Land of Salvania

  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