Land of Salvania

  Of those named "Wizard" But five are known: White, Grey, and Brown were named Two more, they say, were Blue. But there were more. Always, the few are seen While the masses work Without accolades or hope. Toiling away in silence, Tending and healing, Their ripples gently moving the Water so even the mighty Must clutch for purchase When the wave finally crests. And here we find the Green one. Clothed like an old beggar, Roaming without seeming purpose, Arriving when the Spring comes. Kindly and wise, they say, Knowing the ways of vegetables, Speaking with the trees, Helping bring in the new lambs. Some called him "druid" And he did not correct them. Some called him trouble And he sang them a song About old days coming again. Some called him a fool And he laughed like a drunkard With a flower in his beard. Excerpt from "The Green Wizard" translated from the Elvenari scrolls at the White River scriptorium. Set here by my hand, Bard Galen in the fifth year of

  The villagers were sure the Beltane fire had been "pixied." No matter what they tried, they could not get the annual bonfire to stay lit. It didn't stop the celebrants from eating and drinking their fill, but it was getting dark, and Beltane without a bonfire just would not do. Even the best huntsman who boasted he could start a fire in a rainstorm had no luck. "What about old Ulias?" the cobbler asked, slurring his words a little and taking another pull off a wineskin. "He ain't done any wizarding in a while." Ulias, the old village wizard, had never been known as a great conjurer. His advice mostly involved herbs, mushrooms, and the peculiarities of the weather. But desperate measures were required, and someone dispatched several dirty, barefoot boys into the walled city to round up the wizard. He arrived a few minutes later, buttoning his ceremonial robe. "We need a fire," someone said. "Pixies have gotten into the wood," a