Land of Salvania

  Ranamir limped into the Shire, and his rough looks and piercing eyes immediately roused the wary citizens. Three months after the Battle of Bywater, life had only just started returning to normal. Was this another Ruffian coming back to defile their beloved land? Would they have to take up arms again? Bells rang and dogs barked. A large crowd bearing farm tools and frying pans materialized around the much larger man. A few scarred fellows had swords, now kept sharp since Trouble had so recently come to their land. The Shire folk had learned from bitter experience to face down evil at once, never let it take hold. The stranger claimed he was from some foreign place called Minas Tirith and he knew a hobbit called Peregrin Took in The War. A lad on a pony was sent to fetch Master Peregrin; the murmuring crowd remained. Those who left were quickly replaced by others who had just heard the news. Ranamir sat in the shade with his sword sheathed. When Master Peregrin arrived, the mutter...

  The trap was sprung the instant Bartelemi took the mace from the corpse's skeletal hand. He heard distant thunder, and the shaft of dusty light entering a hole in the roof faded. Bartelemi scraped the tomb lid shut and ran, the dead king's weapon heavy as a sack of grain. He had dawning admiration for anyone who could wield this monstrosity in battle. They said it was forged by an ancient Dwarven smith and given as a gift back when relations were closer. Bartelemi could believe that. He had seen only a few of the Dwarven folk in his life, but they all had seemed stout enough to have forged this daunting weapon. Outside, the lone tomb sat under a brooding sky like the last tree after a forest fire. The empty moor stretched endlessly in all directions with no cover from the sky's wrath. Bartelemi took a deep breath and began to trot, the first drops already falling, thunder landing deep in his chest. It would take two hourglasses, maybe more, to reach the nearest vill...

  Mothers clutched their children and hustled away when Morden walked down the street. Soldiers hands unconsciously drifted toward their weapons when Morden appeared in town. The wise watched carefully when Morden stood still, eyes closed. Some days, Morden was amused at this ridiculous behavior, some days he was annoyed. Even getting a beer at the pub was a huge disruption, crowds falling silent, eyes wary. Forget about attending any town festivals or market days. Accidentally summon a red dragon just one time, and you pay for it forever. /// Copyright

  Aragorn: "The Beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid." Theoden: "And Rohan will answer." /// "The Beacons Are Lit" (c)2022 Mickey Kulp Inspired by the Lord of the Rings saga by JRR Tolkien

This video is an homage to the world built by our beloved Professor. Images by Mickey Kulp, 2022 Fan art inspired by the Lord of the Rings saga by JRR Tolkien Instagram: LandOfSalvania MUSIC: Music from Bensound https://www.bensound.com

  He had taken to roaming at night when the annoying clamor of the population's minds at last fell silent. It would be different if their minds were more interesting. But, alas, no. They only cared for the moment, the perceived slights to their pride, the small revenges, the petty fears. Even their nighttime dreams, now a breeze where their waking minds were a gale, were small and boring. Some wanted love, some fought faceless monsters. All typical and dull. Bovine. "Let them be sheep," Vecnan purred in his mind. He looked at the jewel glowing faintly on the end of his staff. The star stone. Vecnan was the only one who understood him. Indeed, their bond was closer than any parent or lover. The jewel seemed to pulse as the words came. "We will rule them all one day, and they will never even notice." /// Copyright

  Bandobras was weary as he tied his pony outside the cave. Goblin tracks were all around. He was sick of goblins, and the quicker he dispatched these last few, the quicker he could get back to his farm and his ale keg. He towered over his fellow halflings, and if any had doubted his primacy, he had sealed it at Battle of Greenfield last week. He had knocked the goblin chieftain off his feet with a club and finished him with an old Elven sword he had "borrowed" from the mathom-house at Michel Delving. Already, they were telling tall tales about the battle, and they got taller every day. Some even claimed he had knocked off the goblin's head with his club. Ridiculous. Bandobras didn't really care about all this acclaim. He wanted to get some rest and some beer in his belly. He just needed to finish off the last stragglers that had retreated to this abandoned troll cave. "Do you want us to go with you?" one of his companions asked. He was clearly not en...

  The wizard Elzalore opened his lamp, pulled out the sputtering, feeble remnants of the tallow candle, and used it to light the last candle in his haversack. The tunnels under the Queen's castle were rumored to be so vast that entire squads of soldiers and miners (and doubtless hundreds of treasure-seekers) had vanished over the years. He believed the stories now after spending two days in the chill damp, sleeping on stones in the utter silence. But Elzalore had a map. The old herb lady at the edge of the moors had said it was a true map from her grandfather. Her grandfather had helped build a new tower on the castle as a young man a hundred years earlier. Elzalore had paid her ten gold for it, a princely sum he hoped to recoup with a single discovery. For, in addition to the map, he had a scroll that pulled him toward his destination. Soon, he hoped, he would find old Skandarnish's dusty bones and the jewel he had carried when alive. The jewel was reward enough, but the ...

  Somehow, the one-armed Northman was more terrifying than the others. He was not particularly large or fast, but he had this look... It was like he was unkillable. It was like he knew he was unkillable, too. How could someone lose an arm, go home, heal up, and come back to fight again? He must have found favor with his god or goddess. "I tell you," one of the survivors said as he stared deeply into the fire, "I stayed away from that one-armed bloke. It seemed smarter to fight a whole man than one who had endured so much suffering and still wanted to come at us. That ain't natural." /// Copyright

  "Danger! Danger!" the magic staff screamed in his mind. It jumped out of his hand and clattered on the cobbled bridge, flopping like a fish out of water. Ever since he had found the staff in that abandoned lair under the mountains, he had regretted bringing it with him. Far above the castle, he heard a dragon's piercing cry from somewhere in the storm clouds. The staff screeched again in his skull and started inch-worming away from the castle. It was going to be that kind of week. /// Copyright