[color=RoyalBlue][h3]Jarl Geirlaug Åsmundottir of the Broken Hammer Clan[/h3][/color]

Kingsport, a cesspool of scum and villainy as far as the Broken Hammer were concerned, loomed slowly out of the thick mist that always seems to hang over it. How this city had ever become the seat of the High King, Geirlaug Åsmundottir, Jarl of the Broken Hammer, would never know. It certainly had its perks in a fine harbour, strong walls, and plenty of fine mead, but if you wanted to look around or get outside, there was no point in wasting your time. She had yet to figure out if it was the mist that stank, or the city itself. 

Gerilaug was squatting under the rear transom, the small cabin like space set aside for her sole use. An orange curtain, long drenched by the ocean, was pulled across the entrance so only a weak light made it in as pondered her options. Jarl Evar Varvudda had called the Kings Moot and, though the connection was tenuous at best, she had decided to answer. 

The High King had long claimed Kingship over the Broken Hammer, a fact that he had backed up with threats of force. But now things were different, already the Kingdom was fractured and with the Pale-Ones pressing against the northern border, well, things at home had changed drastically. If she could not secure the support of a leading clan, then it was possible the Broken Hammer would find their own way.

Already she was preparing for the stares and whispers that would come soon enough. A female leader was rare enough, but one who was twice the height of your average man rarer still. Men tended to either fear her, or profess their desire to give her babies, rarely both at the same time though it had happened. 

She pulled aside the curtain and glanced along the exposed deck of the Dragonship. Twenty warriors a side drew on the big oars that propelled the craft into the harbour against the current. Forty men, that was as many as the largest Broken Hammer ship could handle, the great bulk and size of the Clansfolk making it impossible to have a larger ship and still maintain the speed and shallow draft the Dragonships were famous for.

The fortress itself began to appear through the mist as the sun at last began to burn off some of the colder air that clung to the ocean. Already she could see numerous banners and shields hanging from the high walls, many of the clans had already arrived. 

She stepped from the transom and straightened up. Her leather armour and war harness, no one with half a brain tried to wear metal armour in the far north, were adorned with a long sword, short sax, two axes and a large round shield that she now slung on her back. She wore no helmet today and her blonde hair had been done up in two long intricate braids that fell down her back.

"Who comes!?" A voice cried from the stone wharf ahead and Gerilaug smiled as she heard the shouted response.

"The Broken Hammer answer the call of the Kings Moot!"