Land of Salvania

  He really didn't want to slay the dragon. It was just an animal doing what animals do to survive. When the villagers complained about it killing a few cows every now and then, the duke waved them off. When it wrecked a couple of chicken coops, the castle had no response. But when it emptied its bowels while flying over the duke's archery match - that was too much. The duke's guard was turned out with orders to find and slay the evil beast. And you already know the rest of the story. /// 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

  This is art.  In LARP, we use safe, foam swords and daggers. In the Alliance LARP system, I am fond of a fighting style called "Florentine." Florentine is the art of wielding two weapons at once, one in each hand. Florentine is named after the city - Florence, Italy - where it was developed. Typically, the dominant hand holds a sword or a dagger, and the non-dominant hand holds a dagger. Since most people have left hand as non-dominant, the French called this dagger a main gauche, which literally means "left hand". This technique is difficult to master, but lotsa fun! More here: https://rules.alliancelarp.com/Florentine /// Copyright

  He was always so dramatic, saying cryptic stuff like, "Stay behind me. I feel something ahead." He reminded me of an actor playing a caricature of a wizard at the Spring Faire complete with his elaborate gestures and somber, black robes. Most of the time, when he stopped us on the trail, nothing happened. Maybe he sent some magic ahead to dispel whatever caused his "feeling." Maybe he was just full of himself. Or full of something. This time, he produced a handful of already lit candles, which was magic enough for me, and intoned, "I command you to leave this place in the name of the Eternal Light!" Nothing happened that I could see, but I drew my sword (as did my three comrades). Again, he said, "Leave this place. You are banished to the Outerland!" The candles seemed to get brighter, and I heard a rustle in the dark forest ahead. We waited a few more minutes, and he turned, the candles vanishing into his robes. How did he do that? "

  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

  I was with the king that morning, serving as his squire and baggage boy. He was still sorely wounded from his fight with Pellinore, although he complained not. He even joked about the scolding he'd be getting from the armorer for the damage to his chainmail. We stayed at the cottage of a wise woman, and she worked with herbs and salves, tending his hurts for three days. When the king had recovered some, he paid her two gold coins and left. I was glad to be free of the warm, close air filled with the sharp odor of garlic and boiling ointments. We rode more slowly than usual, but at least we were back in the fresh air. The king, I noted long ago, was not fond of inaction. Nor was I, and I think he liked me for it. Merlin, his unblinking adviser, was the opposite. He seemed content to sit still all day and just read. I cannot imagine a more tiresome task. As we rode, the king said, "I have no sword. A king without a sword? It will not do." "Then we shall fet

 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

  The giant was not stupid. The man was not weak. Each was convinced they knew one important thing about the other. But "knowing" is tricky. They met in the forest on the first day of winter as agreed by their royalty. The giant's king wrote a royal edict saying "Go forth and smite the enemy's champion or come not back to these lands." The man's queen said, "Go forth with our blessing for your courage and success." The giant was not stupid. An unarmed man facing him calmly was not a powerless man. May it be that he was a sorcerer. The man was not weak. He had faced challenges more daunting than a large man with a shiny sword. He knew how this would go. The small would overcome the large, and the bards would wrap it in a lesson for children. The giant charged. The man called out "Stop!" using the Power in his voice. The giant was not knocked down.  He was not stopped. He took a mighty swing at the wizard.  The wizard scampered

  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

  This was a stupid idea, Henri thought. He wondered if the other more experienced troll hunters were playing a prank on "the new laddie," leaving him out here while they swilled beer back in town. "You block this trail," one had said. "The troll will spot you long before you spot him, and he'll slip to the left since the river is on the right. See?" Yes, Henri saw. He saw he had been played for a fool. "We will be spread out over here," he had pointed left. "And one of us will drop him." He gave it another hour, and he stomped off. This was a stupid idea. /// 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

  The two red-headed Northmen burst from the dense foliage and were on us like hornets. They did not seem daunted in the least by our greater numbers - ten versus two. In a blink we were six, then three. I was the last, and I am ashamed to say I surrendered. I was not going to even put a scratch on these savages, so why try? "You are being ze smart vun," the heathen with a fur collar said in a heavy accent. He examined my short sword, and tossed it at my feet like it was as harmless as a wooden practice blade. "Look, Ubben, we finally found a smart vun." "Maybe he is be ze only smart one," the other Northman said as he lifted the coin purses from the dead and dying. "Let us hope he is rich too." /// Copyright

  Ulrich could barely hear the druid's calm voice. It was as if she was receding into the distance. "...in through the nose...and out through the mouth." He breathed deeply, following the druid's direction. "You are in the forest. It is dappled in spring colors..." He remembered a lovely spring day when he was young. He pictured himself as a young man, roaming the deep, ancient forests of his homeland. No cares or worries. Young, hale, vigorous. "A thing you seek, your secret desire, is on the trail ahead of you..." Ulrich saw a deer on the trail. It turned to look at him, and as it did, it transformed into a woman in a white dress. She smiled and walked over a small ridge, beckoning him to follow. He trotted after, but when he reached the top, he saw a sword jammed into the ground with an old skull nearby. The wind shifted, bringing a chill and the dank smell of a cave. "You reach your secret desire and look at it closely. Take your

Sir Andrew stopped at the edge of the ancient forest, his skin tingling, his feet heavy. He had felt this same odd sensation once, long ago. He had been called "sergeant" back then, and his squad had been jogging forward, passing through and around the mostly untrained militia - farmers and boys with ramshackle armor and rusty swords. It had been a terrible day. And today, facing the shadows of centuries-old giants, he felt...stopped. It was like his feet were moving through mud. His spirit was reluctant to advance. His mind whispered that it would be nice to turn around, wouldn't it? Go back into the sun and leave this alien place behind. He lifted a heavy arm and pushed against the empty air as if it had become a locked door. A shimmer of color glinted around his hand. It swirled and vanished. So, this is magic, he thought. Was it magic like this that had slaughtered his squad? Was it magic like this that had slowed his steps as his friends and comrades trotte

Syndra felt her Elvenari blood tingle. This forest was not what it seemed. The forest life was too quiet here, the faun tracks and chattering pixies were absent. The birds sounded distant. The shadows were deeper. She noted more moss, more decay. She drew her sword, and it hummed in her hand. "Something unsettling has happened here," Tokrara said in her mind. "The land is in pain." Syndra knelt and touched Tokrara's tip to the soil. "Yes, pain is here, and a memory of defilement. Something was taken away, and this place still remembers." /// Copyright