Land of Salvania

  Ulrich sipped frothy ale from his horn and stared into the snapping campfire. His mind began to wander, his gaze unfocused, and he somehow dredged up a memory from his youth. As a boy of ten years, Ulrich almost died twice in the same day. He had been out roaming the ancient forests and checking his fur traps near his family village when he heard men's voices. He hid, thinking he would jump out with his wooden sword and startle the men. "Ven vee get zhere, you get a bucket of coals from ze cook fire and blaze up a roof," an unfamiliar voice said. He had a strange accent. Ulrich peeked from the dense undergrowth and saw two tall men. Both looked similar: thick beards, long brown hair, wicked axes in hand. The one with the strange accent had a pale scar that split his eyebrow. The other wore a green tunic. "And I guess you'll be poking around for pretty girls to take back," another strange voice said. "Fah," the accented man spat. "I j...

  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...

  Ritter stood next to his friend Sled'j and listened to the Orc growl each time a townie complained about the fighters' ability to protect the people from bandits. Many fighters had answered the call, but the bandits were everywhere, hitting a homestead, looting, and fading away into the dense forest called the Dream Wood. Sometimes, they took hostages. "Maybe we should negotiate with them," a soft merchant said as he wiped chicken grease from his glistening lips. A few townies agreed. Sled'j growled again. He had had enough of these plump, entitled fools. He tied on his trollskin bracers, took a long drink off his tankard, and walked to the middle of the room. His fellow fighters watched and smiled. They knew something was about to happen. "Silence," he roared, and the townies obeyed. Instantly. Some drew back. Some clutched their pearls or fanned themselves. None reached for a weapon. Not one. "I say we kill them all." He made ey...