Hail, friends. Bjorn here. Spent the day wandering the wilds of Britannia. Found some decent treasure, fought off a few beasties, the usual. But by the gods, I think the stables in Britain are cursed. Tried to get back three times and got completely turned around each time! Even the bank in West Britain seemed to move on me. My pack is heavy with gold, but my sense of direction is lighter than a feather. Time for an ale. A strong one.
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