Land of Salvania

Amid peril and sadness the knight continues on; not because he is strong - though he is, not because he is brave - though he tries, but because he knows not how to stop. What an admirable curse to place upon a mere mortal. /// Copyright (Check out  Mick's Fantasy and Sci-Fi Emporium  for my curated list of goodies to satisfy your LARP and cosplay pleasure.  Look for the latest DISCOUNT codes from my partners.)

  There once was a knight on a quest. He galloped like mad to the west. It was quite a disgrace When the bug hit his face. He found it tough to digest. (I like this silly limerick because it leaves the door open to interpret what was so hard to digest: the bug or the disgrace of being hit by a bug.  Or both?) /// Copyright

  The fourth and last shield was in place on the monument. A dozen scarred knights and dames silently raised their swords in salute. There were no profound speeches or weeping ladies in fine attire to pay homage to The Four. No nobles came forth to declare the bravery of The Four. No bard sang a song for them. The Four had held the line of retreat against a hundred gargs, falling back in good order while the townies had fled across the White River Crossing. When The Four had reached the bridge, they had stopped and held off the slavering creatures for two days and nights. None still living knew the full tale. One of The Four had been gravely wounded by a poisoned arrow, and he had scrawled a quick account for posterity. "Beware the green-tipped arrow of the foul savages," he had written. "For when the honorless creatures failed to best us with their numbers in a clean fight, they turned to cowardly poison. Mayhap they are not shrewd enough to make decent poison,

  The desert sun baked him inside the heavy armor. As his burning thoughts began to wonder, he was sure that a dragon was bearing down on him, trying to cook him slowly. When he finally fell off, his horse happily trotted back to the dusty outpost on the edge of the wasteland. The knight was a fool, and he deserved a fool's reward. /// Copyright

No story today, more AI art. I used the Stable Diffusion AI to generate a basic image. Later, I revised the helmet and color scheme. Looks pretty good. Still working on my Alliance LARP gear, and more gear-related images will be coming soon.  /// Copyright

No story today, more AI art. I used the Stable Diffusion AI to generate a basic image. Later, I adjusted the colors and background - TADA! Still working on my LARP gear, so I can only spend a little time experimenting on this kind of art. /// Copyright

  The old knight made it to the beach, and he had managed to lure the majority of the gargs after him. The queen's caravan should have enough soldiers to defeat those that stayed back. It helped that he had learned enough of their language to goad them with taunts like "come along, ya cream-faced loons" and "I'm over here ya crusty fopdoodles." They spread out in an arc, and he noted their caution with a smile. He would be nervous too if a single adversary appeared ready to take on ten others. They would be wondering if he had special powers. Gargs were superstitious about that stuff. When they seemed to regain their composure and began advancing, he whistled long and loud, piercing the sea breeze and echoing off the cliffs a mile away. It was a warbling call that made good use of his youthful skills as a shepherd directing his dogs. The gargs stopped again and began muttering to each other. He caught their words for "uncanny" and "not r

  Duke Arthelon was worried. He gathered his advisers and said, "With the plague raging through the knights, how are we to defend the east wall? One said, we can dig a pit and fill it with vipers. Another said, we can setup empty armor on the walls to trick enemy spies. All of his other advisers spoke for or against these ideas. Except one. After the clamor died down, Duke Arthelon looked at the silent adviser, saying, "So, my friend Cendrol, you have said nothing. Do you have counsel?" Cendrol stood and looked at the faces around the room. "I have the solution, but you're not going to like it. Follow me." He led everyone to the wide balcony overlooking the east wall. A lad was below, looking up. He stood near a wooden crate big enough to hold a hunting dog. Cendrol said, "I found this specimen during my travels in the southern rain forest." He waved toward the lad. "Go ahead." The boy used a poleaxe to lift the crate's latc

  He was called Draig, Dragon in the common speech. None in the village knew his real name. He had arrived half-dead a month earlier clinging to his horse, a bloody mess, his sword broken, his mind delirious. A red dragon was stitched on his leather surcoat. The village healer, a woman known for poultices and herbs, had nurtured him like a sick calf, and brought him back to the living. "What do the people say about me?" Draig asked her one day. "They pity you," she said bluntly. He thought about that, his brow knotted, as he scratched around a long scab on his arm. "They're probably right." Draig continued packing a few bundles of bannock bread for his journey. "Have you remembered anything yet?" The healer dropped some chopped leeks into the stewpot. "Same as always," he said. "I have dreams, but they fade every morning." She knew about his dreams. The small cottage had no privacy, and she could hear him cry out sev

  Tommy was a boy who visited the ruins every chance he got. Even though he liked the same games and roughhousing as the other village boys, he also liked to stand alone in the shadows and let the silence bear down on him. He noted that some horses liked to wear a blanket when it stormed, and he guessed he was the same. The silence was his blanket, calming the storm in his mind, helping him forget the beatings. Years later, after many adventures and battles that had torn the boy out of him, Sir Thomas the Bare returned to the ruins. He earned the nom de guerre "The Bare" for selling his great war helm to buy food for his troop. After that, he never wore a helmet in battle again. It was foolish, but it emboldened his soldiers, and that was enough. Sir Thomas let the silence soak in. It took a while, for he was out of practice, and his mind had become accustomed to a continuous swirl. But, inch by inch, he calmed, reclaiming a bit of the boy. The boy recalled the bruises

  20th Mai, Urlandia River Encampment My Dearest Matilda, I asked the priest to write this for me. I hope you can find someone to read it to you. The war is over, they say. We'll be coming home soon, but we still have to chase down the last few of the insurrection. It has been a brutal few months. We lived like animals and fought without remorse. I hope to never see the like again. This is a young man's game, and you well know that I no longer fit that description. Still, it be better for me to do this than our children. You are my dearest beloved in all the world. I have no other desire in this life than to tend our garden and kiss our grandbabies. I will see you soon if the gods smile on me. You have my heart, Willhelm 22nd Mai, Urlandia River Encampment Dear Matilda, It is with deep sadness that I must tell you Willhelm was killed yesterday during an engagement with the enemy. He fought bravely defending Prince Elbert from a determined cohort of spearmen. Indeed, the

  Sergeant Andrew looked up at the east tower, toward Ekaterina's apartment. He thought he saw the princess for a second, then the curtains dropped closed. A horn blew. The drums started. "Rangers on the flank," Captain Velten bellowed. The captain dropped his steel visor and tapped his warhorse with one shiny spur. The small cavalry squadron followed him down toward the open field east of the castle. Andrew let out a piercing whistle that warbled up and down in a specific way. His Rangers recognized the command for "Forward, Right Flank." He heard a distant whistle from the other side of the half-mile long line of fighters. Another Ranger squad was heading "Forward, Left Flank." This was going to be a mess. Once the fighting started, it was always a mess. But, with wizards involved, something bad was always just around the corner. "Sergeant," a young page ran up to Andrew. "A word, if you please." The boy was way too cl