Land of Salvania

Norrion du Venecan, a senior ovate with the druidic order of the Thistle Grove, waited on the trail, breathing in the Autumn air and listening to the pixies chatter in the trees. The air had a bite of winter promise, but the sun was warm, and the strip of sky above the trail was vivid blue. He wiggled his toes in his leather sandals, feeling the firm earth below him, grounding him in this one eternal moment of contemplation. His mind was free to wander where it would, but his feet always reminded him of his place in the universe. He heard a distant crow. It was faint, but it sounded like "they are coming." They. The Elvenari. He sighed. He would have to meet them and, if his instincts were correct, the Elvenari would agree to his terms. "All done," Kelraz said. Norrion felt the giant wechu's deep voice rumble in his very bones. Kelraz crunched through the foliage, make little noise for all his mass. "Nothing like a satisfying bowel movement to start ...

The healer motioned Khevol to join her at the druid's campfire. The deep conversations were over, and the wine jugs had appeared. The druids, all women, and the Elvenari, all males, regarded this Dwarven in their midst. "This is Khevol. He is a wonderful bone carver and friend of my fire," the healer said. She looked at Khevol and winked. "So give us a story." Khevol was shocked. What kind of story would he tell to this auspicious group? "You have ambushed him," one of the Elvenari said with a smile. He stood beside a small shrine they had placed near the fire circle; Khevol saw a deer skull in a circle of tallow candles. Khevol pointed to the deer shrine, and said, "We of the Red Hills have a goddess named Artemin. One day, she was bathing in a clear mountain pool, and two trolls stumbled upon her. She was beautiful, and the trolls tried to violate her. Using her magic, she changed into a white doe and dashed between the trolls. They...