The sea gate lowered, and the skiff slipped through the jaws of Ullrsfjörðr unmolested. The Jomsvikings were indeed surprised to see such a heavily armored force waiting at the harbor to greet them.
Their weapons weren't raised with hostility, but were at the ready. A moment's notice and the uninvited guests would be skewered by a hundred spears which surrounded them.
Knowing that they had entered a realm of true professionals, the Jomsviking representatives were quick to hand over their gifts.
The message these trinkets carried was clear. Vetrulfr stepped forward, his mother at his side, gaze cold; calculating, and tinged with spite.
These men had forced their way into his home and disrupted an important ritual. Coronation be damned, Blood Eagle had been invoked, and these mortals dare keep the gods waiting.
"You have thirty breaths to speak your truth, or I'll return your heads to your Jarl and loose the harbor ballista upon his fleet."
