› forging for dummies

There was a little layer of sweat on his forehead as Björn paced through the dense vegetation of the forest. The forest of Kattegat was full of provisions: excelent firewood, a little stream with fresh water and a lot of wildlife. The catch that he carried proved that. Over his wide shoulder and the bearskin he wore, there hung some rabbits, bungling on a string. There was still streaming fresh blood out of the wounds Björn’s spear made when it had pierced their body. Björn was focused on the ground he was stepping, he was nowhere near the stepped path that the normal people followed when they would go into the forest. When he heard some crackling sounds, he looked up from the ground and stood still. In the distance he saw some movement, a large form, lurking from between the trees. Maybe a deer. Or a boar. He took some betetr grip on his wooden spear and lowered himself as he sneaked closer.

When he was close enough, he finally was able to tell the human body apart from that from a deer. And when he looked closer, he even recognized the man. Not that he would know his name, but he knew which role he fulfilled in the Kingdom of his father. Björn lowered his spear and stepped from between the bushes, revealing himself. At first he was quiet, looked at the big viking male standing in front of him. ’The blacksmith.’ he finally said with a sour look on his face. ’The experienced one.’ He knew the man didn’t originate in Kattegat, and he didn’t knew him for a very long time. So he was cautious. While waiting for his reaction, he looked at what the man was doing. Collecting firewood apparently.

The crackling sounds of the breaking twitches beneath his feet made the man look up. If he would have been be alert, he would’ve noticed him a lot earlier. But Björn was at least happy to see that he had quick reflexes. The viking immediately turned around and placed his hand on his axe, ready to attack or defense himself is needed. But Björn didn’t move a muscle. He looked at the axe he was carrying, a fine piece of art if you asked him. Björn looked the viking in the eyes and spoke to him, saw how he relaxed right in front of his eyes. ’Björn Ironside.’ he was greeted. ’You’re even more impressive from up close.’ Björn frowned his forehead a little and took a deep breath. He turned his head to the side and wiped his sweating forehead with a piece of the bearskin. For the rest he kept quiet, observed the stranger in front of him. ’You’re out hunting, I suppose.’ Björn looked at the fresh rabbit corpses that left little streams of blood all over his clothes. His hands were also covered in red, just as his face had some blood stains on it. But none of it was his own. The viking in front of him had used his title, a title he didn’t gain just like that. ’We all have our part to take care of.’ He clammed his spear a little firmer inside the palm of his hand. With his bright eyes he observed the man in front of him, obviously not trusting him. ’I didn’t knew collecting firewood was a part of your job.’ Björn took a step forward, pulled the rabits on his shoulder back in place. 'Or is that the way they do it where you come from?' The tone he spoke wasn't friendly, but not agressive either. He was cautious, not for himself, but for his village.

Björn watched the man closely, observed the position he took place in. The little nod of approval, the soft smile on his face. He didn’t knew how to estimate the viking. There were so much question marks around him, that he couldn’t trust him, even though he didn’t look like a threat. So he started to ask questions, trying to reveal something about his past. ’Yes but I think a lot of blacksmiths around Scandinavia like to start their own forging fire in the morning. It’s a little ritual.’ Björn frowned his forehead even more, hearing the explanation. ’If you can’t collect your own materials, why bother being a blacksmith anyway’ The way the man spoke about..wood.. Björn couldn’t give it a place in his mind, how could someone be so passionate about working day in and out next to the heat of a fire? Sweating balls and burning fingers. ’Not the blacksmiths here in Kattegat.’ He said with a deep undertone in his voice. At the same time he dropped the rabbits in the high grass and lifted his spear a little. Björn poked the tip of the spear in the bark of the tree and leaned against it. He wiped his bloody hand to his pants and shortly looked around to the environment. 'They use the wood the farmers collected for them.' His long braid swept over his shoulder as he did so. ’So where did you learned your crafting skills, stranger.’ Björn looked back at the man in front of him, this time slightly more intimidating. He tilted his head sidewards. No time for riddles or stories about his passion for smiting. He wanted to know who he was, his name, his place of birth, and everything else Björn needed to know in order to trust him.

Insulting? Not really. Being protective over the Kingdom of his father? Definitely. Björn saw nothing wrong in what he was doing, and would never change the way he approached people because he was afraid on how they would respond. He was the heir of Kattegat, and one day the people would’ve to respect him as much as they respected Ragnar. Björn didn’t worry much about the inhabitants of Kattegat itself, but strangers, outsiders. They made him become even more careful and protective as he was otherwise. ’I bet the wood is great.’ the man admitted with the never ending smile on his face. The fact that he didn’t even once showed a sign of disrespectfulness made Björn go easier on him that he would do on a person that was laughing in his face. There weren’t much people who would dare to do that, and the few who did.. well they learned their lesson. ’I will try tomorrow.’ Björn clamped his jaws on each other and nodded softly.

After that, the man started to talk about who he was and where he came from. It was clearly visible that Björn was way more interested in those stories than he was in the stories about his wood and smiting. ’I was an apprentice of the man who now sits on the throne of Uddevalla, King Vidar Ingvarsson.’ The name of the dark king made Björn frown his forehead. It was a known kingdom by Vikings, although he had never seen a Viking that originated from there. The man spoke further, about his longing to travel and the way he ended up here. Björn rolled hisspear around his axis so the point disappeared a little inside the barn of the tree. ’I thought Uddevalla was very fond of keeping their crafting skills inside their own walls.’ Again he pointed his look towards the Blacksmith. ’How long are you planning on staying?’ Björn pulled his spear from the barn and did a step closer towards the man which he still didn’t knew the name of. He pointed his eyes on the axe that he was carrying -most likely his own work- and gestured that he had to hand it over. Björn had never seen Uddevalla craftsmanship from up close.

He was being very patience with the man in front of him, something he was usually not good at. With people he knew better, he was often more direct. Sometimes it was a good thing, sometimes not. When he asked him a question, he got an honest answer. That was something he appreciated, even though there was a lot more meaning behind it for him. Björn frowned his forehead again, something he always did when he was focussing on something or listening carefully. ’I didn’t say I got out with permission.’ The way the man laughed about what he did, it made Björn think twice. He probably only thought about the roads and stories that lay in front of him when he left Uddevalla, but it looked like he didn’t thought about what he left behind. ’So you are speaking of betrayal.’ Björn said with an ice cold undertone in his voice. He stole the skill to forge weapons from King Vidar and was using it for his own profit.

So Björn asked how long he was planning to stay. He didn’t wanted untrustworthy people in the Kingdom of his father. The viking was one shackle of the chain, a chain that was not allowed to break. The last thing Björn wanted to do was disappoint his father. If he ever came back. ’As long as I’m allowed to.’ Björn shook his head and took a deep, slightly annoyed breath. He didn’t wanted to admit it, but he had to. ’You are lucky you are being useful here in Kattegat.’ While he spoke, he was handed over the axe. With big eyes he looked at the fine piece of craftwork, and realized that weapons like these could make a huge difference in battle. ’The loss of one is the victory of another.’ With those words he looked the viking straight into the eyes to make his words mean more. He wasn’t afraid to look others straight into the eyes. A glance could often say more than violence. ’We are watching you, stranger.’ Björn spoke for himself and his brothers. ’Don’t you dare to try to pull something on us like you did with Vidar. Or even the Gods won't be able to save you.’ With those words he turned around and threw the axe in the direction of the tree he had just leaned against. The blade sunk deep in the bark of the tree, that cracked softly under the power that was behind the throw. Björn bend over to pick up his catch, and looked over his shoulder one last time before he started to walk to the village.