Land of Salvania

  Bandobras was weary as he tied his pony outside the cave. Goblin tracks were all around. He was sick of goblins, and the quicker he dispatched these last few, the quicker he could get back to his farm and his ale keg. He towered over his fellow halflings, and if any had doubted his primacy, he had sealed it at Battle of Greenfield last week. He had knocked the goblin chieftain off his feet with a club and finished him with an old Elven sword he had "borrowed" from the mathom-house at Michel Delving. Already, they were telling tall tales about the battle, and they got taller every day. Some even claimed he had knocked off the goblin's head with his club. Ridiculous. Bandobras didn't really care about all this acclaim. He wanted to get some rest and some beer in his belly. He just needed to finish off the last stragglers that had retreated to this abandoned troll cave. "Do you want us to go with you?" one of his companions asked. He was clearly not en...

From the scroll "Battle of Lindrin in the Ninth Year." Scholars of the Arcane Brotherhood think much of it was written by Duke Nultan of White River. "Lindrin'' is possibly the ancient name for Lyndaran, a small walled village notable for two standing stones atop a large earthen mound. Some say that birds refuse to land on the stones or the mound. The "ninth year" likely refers to his ninth year after inheriting his title and lands. Written by mine own hand one week after the battle. The battle raged throughout the night. Gargs without number, and other demon beasts, came out of the uncanny wall of flames in endless waves to break upon our lines. Our stout soldiers showed no fear as they repulsed one shrieking assault after another. I must admit, even when my own sword grew heavy, the raging shield maidens of the northlands seemed never to tire, dancing among the fell creatures and flailing slender blades like a mower's scythe. At last, I fel...