Theodorable Member
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Sorry for not posting again; been hard at work. I'll have a post up this evening!
Henrik isn't even King yet and he already has a headache.
Henrik Havarr of Týr
Not yet king and already the muddled waters of politics were to make themselves known. Koval saw in a less than robust black and white, but anticipating becoming a monarch was looking at the multi-angled issue with the perspective of a king. While the Gothran hounds seemed eager to fight, the Elves in the West had their eyes set solely on the conflict and Henrik would not so easily dismantle that fragile trust. Henrik saw through the ruse -- or perhaps it was no ruse but rather a genuine affair with boodlust -- of Koval. The Jarl of Arda’Njor had only one card to play, and he had just laid it down on the table. While Henrik deemed it important to keep the fierce warriors of the cold North on his side, the greatness of Norsia would not be prematurely extinguished by a war.
"You worry solely of Gothra, when your focus should remain with your countrymen. A king sits not on the throne and already you talk of crossing the border, Koval. Norsia will be strong, and when it's Jarl's are satisfied, when it's people are fed and the cold winters are over will we march on Gothra, and not a moment before."
Henrik, having been standing for several minutes since he announced his candidacy, he returned to his chair.
Not yet king and already the muddled waters of politics were to make themselves known. Koval saw in a less than robust black and white, but anticipating becoming a monarch was looking at the multi-angled issue with the perspective of a king. While the Gothran hounds seemed eager to fight, the Elves in the West had their eyes set solely on the conflict and Henrik would not so easily dismantle that fragile trust. Henrik saw through the ruse -- or perhaps it was no ruse but rather a genuine affair with boodlust -- of Koval. The Jarl of Arda’Njor had only one card to play, and he had just laid it down on the table. While Henrik deemed it important to keep the fierce warriors of the cold North on his side, the greatness of Norsia would not be prematurely extinguished by a war.
"You worry solely of Gothra, when your focus should remain with your countrymen. A king sits not on the throne and already you talk of crossing the border, Koval. Norsia will be strong, and when it's Jarl's are satisfied, when it's people are fed and the cold winters are over will we march on Gothra, and not a moment before."
Henrik, having been standing for several minutes since he announced his candidacy, he returned to his chair.
Henrik Havarr of Týr.
Koval.
To say he had been a thorn in King Beron's side was not true. Henrik was not a genius, or even cunning -- but rather true to his word, and if asked to describe the Jarl Koval of the Northern Provinces after a few too many drinks, he'd probably relate him to the very Jarl he ruled over. Cold. There was a certain honor in the ruthless efficiency that Koval carried with him, and while Henrik burdened himself with the virtue of truth and justice, Koval had mastered the meticulous antics of a man not so easily swayed.
"The Gothran Wars saw many things, Jarl Koval, and King Beron acted with the wisdom of that particular winter. The Gothrans," Henrik sighed, he was there, at Wallachia. "were beaten. They were tired dogs. Who at this table could know the Gothran King, Vlad would let his anger boil over?"
Henrik mulled, as he did -- a warrior who had seen been at the borderland sieges, the butchering at Wallachia, the final victory, -- he was a fledgling statesman. "You misjudge the giving of our late King, Jarl. You have made your thirst for war apparent at this Jarlmoot, Koval, but as King I will seek to hoist Norsia to an age of glory, not one of war."
Koval.
To say he had been a thorn in King Beron's side was not true. Henrik was not a genius, or even cunning -- but rather true to his word, and if asked to describe the Jarl Koval of the Northern Provinces after a few too many drinks, he'd probably relate him to the very Jarl he ruled over. Cold. There was a certain honor in the ruthless efficiency that Koval carried with him, and while Henrik burdened himself with the virtue of truth and justice, Koval had mastered the meticulous antics of a man not so easily swayed.
"The Gothran Wars saw many things, Jarl Koval, and King Beron acted with the wisdom of that particular winter. The Gothrans," Henrik sighed, he was there, at Wallachia. "were beaten. They were tired dogs. Who at this table could know the Gothran King, Vlad would let his anger boil over?"
Henrik mulled, as he did -- a warrior who had seen been at the borderland sieges, the butchering at Wallachia, the final victory, -- he was a fledgling statesman. "You misjudge the giving of our late King, Jarl. You have made your thirst for war apparent at this Jarlmoot, Koval, but as King I will seek to hoist Norsia to an age of glory, not one of war."
So can we proclaim Henrik King or what?
Henrik Havarr of Týr.
"Aye," he mused, "I've seen many winters. But whether my bountiful reign be long or short, we are a people steeped in laws and tradition. The Jarlmoot has long served the people of Norsia before any of us yet breathed, and the Jarlmoot will stand long after we are gone."
Henrik did not sense discord, but felt the Jarless' questions were valid. Henrik mulled for a moment, his goblet still in hand. "But does a King serve because his service will be long, or rather because it will be just? Take my age not at the expense, but rather the benefit of this great kingdom. Long have I stood over the squabbles of coin and war beside King Beron the Great, and I have seen what the ambitions of younger men might bring with a crown. I wish instead to return Norsia to it's true and former glory before I am called home to Valhalla." Satisfied with his own answer, Henrik wiped an arm across his beard embellished chin and gulped the rest of his goblet down.
"Aye," he mused, "I've seen many winters. But whether my bountiful reign be long or short, we are a people steeped in laws and tradition. The Jarlmoot has long served the people of Norsia before any of us yet breathed, and the Jarlmoot will stand long after we are gone."
Henrik did not sense discord, but felt the Jarless' questions were valid. Henrik mulled for a moment, his goblet still in hand. "But does a King serve because his service will be long, or rather because it will be just? Take my age not at the expense, but rather the benefit of this great kingdom. Long have I stood over the squabbles of coin and war beside King Beron the Great, and I have seen what the ambitions of younger men might bring with a crown. I wish instead to return Norsia to it's true and former glory before I am called home to Valhalla." Satisfied with his own answer, Henrik wiped an arm across his beard embellished chin and gulped the rest of his goblet down.
Henrik Havarr of Tyr
While he stood, Henrik mused on whether the support for him was indeed overwhelming, or rather opposition to him non-existent. He braved the articulate words of the Jarless Eyildr with a stern face. Few could match the wise prowess of her, but in the end it was apparent that she had relinquished and offered her support. Second to speak was the Jarless of Ashfall, Jarless Myriane Ashgold. Her words too were graceful, an apparent debutant to the Jarlmoot -- she too had found her thoughts measured, but not wanting and her support was just.
When she spoke directly to him, he met her gaze and listened intently. When she was finished, he exchanged a firm nod; but as to what end that meant was unclear. He remained standing, and his eyes instead lingered to the monk, Otrygg.
While he stood, Henrik mused on whether the support for him was indeed overwhelming, or rather opposition to him non-existent. He braved the articulate words of the Jarless Eyildr with a stern face. Few could match the wise prowess of her, but in the end it was apparent that she had relinquished and offered her support. Second to speak was the Jarless of Ashfall, Jarless Myriane Ashgold. Her words too were graceful, an apparent debutant to the Jarlmoot -- she too had found her thoughts measured, but not wanting and her support was just.
When she spoke directly to him, he met her gaze and listened intently. When she was finished, he exchanged a firm nod; but as to what end that meant was unclear. He remained standing, and his eyes instead lingered to the monk, Otrygg.
I'm diggin' how the RP is progressing.
Henrik Havarr of Tyr
Still standing, Henrik offered a long and deep nod to the Jarl of Escgor. He continued to peer about as the Jarl's discussed the issue and when the Jarl Ragnar finally broke the silence with an inquiry, Henrik pondered for only but a moment.
"Long have the tensions between Norsia and Gothra been high, no higher than in my own fief, where the Gothran's stray into our lands, looking for unsuspecting Norsians. Long have the thanes of my Holds held the peace, but only just. A unified Norsia, a strong Norsia.. can reclaim it's glory and put down the wounded Gothran dog. With the support of the Jarl's here, I can make only one promise; as your King, there will be only one conflict between Norsia and Gothra, and it will be the Gothran's last!"
Again, with emphasis on his words, Henrik slammed his goblet atop the ancient, oak table.
Still standing, Henrik offered a long and deep nod to the Jarl of Escgor. He continued to peer about as the Jarl's discussed the issue and when the Jarl Ragnar finally broke the silence with an inquiry, Henrik pondered for only but a moment.
"Long have the tensions between Norsia and Gothra been high, no higher than in my own fief, where the Gothran's stray into our lands, looking for unsuspecting Norsians. Long have the thanes of my Holds held the peace, but only just. A unified Norsia, a strong Norsia.. can reclaim it's glory and put down the wounded Gothran dog. With the support of the Jarl's here, I can make only one promise; as your King, there will be only one conflict between Norsia and Gothra, and it will be the Gothran's last!"
Again, with emphasis on his words, Henrik slammed his goblet atop the ancient, oak table.
Jarl Henrik Havarr of Tyr
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.
"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." Henrik paused to pass a goblet to his lips and take a drink, wetting his lips once more. "I have served the king well, and the realm even better. Many of you I know," His eyes cast cautiously across the table, meeting the eyes of the other Jarls assembled. "Some of you, I do not. But let that give you no question of my character."
"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!"
Henrik slammed his goblet down across the table, the last remnants of the crimson liquor spilling out. "I press my name, Henrik Havarr of Tyr, forward. If you would have me, to serve as your King!"
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.
"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." Henrik paused to pass a goblet to his lips and take a drink, wetting his lips once more. "I have served the king well, and the realm even better. Many of you I know," His eyes cast cautiously across the table, meeting the eyes of the other Jarls assembled. "Some of you, I do not. But let that give you no question of my character."
"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!"
Henrik slammed his goblet down across the table, the last remnants of the crimson liquor spilling out. "I press my name, Henrik Havarr of Tyr, forward. If you would have me, to serve as your King!"
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