A Day of Splinters and Sorrow

By Odin's unkempt beard, what a day. I set out for North Forest, axe in hand, ready to fill my pack with good timber.

Could I find a single log? Nay. Not one. The trees, they mock me. I'd swing, they'd laugh. I'd travel, I'd get lost. I'd try to craft a simple stool back in town, but my skill failed me and my supplies were nought.

I must have wandered into that cursed forest a dozen times, and swung this useless axe even more. I have naught to show for it but splinters, sore feet, and a humbled spirit.

Britannia tests us all. Today, she broke me. Back to it tomorrow.