The Story

The Northmen did not build the sea shanty.

They found it.

It stood where the fjord darkened and the tide slowed, its stilts sunk into mud that never froze—not even in winter. Old sailors swore it had been there before the longships, before the first pine was split for a keel, before anyone thought the sea could be owned.

They called it Salt-Wyrd, the place where fate was counted.

The mermaid carved into its beams was known to the jarls and feared by the crews. She was not a goddess, and not a monster, but something older. A keeper of accounts. She did not choose who lived or died. She simply remembered.

Before voyages, offerings were left in the small boat tied to the dock. Fish. Rings. Bone charms. Sometimes blood. By morning, the boat would be full—fish laid carefully, arranged by men who knew the sea was waiting for it’s share.

When the boat remained full, the voyage was fair.
When it was empty, the sea would take its due.

Men who laughed at the shanty vanished between waves. Ships that ignored the fjord were later found broken far inland, as if lifted and thrown. Survivors spoke of something beneath the hull—counting oar strokes, waiting for a number to be met.

The mermaid never sang.
She watched.

When the Northmen turned to new gods and stopped leaving offerings, the fjord swallowed them in a single winter.

The shanty still stands.

The sea still keeps accounts.

Details

• Mermaid figure inspired by northern sea spirits and fate-keepers
• Fish-filled boat representing tribute before voyage
• Shanty architecture echoing early coastal outposts and fjord settlements
• Designed to feel ancient, deliberate, and watchful

Why I Made This

I made this piece because the ocean has always felt alive to me—not gentle, not cruel, but aware. Its power is frightening and calming at the same time. It doesn’t explain itself, and it doesn’t ask permission. It simply is.

Water has always pulled at me that way. It steadies me and unsettles me in equal measure. I’ve known for a long time that one day I’ll live near the ocean—it isn’t a wish so much as a direction. This piece came from that pull.

It’s a reminder.  The ocean gives, the ocean takes.

Tone & Use

This is not a cheerful maritime ornament.
It is Viking folk horror—quiet, heavy, and rooted in inevitability.

Perfect for:

• Norse mythology enthusiasts
• Handcrafted wood design ©Ivan Bilous
• Viking and dark fantasy collectors
• Writers, gamers, and storytellers
• Shelves meant to hold objects with presence

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