Land of Salvania

  Ulrich learned the hard way never to pickup anything in the wizard's forest. AI Alert: this is my original image from 2022.  It was animated using AI tools. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  More about Ulias here:  https://landofsalvania.blogspot.com/2022/05/ulias-and-bonfire.html AI Alert: this is my original image, it was animated using AI tools. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  Sir Viktor smelled it before he saw it. The stench was like a rotting carcass floating in sour milk. For a moment, he considered turning back as his breakfast shifted in his unhappy stomach. The wind shifted, bringing some relief, so he continued toward the ruins. "The old wizard conjured something he couldn't control," a woman selling apples in the village had told him. "I heard he built a totem to some arcane goddess, and he was conjuring one night to summon her to his aid." Sir Viktor, sword out, picked his way through massive fallen blocks until he reached the totem. The village woman had called it the "Poison Totem." "Don't touch it. The ooze coming from the...thing is deadly." A pained look had crossed her face. He had thanked her and bought a dozen of her overpriced apples. The "thing" that oozed from the top of the totem looked like a massive green, spiky ball. The spikes glistened with fresh venom that eventua...

The Witching Stone is old, they say Old as widow's pain. The Witching Stone is cold, they say Cold as winter rain. The Witching Stone is grim, they say Grim as soldier slain. The wise know more. The wise say this... If your heart be pure, Touch the stone And you may quickly learn. If your heart be foul, Touch the stone And you may quickly burn. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  The chase was long and silent. The ranger had no idea what he was following. It was not a beast or a garg. It was something else. Something as wily as a fox and as big as a man. The blood trail had vanished a day ago, so the creature was hardy enough to have endured a spear in the shoulder - if the rattled hunter could be believed. "I swear it was as tall as a horse," the man had said, a quaver in his voice. "And it went on two legs? Maybe a bear?" "Nay. Not a bear. I'm sure," the hunter had replied with annoyance. "I been in these woods all my life." His eyes kept scanning the edge of the forest as if the thing was going to burst out any moment. So the ranger had been on the hunt for a day and, now, a night, seeking some unknown creature. The trail had been progressivly more difficult to follow as the light failed, so the ranger was ready to turn back. A twig snapped behind him. He whirled, his senses tingling, sword out, heart ra...

  The guide turned back to Ritter and said, "We are entering the oldest part of the forest. Few come this way, and many of those who do are not seen again." It looked like a normal forest to Ritter, but he drew his sword out of caution. "Nay, good Sir," the guide said. "Your sword cannot protect you from the powers that inhabit this place." The old guide threw his cloak around his bony shoulders and moved cautiously down the trail. Ritter followed, his sword still unsheathed. They walked silently, slowly for a few minutes, and the air grew warmer, more oppressive. It was like the forest was watching them, and the gaze of the trees was pressing in on them. The guide stepped lightly to the left to avoid a small mushroom on the trail's right edge, and Ritter copied him. As he did, Ritter's sword lightly grazed the top of the mushroom. He said nothing, and continued following the old man. Moments later, the trail turned to bypass a huge tree, behi...

  For a long time it was assumed that the fearsome jabberwock was at last slain by a single hero. One can blame the talented - and slightly bonkers (all the best ones are) - writer Lewis Carroll. In truth, there were two heroes with vorpal blades that sealed the creature's fate. None today remember their names or stations, though some of the ancient scrolls hint that one was a ferocious knight traveling the land and helping the downtrodden - his penance for some past sin. The other was called "a pox-scarred bard whose voice was the only beauty about him." Each hero took a tooth, not the entire monstrous head, from the jabberwock's steaming mouth as a keepsake. It was said that it took a team of mules to haul the prizes home. But, since all we have is our esteemed Mr. Carrol's poem, we must pretend to change "He" to "They." Then it reads right. Jabberwocky BY LEWIS CARROLL ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: ...

  That Yunni lass was going to pay, Skawlin thought as he tossed aside his empty wine bottle and staggered down the dirt lane, leaving the twinkling lights of town behind. The moon was full, drifting in and out of fluffy clouds, and he didn't question why he could see two of them in the sky. His whole mind was burning with jealousy and rage as he made his way toward the Yunni side of town, deeper in the forest. He kept seeing her smile, all fake and coy, as she had played him for a fool in the market that morning. /// "How much for a cantaloupe," he had asked. "Only a copper," she had replied, smiling. Her little Yunni teeth were perfect and white, like a toddler's. And, like all her kind, she stood about as tall as a child, even though she had a woman's pleasing figure. He leaned in a little closer, a table of fresh produce separating them. "And how much for a kiss?" Her hand had strayed toward her belt, but a row of large tomatoes had bl...

Sir Viktor trotted along the castle wall, amazed at the scale of the structure. It was so thick, five armored knights could walk abreast without jostling each other. It was at least as tall as twenty men, and the cable-like vines he had climbed to reach the top had seemed to go on forever. Far ahead of him, he saw a green clump, indistinct in the jungle's dappled light. Maybe it was a mass of vines. They were everywhere, serving to remind him of the castle's vast age and the jungle's slow, relentless appetite. He paused half an arrow shot away from the clump. Something wasn't right. What was it? Was it the shifting shadows cast by swaying trees, or was the clump...breathing? His skin started to crawl. What devilry was this? He did not have to wait long. High above, a vulture called out. He looked up and saw an ominous tornado of a dozen soaring birds. Were they expecting a meal? Was the green clump their dinner? The green clump stirred and stood, revealing a long neck a...

  As Sir Viktor emerged from the forest shadows, the moon cast an eerie glow upon the scene before him. The aftermath of the sorcerer's curse lay strewn across the clearing like the remnants of a tempestuous storm. Broken branches littered the ground, and scorched patches marked where arcane energies had burned the earth. With each careful step, Sir Viktor's senses remained alert, his grip firm on the hilt of his great sword. He scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement or danger. His years of training as a knight had honed his instincts, and he trusted them implicitly. Suddenly, a faint whisper of wind stirred the air, carrying with it the acrid scent of burned sulphur. Sir Viktor tensed, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to unleash its energy. He knew the sorcerer was still nearby, lurking in the shadows like a predator waiting to strike. Drawing upon his courage and determination, Sir Viktor pressed forward, his resolve unyielding. He moved with a purpose, hi...

  Sir Viktor squinted as the pockmarked, ball-shaped creature opened its hideous black mouth and sent a vivid white beam of light crashing into his shield. The force of the impact sent him stumbling backward, his boots scraping along the scorched rock. His shield, a relic from the Lost Days, vibrated fiercely under the assault, its ancient runes glowing a fierce blue in response. "Hold steady!" Sir Viktor shouted, more to himself than to anyone else. The creature's relentless attack showed no sign of abating, and the air around them crackled with energy. He could feel the searing heat even through his armor, beads of sweat forming on his brow. With a grunt of effort, Sir Viktor planted his feet firmly and leaned into the beam, his muscles straining against the overwhelming power. He glanced to his left, where Lady Elara was crouched behind a fallen pillar, her fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and her lips moved in silen...

  Sir Viktor heard the clatter of small stones fall from the heights up ahead. An unknown observer was watching him pick his way across the blasted landscape of rocks and scrub. His sword was out before the last click-clack died away. Unless the observer had a crossbow that could hurl a pike, Sir Viktor felt safe in his Elvenari armor. Still, decades of scrapes, tournaments, and battles ruled his reflexes and movements. "Put away your sword," a voice called. It was a woman's voice. She had an accent he could not quite place. Sir Viktor said nothing. The voice did not quit align with the location of the clattering stones. There were at least two observers among the boulders on the heights. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the rocky terrain. The wind whispered through the crevices, carrying faint echoes of movement, but the exact position of his hidden watchers eluded him. Sir Viktor's years on the battlefield had ho...

Amid peril and sadness the knight continues on; not because he is strong - though he is, not because he is brave - though he tries, but because he knows not how to stop. What an admirable curse to place upon a mere mortal. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  Perhaps it was some magical foolery, Ritter thought, as the armies of Men joined with the Dwarven, Elvenari, and Yunni forces atop the ridge of black hills. The world seemed on fire as the harsh sunset filtered through putrid clouds and smoke. The wizard's tower stood alone atop a parched hill stripped clean by his foul magic and his unearthly army's depredations. The air smelled sulfurous. And the still air gave no respite to the foul vapors. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

I had a great time visiting the Southeast Middle-Earth Ranger Society's October meetup. They are  "...a group of like minded individuals who enjoy researching and portraying the Ranger societies of Middle-Earth or similar worlds, both historical and fantasy. We are here because of a shared interest in the Ranger skills of the ancient past or Tolkienesque type worlds, including clothing, tools, methods, equipment, techniques, and weapons, for camping and surviving in the outdoors or wilderness areas. We are located in the Southeastern region of the USA, encompassing Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, North & South Carolina, and Florida." I look more like an out-of-place gate guard than a stealthy ranger.  I guess I have some work to do. Catherine cooked quail eggs in bratwurst grease.  Dee-freakin-licious! Carter's ranger kit is extraordinary. Jared was our generous host on his forested land. Carter is the undisputed record-holder for ...

  Photo by  Chrysander Mandragora The ragtag band of "heavies" trotted forward and looked down at the goblins massing along the tree line. Ceeeth raised his mace and bellowed from the center of the line, his war cry echoing down the valley. "Leave some for us," Ritter called as Ceeeth ran down the hill, still bellowing, his collection of ornaments and unsettling trophies jingling merrily. "Better hurry," Ceeeth cried over his shoulder without slowing.  He already had a small throwing ax arcing through the cool morning air toward an unfortunate target. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  Photo by Chrysander Mandragora Ritter, reeling from exhaustion after days of unrelenting battle, stared at the bloody carnage just a bowshot from the town's outer wall. The hasty coalition of men, elves, dwarves, hoblings, high orcs, and wylderkin worked amazingly well together, but one had to be careful about referring to one of the more savage scouts as "cat lady." /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

Here is a VERY short clip of Ritter at the Alliance LARP National Event in October 2023. For the full, action-packed video, visit Healthier Heroes: LARP Fitness! https://www.youtube.com/@HealthierHeroesLARP

  With great care, Sir Bucket unrolled the fragile, stained vellum. It had a burned edge, obscuring some of the unicorn and tree artwork along the margins. The flowing script read: Go thee now unto the grove Fear not the wolf nor bear Go thee now unto the grove And hear the knowledge there. Seek the tree within the grove So small and green and free Seek the tree within the grove What does it say to thee? Close thy eyes within the grove Listen with thy heart Close thy eyes within the grove And on thy journey start. Let thy soul drift far away Ride high upon the wind Let thy soul drift far away Drink deep at journey's end. At the bottom, she could barely read a last bit, written in a different hand. I, Wizard Owenstanish of White River, do now write with my own hand on this third day of summer, the 16th year of Queen Juliska of Salvania. This incantanto being the first of five found within a clay pot buried in the southern desert. She rolled the scroll again and closed her eyes, pond...

  Sir Bucket stood at her assigned post on the ridge and trembled with fury as she watched the village burn below. She was glad her visor was down so her comrades could not see the tears running down her face. Most of her fellow castle guards were down there somewhere, fighting the gargs. The hated foe had somehow gotten organized enough to torch dozens of thatched cottages belonging mostly to the castle's crafters like stone masons and blacksmiths. She could not pick out her childhood home from this distance, and thick smoke further obscured her vision. The tears didn't help either. "Dragon! Dragon!" She looked up as her fellow guard pointed skyward with his sword. She drew hers as well, thinking it silly even as she automatically assumed her fighting stance. Fight a dragon with a sword? Silly indeed. But the prospect of action - and revenge - dried her tears and filled her thundering heart with a cold purpose. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sc...

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  Marion du Bucles, named "Sir Bucket" by her guard company's sergeant of the guard, had a dragon. Past tense. Scatter, the young green dragon she had been raising, mysteriously vanished one day. At first, she was not concerned. He was impetuous, and he often disappeared for hours at a time. But as days passed, she was positive that something was wrong. She spent every free hour scouring the forest. She initially expected to find him gnawing on a carcass relocated from a farmer's field. Later, she was afraid she would just find his bones. She grew so distraught, she even crossed the White River and started searching through troll territory. Everything was a little...strange in troll territory. Trees and plants were bigger than normal. Like mushrooms. She was amazed seeing mushrooms she could walk under! After a week of searching, she found dragon tracks that might have belonged to Scatter. He was still too young to fly much, otherwise tracking him on the gro...

  Ritter's head was reeling from all the portal energy swirling through his body. He had stepped through a yellow portal which immediately turned green. Before him was a frozen vista, a vast plain of white snow drifts and moaning wind. He had turned and stepped through the green portal which turned blue as he exited. Now he was in a dense forest thick with moss and the drip of water off wide leaves. The incessant chirp of a million invisiable insects was almost deafening. Last, he staggered, dizziness building, through the blue portal which immediately turned purple. Now, he was inside a castle, the dim purple portal unchanged behind him. He sat heavily on the broad steps leading down to a torchlit corridor. It took a few minutes for him to notice his sword and shield were gone. How could that be? It shocked him that he could not clearly recall the last time he had them. In fact, he could not clearly recall much from the last few hours - or was it days? He still had the garg...

  Marion du Bucles, "Sir Bucket" to her fellow castle guards, was filled with deep, abiding regret over helping the baby dragon escape from his gem-like shell. Only a month before, she had found the shimmering egg surrounded by fragments from its siblings' shells. Mother and babes were gone, leaving this one to the Fates. She had noticed a small chip in the shell, and after a few scrapes with her fingernail, out tumbled a gooey green dragon the size of a cat. He had bonded with her immediately, and Marion was "mom" now. For a month, she had been able to tend the rapidly growing dragon without drawing any attention. But now he was too big and too demanding to hide. He followed her everywhere and got into everything. Essentially, he was a toddler with large teeth and burning curiosity. She named him Scatter. Either people and animals scattered when they saw him, or he scattered things (like fences and water troughs) into pieces without knowing his own streng...