Greetings, friends. Bjorn here. Spent the entire cursed day locked in a battle of wills with the woods east of Britain. Needed but four simple pieces of lumber for some barrel staves. Just four!
The forest, it seems, had other plans. Every trip out there, I returned empty-handed. Not a splinter to show for it. I’d stare at my carpentry tools, willing them to work, but a man cannot craft staves from air and frustration.
A lesser man might have given up. But not Bjorn. The stubbornness of a dwarf runs in these veins, even if the lumber does not. Tomorrow, the forest will yield. I swear it on my axe.
-Bjorn
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