(Gonnaexperiment with fighting as Bjorn in the post after this, methinks.)

Bjorn made his way down the quiet beach at a steady and quick pace, stamina fuelled by his armor as well as his own immense strength. He had his hands firmly on his axes, which he had luckily found just a small distance away from him, laying together on the beach. Now Bjorn the Dreadful was quite unsure of where to go, his sudden urge to go to Lustria had vanished. He had a feeling the god was tesing him from here, so he made sure to not look like a lazy idiot and kept up his relentless march. Not that it was normal for a Norseman to express such feelings, but this new environment was extremely relaxing compared to his own home. He wondered why his people insisted on living so far north after awhile. Bjorn was never taught of how the poles held all the magic in the world, so this thought stuck with him for some time. He looked left and right, all he could see was the dense jungle, the endless sea, and the thin strip of beach in between both. He sighed and kept on walking, hoping he'd find something of interest or a sign from his god on what to do now.

Then, after an hour more of endless marching along the beach, he thought he found what he believed was a sign. It had to be, he imagined. Bjorn broke into a run towards the massive dark structure on the beach in the distance. He soon identified what it was, and it disappointed him. A wrecked ship had been beached, and was tipped to the side. Planks were missing from the bottom, and one of the masts was snapped. It reeked of the dead, which was reason enough for Bjorn to investigate. He trudged forward once again, armored boots causing deep impressions in the wet sand. The sand and ship itself was stained in patches by scarlet blood. Drenched corpses decorated the ship as well. A grisly sight, but it only encouraged him to search the ship for something of interest.