Land of Salvania

  It had started about a week before. Two priests of the Hedronia sect had met each other on a roadway, each one heading for the same destination. After learning that each had been struggling with dreams that had called them toward the White River, each was relieved that they had not gone insane. But relief had been followed by troubling thoughts. "Where should we go?" "What do the dreams mean?" "We must fast and meditate." They continued toward the White River, seeking signs known only to the wise. They fasted each day, taking only water and mushrooms known to aid visions and dreams. They chanted each night until exhaustion forced sleep. On the fifth night of their vigil, both dreamed of a cave hidden by an ancient grove. The next day they arrived. The dreams did not predict the staff floating near the entrance, it's tip glowing with blue swirling mist. The dreams did not say what to do now. And the adventure began. /// Copyright

  forever this will be true, my child... in the gentle twilight before the savage night and dark dreams, we move, awake still, but drifting, in control of less and less and when the shadows overtake us why are we surprised? sharpen your wits and light your lamp for these are the true weapons against the night keep your sword if you must it has a use; but the shadows fear a blazing mind more than any steel /// Copyright

  "Mind your step, my friends. From here onward, the deeper halls are treacherous." The guide pointed to a crack running along our path. It was wide enough to swallow a horse, and its bottom was invisible in our flickering lights. The Northman called Ulrich pulled out a coil of hemp rope. "Vee should tie up for to be safe." He tied an elaborate knot around his waist and looped it around the guide's leather belt. "Maybe now ze ground will not swallow up our friend." The rest of us tied similar loops around nearby companions. Except the wizard. She stayed back, aloof, as usual. Watchful, suspicious. As usual. /// Copyright

    "State yer business," the gatekeeper growled. Osran had no immediate answer, so he just said the first thing on his mind. Sometimes, that worked. "You are the gatekeeper?" The old man stared, his scowl deepening. "No. I'm the bloody faery princess." He thrust his flickering lamp almost into Osran's face, close enough to smell the tallow. Osran tried the truth. "I am looking for a special person. His name is Elzalore." The gatekeeper's brow furrowed. "He ain't special." Osran held up a gold coin. "Would you help me find him?" The old man took the coin and growled, "He ain't here no more. Been gone two days. Headed north on foot with a pack mule." The old man stepped back into the courtyard and slammed the gate in Osran's face. /// Copyright