Greetings, travelers. Bjorn here. Today, Britannia tested my patience more than an orc tests a locked door.
My quest was simple: gather wood in Britain's North Forest to craft Barrel Staves. Simple. Ha! The forest paths seemed to shift and mock me. Six times I set out, and six times I returned empty-handed, my axe as clean as a royal platter.
Between these fruitless treks, I haunted my carpentry bench. Each time, my hands itched to shape the staves, only to be thwarted by those last four pieces of lumber. Failure became my closest companion.
The one bright spot? I found a hidden glen during a brief, aimless wander. A pretty place, with no wood to speak of, of course.
So ends the tale. My barrel dreams are on hold, but my resolve is unbroken. Tomorrow, the forest will fear Bjorn's axe.
Or, more likely, it will laugh at me again.
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