Land of Salvania

  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...

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 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...