Land of Salvania

  Being dead was strange this time, Droth mused as he walked through the "wild land." He was in a forest where the colors were vivid but the edges were indistinct. It was like someone had draped colored fabric haphazardly on all the trees. The sky was brighter here. Sounds were muted. He stopped walking and let the moment stretch out. He laughed when he couldn't feel his heart beating. He recalled he had laughed last time too. It was good to be back. He started walking again, but he had no destination. Just me and my sleeping heart taking a stroll in the sunshine, he thought. Last time he had died, he remembered feeling more disconnected from the wild land. Last time, he felt like he needed to move along to his unknown destination. Not this time. He was in no hurry. No agenda, no stress. Stay. Go. It didn't really matter. Not this time. He had finished his task and was...what? What was this strange feeling? Several words came to mind, but he settled on

  "My nose itches," Ritter said. "Be still," the artist said, her charcoal-stained hand flying over the canvas. "Just a few more minutes." Ace stood beside Ritter and used his Elvenari discipline to remain as still as a statue. It made Ritter's nose itch more. "I'm thirsty," Ritter complained. "Hold on," the artist said without looking up. "You remind me of a sausage," Ace said, barely moving his lips. His sword was heroically crossed over Ritter's. The portrait was going to be amazing. "Why?" "Because you're a brat," Ace quipped. "Yeah? Most people don't know how I struggled with a serious drinking problem."  Ritter's tone was suddenly serious. "Oh, I'm sorry," Ace said, immediately contrite. He even moved his head to look at Ritter, eliciting a loud sigh from the artist. "It's better now. I brew my own so I have a reliable supply!" /// Co

  Crow dreamed he was looking in a mirror. An old man looked back. His face was similar to Crow's, but he looked ancient and tired. The old man spoke a strange foreign language, but Crow could still understand scattered bits of it. "...and when the <foreign word> is open upon the midnight, beware the <foreign word> that will spring forth to rend." "I don't understand your words, uncle," Crow said, adding the honorific "uncle" as a courtesy. "Heed me, boy," the old face said. "You will be asked to <foreign word> upon the midnight when the <foreign word> opens. You must act with great courage and remember to <string of foreign words> lest you die without awakening." Crow shook his head, knowing this was crucial information. "I cannot heed you, uncle. I do not understand." The old man looked annoyed. "Ask Ritter. He may know." Then the dream was over. Crow crawled out of hi

  In a cabin by the brook I saw a glowing magic book. Protected by a circle green That glowed with magic yet unseen. The book did shimmer like a fish, And bade me come to make a wish. If my heart be not askew, Could my wish at last come true? I fought back the fear and doubt. Without remorse it bubbled out. And you may think it awful funny, I asked, just once, to slay a bunny. [Some may be curious about all this talk of slaying bunnies. First off, I am not anti-bunny. I think they are cute and cuddly. But, during a recent LARP event with Alliance Atlanta , we were set upon by vicious NPC (non-player character) bunnies that mauled us. And later, a smaller group of us (the badass Order of Jirrah) were taught a valuable lesson about pride and when to ask for help. Again, it was bunnies. Ferocious jackalopes, to be exact. So, now you know. Fear the bunnies.] /// Copyright

  Idium was not a wizard. He had found a wizard's staff in the Dreamwood a year earlier, and it did all the work. It called itself "Branch." Most recently Branch seemed to get more bossy than usual. Just this morning, it had said, "We need to be at the White River Castle before the full moon." "Why? I'd like to find a nice tavern and make some coin." "I don't need coins," Branch said. "Abusing our relationship for parlor tricks to amaze a few backward villagers is a waste of my devastating talents." "A guy's gotta eat." The thought made his empty stomach rumble. "I see free food all around. There, eat that mushroom," Branch said. A purple light glowed from the crystal at the staff's tip and reached out to caress a small white mushroom growing at the foot of a rotten stump. "Is it poisonous?" "After all we've been through, you don't trust me?" Branch seemed hurt

  Tengweerfanda drifted on silent wings as the battle raged below. She kept a sharp eye on Ritter, one of the few warriors who had joined this ridiculous errand. "We must do this, Teng," Ritter had said as she perched on his shoulder on the march out to meet the foe. "Even if we lose, we will not let the outpost be overrun without a fight. The townspeople may join us yet." "Men are fools," she had replied. Her opinion was not improving as she watched the heavy troops of Jirrah lose ground a little at a time. Even though they inflicted frightful damage on the enemy, nothing seemed to stem the tide of beasts emerging in seemingly endless waves from the Dreamwood. Teng saw a shape - it was Ritter! - stumble back from the ragged lines of his comrades. He gulped some water from his leather wineskin and tightened a strap on his bracer. Wiping his brow, he charged back in. For a moment, she lost him among the claws and fur of the enemy. Then she spotted hi

  A calm part of Ritter's mind noted that he was in deep trouble. It also noted that it was raining, and this could be to his favor. "Remember, a lone fighter has the advantage over multiple fighters," his old sword teacher once said. His teacher was named "Lefty" since he had lost an arm (perversely, the left one) in a battle. "They cannot read each other's minds, so you can shift and feint so that your opponents collide or separate." The first bandit lunged at Ritter. The calm part of his mind took on old Lefty's voice. "That was clumsy. You should step right and bash him on the head with that big ass shield as he goes by. If bandit two delays his attack for half a second, you could also skewer bandit one on the ground." Ritter went through these exact motions: shifting, bashing, and skewering as Lefty's voice suggested. Except he slipped on the rain-soaked leaves as he was in mid-skewer. Well, two out of three... Bandit t

  Another arrow thudded into Ritter's shield. "That one close," Orok called from the thick tree cover. He knew too well that his orcish mass was an easy target for Yunni archers. "This is all your fault," Ritter growled back. "You like orcs. I like orcs. Why little Yunni hate orcs?" An arrow whistled over Ritter's head and splintered on a pine tree. "Don't worry, Orok is safe." "They are not shooting at you," Ritter said, trying to hide his tender flesh behind his shield. "Hey, little Yunni," Orok called. "You go home and we go home too." "You know we're about to get surrounded," Ritter said. "You need to give it back." "But Orok like it." He patted the small clay figure he found on a stump by the river. It was painted blue. "Looks like mommy." "It's part of their shrine protecting the river," Ritter said. Another arrow landed in front of