The fjord of Kattegat stretched endlessly beneath the pale northern sky, its waters calm but heavy with unspoken promises of violence and glory. On the cliffs, smoke from the hearths curled into the air, mingling with the salt of the sea. Below, the harbor teemed with life—rows of longships, larger and stronger than any seen before, lined the docks like wolves at rest.
Bjorn stood at the prow of his flagship, a vessel built not just by wood and iron but by vision and madness. Floki's laughter echoed across the yard as he inspected the last bindings of the sails, his eyes wide with religious frenzy. The ships were miracles—slimmer hulls for speed, deep keels for ocean voyages, reinforced ribs that could withstand foreign storms. They were more than ships; they were claws of a beast destined to tear the world apart.
The Farewell at Kattegat
The people gathered along the shore. Warriors stood tall in polished armor, their shields painted with runes and wolves. Children clutched their mothers' skirts, wide-eyed at the sight of sails so massive they blotted the morning sun. Farmers and craftsmen cheered with fear and awe—this was not a raid but the beginning of something greater, something that would carve their names into the bones of the earth.
At the steps of the great hall, Bjorn's wife, the Earl of Kattegat, stood in her mantle of authority. Her eyes followed him with pride but also calculation, for she knew her husband's path was one of blood and fire. She was the steward of Kattegat in his absence, the iron hand that would ensure loyalty and order while he bent the world to his will.
His concubines lingered nearby, cloaked in silks and furs, their faces veiled but their eyes burning with devotion and fear. Some would sail with him—those trained in foreign tongues, seduction, and espionage—while others remained to serve as his influence within the halls of Kattegat.
His children, too young to wield steel yet old enough to feel destiny, stood at his side. He knelt, placing a hand on each head, whispering words of strength, obedience, and hunger for greatness. They would not see him for many moons, perhaps years, but they would remember this day: the day their father reached beyond the world they knew.
Departure and the Sea
The drums thundered. Oars dipped into water in unison, and the great fleet pulled from the shore like a serpent of wood and iron. Cheers and howls followed them, fading into the distance as the sails caught the wind.
At sea, the world changed. The horizon stretched into infinity, a line between sky and water that dared them to cross it. The men rowed and sang, their voices deep with hunger. Bjorn moved among them, not as a king on a throne but as a wolf among wolves—his presence a reminder that their leader was not only stronger but chosen by Odin himself.
Life aboard the ships was brutal. Food was salted meat and hard bread, water rationed carefully. The sea tested them with storms, waves rising like mountains to smash them into splinters. Yet Bjorn's voice never faltered, his commands steady, his strength unyielding. When others would break, he remained calm, guiding them through wind and death.
At night, rituals filled the decks. Warriors sharpened blades under torchlight. Concubines whispered songs of submission and prophecy. Bjorn consumed the hearts of beasts caught during the voyage—seals, gulls, and once, a great whale's flesh taken by harpoon. Each heart pulsed with strength, feeding the monster within, a reminder that his path was not only of man but of god and beast alike.
First Sight of Foreign Shores
Weeks passed before the cry came from the lookout: land.
The coastline stretched before them, unfamiliar and strange. Towering cliffs, dotted with foreign towers and banners, rose from the sea. The smell of strange spices drifted on the wind. Beyond the cliffs, fields of crops swayed in patterns unlike any seen in Scandinavia.
Bjorn ordered silence. This was no raid for plunder; this was the first step of his vision. Scouts were sent ashore, slipping into forests like shadows. Concubines who knew scraps of foreign tongues prepared themselves for whispers, seductions, and lies. Warriors cleaned their weapons in anticipation, but restraint was demanded—they were wolves in a foreign forest, and their prey did not yet know of the hunt.
The first reports painted a picture of wealth and weakness. A coastal kingdom, rich in grain and gold, ruled by a king more concerned with trade than war. Their walls were tall, but their hearts were soft. Their religion was strong, but not as ironclad as the old gods. It was the perfect beginning.
Conversations of Friends and Soldiers
That night, as the fleet anchored in a hidden cove, Bjorn gathered his closest companions. His warriors spoke with fire—some hungered for immediate slaughter, others advised patience. Floki, eyes wild, urged chaos and fire, to let the world taste the madness of the north. But Bjorn's voice cut through the frenzy.
"We are not mere raiders," he said, his tone sharp as steel. "We are builders of empires. Alexander did not become great by one battle, but by making the world bow. This land will not only bleed—it will serve."
His soldiers listened, their loyalty unshaken. They had seen his strength, his visions, his dominance. They trusted him not as a man, but as the chosen hand of Odin.
The Shadow of Family
Far across the sea, in Kattegat, his wife managed the hall with ruthless grace. Concubines whispered of his absence, some jealous, some relieved, all bound by his shadow. His children grew restless, asking each day when their father would return. Tales of his voyage spread like wildfire, feeding awe and fear into the veins of the people.
Even from across the waters, Bjorn's presence was felt in Kattegat. His soldiers, concubines, wife, and children carried his name like a blade pressed to the throat of the world.
Closing Vision
As Bjorn gazed at the foreign coast, the waves lapping against the hull, he saw not just land but destiny. Europe was only the beginning. These shores, these kingdoms, these religions—all would kneel.
He turned to his warriors, his concubines, his loyal friends.
"This is the first step. Beyond Europe lies the world. And it will remember the name Bjorn Ironside—not as a raider, but as a conqueror greater than Alexander."
The fleet waited, silent, as the moon rose. Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.