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.)

  "I bet they write a song about us," Egil told his brother as they crunched across the snow-clad field outside the White River Castle. Einar snorted. "Songs are for the high born, not for us. I'll wager old Duke Roundbelly will take all the credit anyway." "His bard was writing something when we brought in the prisoner. Maybe it was about us," Egil insisted. "More likely, he'll sing about the murdering bitch and her felonious ways," Einer grumbled. "Fancy words. Felonious. Do you even know what it means?" "It means you should mind your own business for once." *** Just a few days earlier, they had been encamped off the road a day's hard ride from the siege at King Rience's castle. They were bringing news to the Duke that reinforcements were needed.  Twice the King's guard had tried to break out of the encircled castle, and twice they had been repulsed by the brothers and the Duke's surrounding arm

  There once was a guard at a gate Who thought that the job was just great! His hat was so wide, It shaded his sides, And sunburned no more was his pate. /// Copyright

  In a cabin by the brook I saw a glowing magic book. Protected by a circle green That glowed with magic yet unseen. The book did shimmer like a fish, And bade me come to make a wish. If my heart be not askew, Could my wish at last come true? I fought back the fear and doubt. Without remorse it bubbled out. And you may think it awful funny, I asked, just once, to slay a bunny. [Some may be curious about all this talk of slaying bunnies. First off, I am not anti-bunny. I think they are cute and cuddly. But, during a recent LARP event with Alliance Atlanta , we were set upon by vicious NPC (non-player character) bunnies that mauled us. And later, a smaller group of us (the badass Order of Jirrah) were taught a valuable lesson about pride and when to ask for help. Again, it was bunnies. Ferocious jackalopes, to be exact. So, now you know. Fear the bunnies.] /// Copyright

  Orc woods these are, I think I know. I will proceed now, going slow. They may not see me creeping here If my sword begins to glow. My magic sword is always near Since orcs were spotted late this year Between the castle and the lake With darkest portents from our seer. Assured my senses are all awake Here, I can't make one mistake. The only sound's the crunch and sweep Of frigid wind and icy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And orcs to slay before I sleep, And orcs to slay before I sleep. Inspired by " Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening " by Robert Frost, 1922-1923 /// Copyright

  King Largen of the frozen north Took his sword and went he forth To seek the dragon Dalenboke That sorely plagued his peaceful folk. Five days had passed upon his way And then he met a princess fey Who asked him why he bore his sword Across her stream and tranquil fjord. He told his tale of dragon hate And bid her help him seek his fate. So boon he asked, and boon he got She led him to a sacred spot. "Rest you now, here by this stream When you awake perhaps you'll seem To find a new way to your goal Just listen to your dreaming soul." The fey, they think in slipp'ry ways. Unlike men: too straight their gaze. Largen slept just like a child And in the dreamland he was exiled. When last he woke at break of day The world had turned, gone was the fey. His sword had rusted red as blood The stream had risen like a flood. The season changed, whole years had passed; New trees had grown in tall green grass. Fear and wonder filled his mind He rose and left this place behind. N

 CW/TW: drugs and alcohol - and dragons! (Sung to the tune "Home on the Range" by Daniel Kelley, 1873) Oh, here is a gnome, with a sword near my home Where the imps and the unicorns play Sometimes, I hear, they all go for a beer And they disrupt our lives every day Home, home with the gnomes Where the ghouls and the Pegasus play By the bright yellow moon, they like to pick 'shrooms And they party like fools every day How often 'fore dawn, when the pixies are gone, With the wraiths under glitterin' stars, Have I crept out and gazed, and thought, much amazed If gnome glory exceeds that of ours? Oh, give me some woods, to bury my goods And a barrel to go down the stream Where Galadriel's swan goes gliding along Like an orc in a wizardly dream Home, home with the gnomes Where the dragons and basilisks play Sometimes I will sigh, as they all show up high And they burn up the pipe weed all day /// Copyright

  Of fairy sisters, I know three: Solarn, Treelass, and Lauralee. They were born like you and me, But grew up wild and running free. Each had a house in forest green With rivers running cold and clean. Like weeds they grew, tall and lean, And ripe wild fruit was their cuisine. At night they danced around the fire; With laughing spells, they sent it higher. The flames curled round like twisted briar. Sizzle and snap: their forest choir. The midnight mist came rolling in To calm their mood and quiet the din. Drinking deep from one wine skin They laughed as dreams began to spin. They stumbled off to home and bed With wobbly feet and drowsy head To dream all night without a dread Of forest green and berries red. More fabulous fey poetry in my latest book ‘ Wishes Cost Too Much ’ from Rochak Publishing.  /// Copyright Some art elements based on results from Wombo AI.

  I soar upon the darkling sky and seek out far below A thing within my beating heart that only I can know. It calls to me up in the sky, it speaks my own true name. Sometimes far, and sometimes near in voices wild and tame. So on I seek up in the sky that thing down in the soil. And although I am tired and old I cannot cease this toil. Art and words (c)Mickey Kulp, August 2022

  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

  He claimed to be a man Sent from our lovely Queen. His sword was sharp and bright, Though he was quite unclean. The man, his name was Loo, He painted half his face. He said it helped him hide In trees without a trace. He traveled with a troll As tall as any tree. Loo found him as a babe While fishing in the sea. A dragon too he knew With breath as hot as fire. She flew on wings of red, And never did she tire. And so they roamed the land To right the evil deeds Caused by the filthy Gargs That sprouted up like weeds. Loo waited for the Gargs To come out in the night And he would growl and groan To give them all a fright. The Gargs would run away Straight toward the waiting troll If any got past him The dragon took her toll. So now the land is safe For you and mom and dad. And we can sleep at night While Loo defeats the bad. Translated from the Dwarven scroll "Songs for Wee Babes" at the White River scriptorium. Set here by my hand, Bard Galen in the fifth year of King Nordram

  Tegan, a newly-minted bard from the Circle of Oak, awoke with the burning desire, no, the need , to be in the forest. He was trained to pay attention to these random urges, so he rose and left with only a pocket of walnuts and a leather flask of small beer. As he walked among the red oaks and pines, swaying with the distant sea breeze, he began to feel the Awen - the inspiration - come upon him. Shortly, he reached a bend in the trail where the light was just right and the wind fell still and the birds stopped to watch. He closed his eyes, and these words came to him... Wake, my dear! for the swaying trees, Stirr'd by the wind from off the seas, And Yunni songs so light and gay, Do bring us 'round to face the day. Wake, my dear! and you may see, Once more the sun so fair and free, And Yunni song floats high above, To warm your comely face my love. And that was it. The Awen departed like smoke, and the world went back to its own business. He opened his eyes, and a Yunni mai

  Leeka was gathering firewood for her mother, and a glint caught her eye. She spotted a book with dried mud on the leather cover. Two glass beads glued in its corner were scattering the morning sun. The book was laying on top of a thorn bush like it had fallen from the sky. It tingled when she touched it, and she heard these words in a strange accent… I shall call this meditation “Claiming a Cloud.” Spoken in my true voice as Kalendarian the Bard in the fifth year of Duke Nultan of White River. I am in the forest with browsing deer. They look at me but they do not flee. I like that. It is as if I am a spirit here, without smell or threat. Just another forest citizen. In this timeless space, ancient information prevails. Bird songs and scamperings in dry leaves travel along little-used paths in my mind. No city noise here. No cries of sorrow. No traders bellowing their wares. No requirement for justice. The vivid blue after image of the dappled sunlight appears behind a tree s