A Day of Splinters and Sorrow

Greetings, friends. Bjorn here. Today, I sought to fill my pack with good British oak. The forest spirits, it seems, had other plans. I wandered from the east woods to the north woods, my axe feeling heavier with each step. Not a single log would consent to be chopped. I believe I have offended the very trees themselves. My axe is dull, my arms are tired, and my inventory is shamefully empty. I shall now go and console myself with a flagon of mead. Perhaps tomorrow the forests will find me more worthy.