Jarl Asgeirr Vintersvend scratched his gray beard as his icy-blue gaze stared unblinking through glass windows.

Shaped from a single rock column and reinforced by steel, the air docking tower laid at the corner of a V-shaped cliff that rose twenty-stories from the shores below. From its command room at the top, Asgeirr should have been able to see the waves for kilopaces around...

Instead, he could barely make out Polarlys' bulwark-like head in the dense icy fog.

His skywhale 'flagship' was moored below, tethered to the tower alongside three others. They were also asleep, as it was their first rest in three days' time. Meanwhile, the dockhands took this opportunity to move supplies on-board by wheelbarrow.

"Welcome back to civilization, Asgeirr."

The aging man with a perpetual frown never bothered to turn around. Even after ten years, he still recognized the gruff voice of his older half-brother and one-time liege: Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen.

Asgeirr soon felt the hard muscles of a powerful arm reach around his bony shoulders. His brother wasted no time before pulling him into a warm, familial embrace.

"Cold as ever," Eyvindur chuckled before releasing his brother. He then turned to gaze out the same window, though his arm continued to hang around the other's shoulders.

"Still upholding your name as our Admiral Winter?"

"They call me Admiral Winter because winter comes with me, not for my interest in meaningless banter," Asgeirr chastised him. "It's stupid how the southerners consider us 'uncivilized barbarians', then we turn right around and call the frontier tribesmen that."

Yet despite his sour words, his older brother's grin soon lit up like the sun. Asgeirr didn't even have to face him to feel its radiating warmth.

"Isn't that why we call it the 'frontier'?"

"And the frontier is where our attention belongs!" The younger brother declared. "An entire continent, barely populated and full of abundance! Exploring and settling this 'New World' should be our people's priority, not back here squabbling over strips of dirt with those greedy Trinitians!"

The Hyperboreans of Skagen excelled at seamanship above all other peoples. Here boys learned to swim before they could walk, to knot a rope before they could truly talk. Saltwater was the grass of their prairie, with trimaran hulls in place of saddles and steeds.

The only exception was, of course, those who sailed across the skies instead. Though the difference wasn't tremendous: the storms certainly rocked the same, just replaced waves with winds.

Combined with the adventurous urge common among Northmen, the people of Skagen had led the world in seafaring expeditions for centuries. They settled numerous, far-flung islands where they set up lucrative trading posts. But the jewel of their discoveries has always been the 'New World' -- an entire continent across the oceans that humanity had lost contact with since the departure of the dragonlords.

"Hey, I didn't vote for this war," Eyvindur countered. "In fact, we never voted at all. Those idiots in the south decided to mobilize on their own and attacked two border villages. The Wickers then began to retaliate by sending raids into our lands. What were we supposed to do? Drink and cheer while those heathens trod over the last of our people on the continent?"

Asgeirr didn't bother answering. He merely scowled as he remembered the history that every Hyperborean child was taught. The lands surrounding the North Sea had been promised to them by the divine dragonlords, earned by their ancestors through blood and iron during the Dragon-Demon Wars. Yet, after centuries of conflict against the encroaching Trinitians -- the lands they once held in the south had been reduced to only the Skagen peninsula.

"Hyperboreans never abandon their brothers, no matter what." Eyvindur declared proudly after a moment's pause. "You know that better than anyone. Out in the frontier, our ways are all you can depend on. Västergötland took a thrashing and lost their fleet during their fall campaign, yet they didn't hesitate for even a half-day before issuing a call to arms when we asked them for help."

Asgeirr thought of the men he saw through his scrying spell earlier. They had been selected by the adventurer guilds to join his flotilla of skywhales and boost its 'marine escort' once the two fleets rendezvous. Many of those burly adventurers and towering berserkers were undoubtedly Västergötlanders, whose mountainous fjords and harsh winters bred some of the world's toughest men.

There was no doubt that Asgeirr would appreciate their support in protecting his precious skywhales from the renowned Weichsel air cavalry. Yet, had it not been for those same 'adventurer guilds' who constantly raided the south for plunder, this war might have been avoided to begin with.

"It's their fault in the first place," the younger brother retorted. "If the Västergötlanders only stopped raiding and switched to focus more on exploration and trade like us, we could have hammered out a treaty with the Wickers centuries ago, just like we managed with the Lotharins of the Glens!"

That wasn't entirely fair. The Trinitians' own prejudices were also to blame. They often neglected to even bother differentiating between the Hyperborean cultures, and instead grouped them all under the collective name 'Northmen'. The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was more an exception than the rule, as the Lotharins were used to dealing with religious and ethic minorities -- particularly the northern Kingdom of Gleann Mòr whose population included a sizable portion that worshipped the Hyperborean Gods.

"And were it not for their warriors, the Imps would have kicked us off the continent even longer ago..."

The burly Eyvindur then paused for a moment before shaking his head.

"Pointless 'what ifs' better left to historians. We are what we are: different, but united by our honor, the dragons' honor. Those Trinitians can call us barbaric all they like, but if that's what it takes to not degenerate into a bunch of scheming, backstabbing, morally-depraved mongrels, then I'll gladly remain a 'barbarian'."

"Hmph."

Asgeirr grunted as he eyed the silhouette of a volcanic drake in the fog. The armored beast belonged to the lead rider of Polarlys' on-duty 'combat air patrol'. However, given the need to hide the skywhales' presence, they were kept on reserve atop Polarlys' blocky head instead.

"We'll see who the barbarians are when we rain fire and ice upon them."

"Don't forget the acid," chuckled the older brother in good humor. "Fire is in our hearts and ice is in our blood. But acid rain, that's your trademark! Should've named you Admiral Vinegar instead. Cool and sour!"

Asgeirr exhaled sharply. It was as close to a snort as he would get.

It was better to be 'sour' than bitter. Growing up, Eyvindur was the Jarldom's mighty heir, full of confident masculinity, while Asgeirr was the scholarly bastard mage. People flocked to see Eyvindur in action, while nobody even noticed him -- until he made a name for himself circumnavigating the world, single-handedly.

He had broken his brother's heart before departure, yet Eyvindur welcomed him back with open arms and a grand feast to spread his fame. Since then, Asgeirr vowed to himself that he would never betray blood again. So long as Eyvindur remained the leader of Skagen's confederate forces, he would fight alongside with the wrath of the Stormlord himself.

"Just make sure they don't notice," Asgeirr replied after a long pause. "Keeping the Frontier Fleet fogged up the entire way back already killed my men's mood. I would hate to see it go to waste."

"Don't worry," the jolly Jarl reassured while patting Asgeirr's shoulder. "I handpicked every man who's in this tower right now. There's not a single one of them that I wouldn't trust with my life."

The Admiral simply nodded back. "Three days till we meet up with the surface fleet. Then... where to?"

"You're asking me because you already have a goal, right?" The older brother noted warmly. "We're family. Out with it already."

Asgeirr took a deep breath. He had thought long and deep about this on the way back.

For over a millennium the Trinity-worshipping southerners kept encroaching upon the north. His people fought back with the tenacity of stone. But against the wealth of these heathens, it was like a mountain watching the sea grow.

But even the ocean was not unstoppable. It needed a surface to consume. Without that, without a coastline, its waters would plunge straight into the abyss.

"Get me and my whales to the Nordkreuz ley-line junction. I will scorch the earth into a wasteland where nothing will ever grow again to threaten our southern borders!"