Greetings, travelers.
Bjorn here. Spent the better part of the day locked in a battle of wills with a grove of trees in the North Forest. Let it be known that the oaks of Britannia are a stubborn and unyielding folk. My axe is now duller than a troll's wit, and my pride is in splinters.
Every time my blade failed to bite, I'd try to leave that accursed place, yet the forest paths themselves seemed to shift and turn me around, spitting me back out right where I started.
The day was not a total loss, however. I did manage some successful exploring before and after my arboreal humiliation. Found a few quiet, hidden glades untouched by my axe, at least. I shall return to those trees tomorrow. They will not win.
-Bjorn
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