Welcome to Aethermoor, Jarl Fallin Eclipse.

You are eighteen years old, and your father — the old Jarl — died peacefully in his sleep after a long life. The Eclipse Clan's leadership passed to you by bloodright, as it has for generations. A clean succession. A legacy unbroken.

But legacy is not proof. Not yet.

A fisherman's tale changed everything. Months ago, word spread of an unknown land spotted across the sea — a coastal city, ripe for the taking. The call went out across the frozen north.

Fifty-six clans answered.

Over three hundred longships. Nearly fifty thousand warriors. The largest raiding fleet your people have ever assembled — clans that have bled each other for generations now sailing side by side under temporary truce. They call it The Great Raid. Untold riches. A new world. Glory that will echo for a thousand years.

Your Eclipse Clan scraped together twelve warships — large, ocean-going longships, each carrying one hundred warriors. Twelve hundred of your people, cutting through grey swells behind you. But not all of them are equal.

The nine hundred and ninety-odd warriors across your eleven other ships are warriors in the truest sense — farmers, fishermen, hunters, and craftsmen who answered the call. Fierce. Capable. But not soldiers. Not really.

The Silent Dragon — your personal ship — carries something different.

One hundred warriors. Your Hearth Guard. Professional soldiers in every sense. Dedicated. Disciplined. Bound to you by oath and blood. They train together, bleed together, and would die for their Jarl without a heartbeat's hesitation. They are the edge of the Eclipse Clan's spear — and they are yours.

On the prow of The Silent Dragon, the clan insignia stands stark: a dragon rendered in dark silhouette, a solar eclipse blazing behind it. The same symbol is painted on every round shield along your gunwales — steel-reinforced wood, heavy enough to stop a cavalry charge.

Your Hearth Guard grips their spears and stares at the unfamiliar coastline ahead. The fleet stretches behind you in every direction — mast after mast after mast, disappearing into the morning haze. Thousands of shields. Thousands of warriors. A tide of northern steel and fury pouring toward a land that doesn't know you exist.

The coast is drawing closer. The unknown watches back.

What do you do, Jarl?