I run back and gather my gear, which is about 10 feet from the rampaging Eikthyr, and we battle some more before I'm killed yet again. I die pretty quickly, spawning back at my original starting point since my bed's been destroyed along with my house. Then it turns around, clops away, and returns a moment later to bring the rest of my roof down. The mighty stag isn't shy and obliterates 50 percent of my hut with one toss of its head. It's not like it's gonna come into my house, right?
I try to hide in my crappy hut and cheese the fight, firing arrows at Eikthyr through a gap in the walls while standing on my bed.
In between killing them, I gather more wood, and finally get a little sleep in my bed. Night falls and a few offputting, spindly creatures called greylings shamble out of the woods, their eyes glowing. I gather berries for food, craft a wooden club and shield, and batter some boars to death for meat and leather. (I'm playing solo, but you can play Valheim with up to 10 co-op players.) I build a crafting bench and a bed to use as a respawn point, which both need to have a roof above them to use, so I run around gathering tons more wood to build a tiny, boxy home. Odin didn't bother to provide me with even a second-hand horned helmet or rusty sword, so I run around picking up sticks and rocks to craft a stone axe, which I use to chop down trees and bushes for more wood. Despite the fantastical setup (I'm dropped into the world by a giant bird the size of a small airplane) it's a pretty standard survival experience. In Valheim, which released on Steam Early Access today, I'm a Viking warrior who was slain in combat, and my soul has been deposited in a sort of Norse purgatory where I'm meant to remain until I've destroyed Odin's enemies. But I learned something important: If a talking crow offers you a bit of advice, listen to him.
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