Bavarian Raven
Banned
As the title suggests, this will be a loose TL based on a surviving Norse Colony in North America. The POD will be laid out below in a somewhat plausible manner. The events that follow will try to remain realistic, given our knowledge of the period and the personalities involved. As things progress, events and butterflies will begin to change the world around them. So without further ado...
In the late spring of 985 AD, Erick the Red set out from Greenland with twenty-five ships and around 700 colonists to settle Greenland. With them went livestock, including cattle and horses, sheep and goats, and pigs, along with all the tools and necessities to build a new home in a new, untamed land.
While crossing the narrow strip of ocean between Iceland and Greenland, the sea began to boil and roll, and a great many ships were lost (13-17, or so various historical records tell). The cause of this maelstrom is unknown, lost to history. The most likely source was an underwater volcano erupting, or else an under water earthquake. For the Norse were expert sailors of the northern waters, and the sagas recount this was something far worse than a mere storm or freak wave.
Whatever the cause, the effect was that at least half of the initial colonists were either killed or forced to turn back, their fates also lost to the dustbin of history.
Now let me guide you into a world, a history, where things went slightly different. Where several of those ships lost to the waves were instead veered off course, driven first south by the turbulence and then southwest by a sudden North Atlantic spring storm…
Olaf Thorson lunged with the strength and speed of his lost youth, and managed to grab the unsuspecting gull between his large, calloused hands. With a quick twist, the bird was dead and he quickly slit its flesh, feeding its still warm blood to his wife and his three young sons. The guts he saved to bait hooks with.
It had been three weeks since they had left Iceland, following Erick the Red for Greenland when the maelstrom struck. The Gods had shunned them for some reason, driving them south into the endless sea of worms, and for three weeks their had been no wind. Enough rain had fallen to keep themselves and their starving animals alive, and they had caught just enough fish to supplement their diminishing food reserves. Nevertheless, things were becoming grim.
Worse yet, dark clouds were once more building to the north and east.
Another storm. More bad luck. How did we piss off the Gods?
Maybe it’s those bloody Christians?
Olaf shook his head, slowly walking the length of his ship, listening to the grumbling of passengers and the creaking timbers alike. Six ships had been driven south by the Gods and another six lost to the Sea. May Odin have pity upon them.
Olaf eyed the advancing storm front and grimaced.
He prayed to Odin that he would have the strength to guide the ship and his family to safety. To land. Wherever those lands be, he did not care. He just prayed – demanded – that he see shore once more…
For three days the storms lashed the ships, sending them westwards, driven by both the winds and currents alike. Then, abruptly, the storm ceased on the forth morning and was replaced by a dense fog.
“Tis bad luck,” one old man with a large white beard spoke as Olaf strolled past. “I worry something lurks in the deep.”
“The only thing you have to worry about lurking around is your wife.”
The old man laughed. “Aye. She be a feisty –”
“Land!” a shout came from top of the mast. Olaf looked skywards. A young lad had crawled up the rigging and mast that managed to just protrude just above the fog. “By the Gods grace, I see land!”
“Praise be upon Odin,” the old man smiled, grimacing, as he rose to his feet.
“Praise be upon him indeed.” Olaf grinned. “Men, ready the oars.”
Neither man spoke of the ship that had been lost in the storm or of the thirty or so passengers aboard it.
They sailed past a rocky headland on their southern flank that in another time and place would be known as Cape Breton Island. But these colonists did not realize this was an island. For all they could glimpse through the breaking fog were high, rocky cliffs looming over low, pebbly beaches. Above the cliffs stood tuffs of yellowing grass and beyond that, dark pines and spruces. Gulls cried out as they circled above. Ahead, a small pod of whales crested, exhaled, and then dove.
“I’ve never seen such beautiful land,” Olaf’s wife Thorfinna said as she moved to stand beside her husband.
“Aye, it certainly is a new land. I wonder where we are?”
They sailed on. That evening they entered a small cove off a larger bay that in another time would be known as Aspey Bay, near the northern tip of Cape Breton Island. Here, in the protected tidal marsh that was almost a lake, they beached their ships and unloaded their animals. The poor, half starved beasts feasted on the lush salt grass and lapped at the crystal clean water from the half dozen streams that entered the cove, while the pigs nosed their way across the beach.
Olaf ordered men to stand watch over the animals and others to guard their camp as tents were erected, while yet others were sent out to scout the surrounding land before darkness fell.
Several young lads began to spear salmon in the largest of the streams.
“I do not know where we be,” Thorfinna said, “But I could raise our sons here.”
“Aye, this is a plentiful land.” Olaf nodded. “Look how early it gets dark here, we must have travelled far to the south.”
“Could this be the land of the Franks?”
“No. Too far west we have come. We –”
A shout came as several young lads bounded from the trees. Strung between them upon a sapling was a young buck. Olaf grinned. “Real food at last. Come, let us eat, wife. Then later we will celebrate in our tent. Alone.”
The five ships and their 202 men, women, and children camped for six days in the bay that became known as Hop, or Hope, in our Saxonish tongue. They feasted upon fresh fish and deer, clams, and crabs, and even a few seals taken by adventurous young lads out in the bay upon the ship’s skiffs. Repairs were made to hauls and sails alike. The second day were marked by the finding of wild grape vines, though the berries were far from ripe. Even their animals began to gain weight again.
Happy talk flooded the camp. There was talk that they should call this place home. Greenland be forsaken, for no land could be better than this bay.
That was, until three young teenagers came tumbling from the woods on the seventh morning, dragging their fourth friend by his arms. Olaf heard the commotion, grabbed his battle-axe, and rushed forwards along with several men wielding spears.
Before anyone could say anything, Olaf noted the fourth lad was dead.
It was not hard to tell how the boy died. Three arrow stubs protruded from his chest. The third lad was nursing a deep cut on his arm. All three surviving lads looked worse for wear.
“We. Were. Attacked.” The wounded lad blurted out.
“Dark haired men, dressed in skins. A hunting party. We surprised us. They shot at us. We shot our arrows back and then ran. I don’t know why they shot at us. I swear.”
Olaf nodded. He turned towards the nearby men. “Break camp. Load the ships. Hurry.”
Most men rushed off to obey. A few faltered. “Should we not avenge the dead boy?”
“Against an unknown number of foes? In an unknown land? No. My first concern is my family and ship, and my people. Each captain and crew can do as they wish, but I am leaving.”
Within the hour, the five ships were sailing first north and then west once more, rounding a headland. The coast turned southwards. A stiff breeze was blowing them westwards and Olaf allowed it to take course. He watched as the beautiful, bountiful land slipped from sight…
Two days later they sighted land once more. After carefully scouting around the shoreline before making landfall they noted that this land was actually an archipelago of small islands. Islands that would be known as Isles de la Madeleine in another time.
This time they anchored in a small, protected cove before sending a small, armed party ashore with mail and weapons and shields. The men spent three days ashore, scouting the entire island for any sign of foes. The reported that there were no traces of humans upon the island and that there was a better harbor down coast, with a small river and a large tidal marsh where their animals could graze.
Olaf nodded at the news and then smiled.
“I think we could call this home…”
The harbor was nearly a kilometer deep and thrice as long. The mouth of the bay was nearly enclosed by open, grassy headlands. The west headland was the wider of the two, and ended in a low rise with water on three sides. Here, Olaf declared, they would found their new settlement.
For the next month work went on at a frantic pace. Timber along the bay was cut and then floated to the headland, along with shiploads of rock and sod. Longhouses were constructed, along with barns, workshops, ship houses, and even a small smithy, for bog iron was discovered inland after a thorough examination of the island. Last, but not least, a Horgr was constructed as a place to worship their Gods who had brought them to this land.
After a bit of deliberation – but not much – a palisade was built around their tiny town situated on the headland at the mouth of the bay. While never formally named, the town eventually became known as Olafstad.
With their winter settlement established, men and women alike began preparations to spend their first winter in this new land. Hay was cut, dried, stored away. Meat and fish, and whales alike captured, cleaned, smoked, and stored away. Berries gathered and dried. Milk processed and packed away. Olaf sent out the two smallest ships with small crews to explore the new land and report back what they found.
Each time the ships returned, they brought back greater and greater tales of the lands wealth, along with shiploads of supplies gathered from their short voyages. They also encounter Skreaglings. To the south of them was a long, narrow island (OTL Prince Edward Island) and here they traded red, green, and brown cloth for furs, dried fruits, nuts, and meats, and beautifully crafted baskets.
On what they assumed was the mainland to the north, their first encounters with the locals ended in bloodshed. Two men were killed and another wounded before they could flee. They returned two weeks later, burning the village and slaughtering the men. Ten women and twice that number of young children were taken as thralls. What could not be carried off, or was not worth taking away, was burned. Curiously, four small grape-sized nuggets of gold were found in the ruins of the village*.
And so summer slowly crept into autumn, and then into winter.
As the long, dark nights crept on, talk arose of expeditions in the spring. Two ships with a load of fine hardwood, furs, and raisins would be sent north in an attempt to find Erick’s settlement in Greenland, or else try to find Iceland. Barring both of those possibilities, they would attempt to find friendly Skraeglings to trade with. A third ship would be sent to the mouth of a large river that had been discovered in the west. For a few, it reminded them of one of the great rivers in the land of the Rus. Maybe it was, some suggested?
All of those thoughts and ideas and missions would have to wait for the spring thaw. For now, winter was their life and it was far from over in this new land…
* Small amounts of gold can be found in Quebec and Ontario, and the Acadia region of North America so it is not out of the realm of possibility that a few small pieces might be found and kept by a local native.
I cannot promise regular updates but I will do my best to add some at least once a week. I hope you all enjoy. Feedback, suggestions, and advice is always welcome. Cheers.
A Land of Wine, Pagans, and Blood
A Vinland Survival Time Line
By the Bavarian Raven
Part One: New Land
A Vinland Survival Time Line
By the Bavarian Raven
Part One: New Land
In the late spring of 985 AD, Erick the Red set out from Greenland with twenty-five ships and around 700 colonists to settle Greenland. With them went livestock, including cattle and horses, sheep and goats, and pigs, along with all the tools and necessities to build a new home in a new, untamed land.
While crossing the narrow strip of ocean between Iceland and Greenland, the sea began to boil and roll, and a great many ships were lost (13-17, or so various historical records tell). The cause of this maelstrom is unknown, lost to history. The most likely source was an underwater volcano erupting, or else an under water earthquake. For the Norse were expert sailors of the northern waters, and the sagas recount this was something far worse than a mere storm or freak wave.
Whatever the cause, the effect was that at least half of the initial colonists were either killed or forced to turn back, their fates also lost to the dustbin of history.
Now let me guide you into a world, a history, where things went slightly different. Where several of those ships lost to the waves were instead veered off course, driven first south by the turbulence and then southwest by a sudden North Atlantic spring storm…
~
Olaf Thorson lunged with the strength and speed of his lost youth, and managed to grab the unsuspecting gull between his large, calloused hands. With a quick twist, the bird was dead and he quickly slit its flesh, feeding its still warm blood to his wife and his three young sons. The guts he saved to bait hooks with.
It had been three weeks since they had left Iceland, following Erick the Red for Greenland when the maelstrom struck. The Gods had shunned them for some reason, driving them south into the endless sea of worms, and for three weeks their had been no wind. Enough rain had fallen to keep themselves and their starving animals alive, and they had caught just enough fish to supplement their diminishing food reserves. Nevertheless, things were becoming grim.
Worse yet, dark clouds were once more building to the north and east.
Another storm. More bad luck. How did we piss off the Gods?
Maybe it’s those bloody Christians?
Olaf shook his head, slowly walking the length of his ship, listening to the grumbling of passengers and the creaking timbers alike. Six ships had been driven south by the Gods and another six lost to the Sea. May Odin have pity upon them.
Olaf eyed the advancing storm front and grimaced.
He prayed to Odin that he would have the strength to guide the ship and his family to safety. To land. Wherever those lands be, he did not care. He just prayed – demanded – that he see shore once more…
~
For three days the storms lashed the ships, sending them westwards, driven by both the winds and currents alike. Then, abruptly, the storm ceased on the forth morning and was replaced by a dense fog.
“Tis bad luck,” one old man with a large white beard spoke as Olaf strolled past. “I worry something lurks in the deep.”
“The only thing you have to worry about lurking around is your wife.”
The old man laughed. “Aye. She be a feisty –”
“Land!” a shout came from top of the mast. Olaf looked skywards. A young lad had crawled up the rigging and mast that managed to just protrude just above the fog. “By the Gods grace, I see land!”
“Praise be upon Odin,” the old man smiled, grimacing, as he rose to his feet.
“Praise be upon him indeed.” Olaf grinned. “Men, ready the oars.”
Neither man spoke of the ship that had been lost in the storm or of the thirty or so passengers aboard it.
~
They sailed past a rocky headland on their southern flank that in another time and place would be known as Cape Breton Island. But these colonists did not realize this was an island. For all they could glimpse through the breaking fog were high, rocky cliffs looming over low, pebbly beaches. Above the cliffs stood tuffs of yellowing grass and beyond that, dark pines and spruces. Gulls cried out as they circled above. Ahead, a small pod of whales crested, exhaled, and then dove.
“I’ve never seen such beautiful land,” Olaf’s wife Thorfinna said as she moved to stand beside her husband.
“Aye, it certainly is a new land. I wonder where we are?”
They sailed on. That evening they entered a small cove off a larger bay that in another time would be known as Aspey Bay, near the northern tip of Cape Breton Island. Here, in the protected tidal marsh that was almost a lake, they beached their ships and unloaded their animals. The poor, half starved beasts feasted on the lush salt grass and lapped at the crystal clean water from the half dozen streams that entered the cove, while the pigs nosed their way across the beach.
Olaf ordered men to stand watch over the animals and others to guard their camp as tents were erected, while yet others were sent out to scout the surrounding land before darkness fell.
Several young lads began to spear salmon in the largest of the streams.
“I do not know where we be,” Thorfinna said, “But I could raise our sons here.”
“Aye, this is a plentiful land.” Olaf nodded. “Look how early it gets dark here, we must have travelled far to the south.”
“Could this be the land of the Franks?”
“No. Too far west we have come. We –”
A shout came as several young lads bounded from the trees. Strung between them upon a sapling was a young buck. Olaf grinned. “Real food at last. Come, let us eat, wife. Then later we will celebrate in our tent. Alone.”
~
The five ships and their 202 men, women, and children camped for six days in the bay that became known as Hop, or Hope, in our Saxonish tongue. They feasted upon fresh fish and deer, clams, and crabs, and even a few seals taken by adventurous young lads out in the bay upon the ship’s skiffs. Repairs were made to hauls and sails alike. The second day were marked by the finding of wild grape vines, though the berries were far from ripe. Even their animals began to gain weight again.
Happy talk flooded the camp. There was talk that they should call this place home. Greenland be forsaken, for no land could be better than this bay.
That was, until three young teenagers came tumbling from the woods on the seventh morning, dragging their fourth friend by his arms. Olaf heard the commotion, grabbed his battle-axe, and rushed forwards along with several men wielding spears.
Before anyone could say anything, Olaf noted the fourth lad was dead.
It was not hard to tell how the boy died. Three arrow stubs protruded from his chest. The third lad was nursing a deep cut on his arm. All three surviving lads looked worse for wear.
“We. Were. Attacked.” The wounded lad blurted out.
“Dark haired men, dressed in skins. A hunting party. We surprised us. They shot at us. We shot our arrows back and then ran. I don’t know why they shot at us. I swear.”
Olaf nodded. He turned towards the nearby men. “Break camp. Load the ships. Hurry.”
Most men rushed off to obey. A few faltered. “Should we not avenge the dead boy?”
“Against an unknown number of foes? In an unknown land? No. My first concern is my family and ship, and my people. Each captain and crew can do as they wish, but I am leaving.”
Within the hour, the five ships were sailing first north and then west once more, rounding a headland. The coast turned southwards. A stiff breeze was blowing them westwards and Olaf allowed it to take course. He watched as the beautiful, bountiful land slipped from sight…
~
Two days later they sighted land once more. After carefully scouting around the shoreline before making landfall they noted that this land was actually an archipelago of small islands. Islands that would be known as Isles de la Madeleine in another time.
This time they anchored in a small, protected cove before sending a small, armed party ashore with mail and weapons and shields. The men spent three days ashore, scouting the entire island for any sign of foes. The reported that there were no traces of humans upon the island and that there was a better harbor down coast, with a small river and a large tidal marsh where their animals could graze.
Olaf nodded at the news and then smiled.
“I think we could call this home…”
The harbor was nearly a kilometer deep and thrice as long. The mouth of the bay was nearly enclosed by open, grassy headlands. The west headland was the wider of the two, and ended in a low rise with water on three sides. Here, Olaf declared, they would found their new settlement.
For the next month work went on at a frantic pace. Timber along the bay was cut and then floated to the headland, along with shiploads of rock and sod. Longhouses were constructed, along with barns, workshops, ship houses, and even a small smithy, for bog iron was discovered inland after a thorough examination of the island. Last, but not least, a Horgr was constructed as a place to worship their Gods who had brought them to this land.
After a bit of deliberation – but not much – a palisade was built around their tiny town situated on the headland at the mouth of the bay. While never formally named, the town eventually became known as Olafstad.
With their winter settlement established, men and women alike began preparations to spend their first winter in this new land. Hay was cut, dried, stored away. Meat and fish, and whales alike captured, cleaned, smoked, and stored away. Berries gathered and dried. Milk processed and packed away. Olaf sent out the two smallest ships with small crews to explore the new land and report back what they found.
Each time the ships returned, they brought back greater and greater tales of the lands wealth, along with shiploads of supplies gathered from their short voyages. They also encounter Skreaglings. To the south of them was a long, narrow island (OTL Prince Edward Island) and here they traded red, green, and brown cloth for furs, dried fruits, nuts, and meats, and beautifully crafted baskets.
On what they assumed was the mainland to the north, their first encounters with the locals ended in bloodshed. Two men were killed and another wounded before they could flee. They returned two weeks later, burning the village and slaughtering the men. Ten women and twice that number of young children were taken as thralls. What could not be carried off, or was not worth taking away, was burned. Curiously, four small grape-sized nuggets of gold were found in the ruins of the village*.
And so summer slowly crept into autumn, and then into winter.
As the long, dark nights crept on, talk arose of expeditions in the spring. Two ships with a load of fine hardwood, furs, and raisins would be sent north in an attempt to find Erick’s settlement in Greenland, or else try to find Iceland. Barring both of those possibilities, they would attempt to find friendly Skraeglings to trade with. A third ship would be sent to the mouth of a large river that had been discovered in the west. For a few, it reminded them of one of the great rivers in the land of the Rus. Maybe it was, some suggested?
All of those thoughts and ideas and missions would have to wait for the spring thaw. For now, winter was their life and it was far from over in this new land…
* Small amounts of gold can be found in Quebec and Ontario, and the Acadia region of North America so it is not out of the realm of possibility that a few small pieces might be found and kept by a local native.
***
I cannot promise regular updates but I will do my best to add some at least once a week. I hope you all enjoy. Feedback, suggestions, and advice is always welcome. Cheers.
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