of the Moth began his insightful speech, all eyes turned to him. Henrik listened intently, but there was little respite between the end of the monk's speech and when Henrik stood, though he stood in an amicable silence as he peered around the table.

"[i]Long have I and my lineage protected the Tyr; the vast borderland between the Gothrans and Norsia, the Great Inroads to the Jarlmoot, to your very own Jarls.[/i]" Henrik paused to pass a goblet to his lips and take a drink, wetting his lips once more. "[i]I have served the king well, and the realm even better. Many of you I know[/i]," His eyes cast cautiously across the table, meeting the eyes of the other Jarls assembled. "[i]Some of you, I do not. But let that give you no question of my character.[/i]"

"[i]I would serve the realm with the same benevolence that I have long served my Jarldom. I would defend the realm with the same tenacity I have defended our border. There are some here wiser than I, and it is your counsel I would heed; others here, more fierce in battle, and it is your steel I would call upon in war. But there are few here I think, that possess the love of our foregone King that long held Norsia together as I did. A unified Norsia is a strong Norsia![/i]"

Henrik slammed his goblet down across the table, the last remnants of the crimson liquor spilling out. "[i]I press my name, Henrik Havarr of Tyr, forward. If you would have me, to serve as your King[/i]!"