Land of Salvania

  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

No story today, more AI art.  I used the Stable Diffusion AI to generate a basic image. Later, I applied liberal doses of digital magic. Garg with the distinctive red mask of his captain's rank. /// Copyright

No story today, more AI art. I used the Stable Diffusion AI to generate a basic image. Later, I slapped on the hocus pocus with some digital programs and additional layers. This Garg is wearing a helmet made from a troll's skull. The spear is made from a dragon scale. /// Copyright

No story today, more AI art.  I used the Stable Diffusion AI to generate a basic image. Later, I slapped on the hocus pocus with some digital programs and additional layers. /// Copyright

No story today, just art.  I was playing with the Stable Diffusion AI to generate some basic images. Later, I "doctored" them with a couple of digital programs. I am preparing for an Alliance LARP event in November, and my art/story time has been replaced with garb/armor time. This image reminds me of the guards in the Wizard of Oz This one has a Dune vibe. /// Copyright

  There was power here. The druid felt it as sure as he felt the sun on his face. All day he had walked slowly through and around the grove. Sometimes he stopped for a moment and let the power drift around him like smoke, holding out his hands as if he could touch it. A bit of snow fell, just a dusting, and the grove changed into a wonderland of glinting crystals, sending vivid shards of light into his mind. It took most of a day, but he eventually spiraled into the grove's center, letting the power guide his steps. There was no hurry, no goal, no task to be completed. He knew the power would come and go on its own, as transitory as a favorite cat. He let it happen, letting the power displace the darkness in him. The days were short now, and soon the dark would come in earnest with howling winds and ice clicking on his window. Slowly, the power faded, and he felt lighter for the first time in months. For just these few hours, he forgot about the funeral and the eternal hole i

  Somehow, a few civilians from the Duke's burning town had attached themselves to Kyllen's ragged squad. Civilians. Kyllen had been a civilian just a year ago. Now, there were no civilians anymore. Everyone was in the war. One of the new followers was an old man with a bandage on his head and soot on his face. He had built a small fire, and he poked it obsessively, his eyes unfocused. He sat on a log, a naked sword was across his lap. A lady and a young girl, both in ragged skirts that once showed their high status, cut up some green apples and dropped them into their makeshift stewpot: a dented Garg helmet filled with water. Watching these mundane camp chores unfolding quietly around him, Kyllen was strangely empty of the venomous hate that had driven him for months. A numbness of spirit had settled over him. He had no desires, no hunger, no thoughts for the next moment. Perhaps cows lived like this, he thought. Placid and empty until the slaughtering time. He sipped

  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

In a departure from my usual Land of Salvania art and stories, I am providing a quick tutorial on making a Ruana cloak. I've heard it called a "ranger cloak" too.  You can see more about Ruana cloaks at Skill Tree here: https://youtu.be/dU1imeSWhQ4 . It's ridiculously easy to make, and I recommend this project for first-time crafters. Or, if you're in a hurry and you need something in 10 minutes, the Ruana cloak is the one for you. Material Go to your local thrift store and find some material you like. I used a throw blanket that reminded me of raw wool. It cost less than $2.00. Pro Tip: My local Goodwill store runs 50% off specials each week for tags with a certain color. If you hit that magic tag color on your material, then it was meant to be. The gods are commanding you to do the project. Hey, I don't make the rules. Measure Decide how long you want the cloak. Since I used a small throw blanket, I didn't need to make any length changes. If your materia

  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

  "You are too loud," Greenfoot whispered more than once as we traversed the endless forest. "Can you breathe less?" I suspected my little Yunni guide with elaborate, dyed hair would be happy enough if I stopped breathing permanently. But, So far, he had proven trustworthy, although I still sensed he was annoyed at being picked to guide me. The Yunni chief, a withered creature even smaller than my guide had insisted that his nephew Greenfoot lead me away from their hunting territory as expeditiously as possible. "Stop," Greenfoot hissed. "They are watching us." I stopped and knelt behind Greenfoot so I could hear him better. "Greetings," he called into the empty forest. "I am Greenfoot of the North Clan. I am taking my friend to the White River." "What is his business in Yunni lands?" The voice was close, but I still could not see the speaker. "He is lost and confused. You know the Big People cannot find

  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

  In his fever dream, Ulrich stood just outside the vast, game-filled forest of Jaagerlandt. He knew this was a dream, because the only way to see this place was after death, and he didn't remember dying recently. A hunter stood by him and sniffed the breeze. "Rain coming today," he said. "The trees will be dripping on us all night." "What is that place?" Ulrich asked, pointing across scrubby grass to a distant gateway of stone. It seemed to glow and swirl like a heat-shimmer. The hunter squatted and ran expert fingers over a recent deer track. "That's the road to Midlandt where the humans live. They say it's a terrible place. Almost no game, and the women are hidden away. Never been myself." "But we're humans," Ulrich said, confused. "Speak for yourself," the hunter said, and as he rose, he seemed to stand twice as tall as before. His eyes were an uncanny yellow. The hunter began to jog along the fore

As Kyllen led the last squad fleeing the Duke's burning town , he had a single moment of clarity amid the screams and roaring flames. A man in black robes was walking calmly within the chaos as unconcerned as a shopper strolling through the market looking for plums. He carried a glowing wand, and uncanny flames spread around him. Wooden structures, baskets, anything remotely flammable exploded into bright orange fire. The man was not even singed by the pulsing heat Kyllen could easily feel from a bow shot away. Kyllen grabbed an archer by the shoulder, spinning her around. "Can you hit that man in black?" He pointed into the town. She automatically raised her arm to reach for an arrow, but her quiver was empty. "Shit. I'm out." She started looking frantically for loose arrows on the ground. The heat increased, and Kyllen's squad instinctively stepped back. "The gods be damned heat is too much," the archer cried. "We cannot stay here

  The wizard unrolled the partly burned scroll, looking from it to the monument and back. The scroll was written in a flowing Elvenari script, and the wording was so old, he could barely understand. His halting interpretation was: "Seek you the south bay whereupon stands the fox flame of Pamania. One whose art is pure may sense the power of the monument and be refreshed." Many weeks of continuous travel, storms, and hardship had brought him south. Long had he sought this legend, finally to determine its power for himself. His art was strong, but it refused to show him the way. Instead, he had to endure days of weary speech with suspicious villagers. None had heard of a place, god, or man called "Pamania." None seemed interested in the least in his origin or his quest. To the wizard, they were as witless as the cattle they tended. Finally, he met an old woman at a lonely cottage on the edge of some nameless village. He sensed a spark of the art in her, though

 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 Norns made it so. Perhaps they were bored. Twirling the fates, Assuring the end of all things In the Great Winter. Churning and growing Coming closer, colder, darker. Wind will cut As much as any ax. The light and goodness will fail. Some will struggle on, Giving the gods great entertainment, Hating them and begging them for mercy. The only warmth will be the forge. The endless ring of hammers. The only beauty: gleaming metal, Sharp as the north wind. Blood will spill and steam, Drifting in the steel sky. Hope must die. Or so it seems. There is hope, but it will be long in coming. Endure if you can. Become strong if you can. But abandon yourself as you are today. /// Copyright

So far, my favorite characters in The Rings of Power series are... Arondir, a Silvan elf Elanor Kellamark Brandyfoot ("Nori"), a Harfoot hobbit  More information: https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B09QH98YG1/ref=atv_dp_share_cu_r

  He was the last. He was last of the queen's special group of healers, the gaggle of five misfits she had collected in her first year. He stood on the scoured mountain top while the ceaseless wind whipped his Mabon fire. Sandar had died of old age years ago. Then Kal and Venin died in the war in the same year, one in winter and one in summer. The last was just this year. Galean the Fair, they had called her. She was the best of them all, now she was gone. Now, the apprentices called him Walda the Wise. As if being the last somehow meant he was wiser than the others. Ridiculous notion. Walda watched the fire crackle and found little in this year's equinox to give him balance. It should have been a time of harmony and setting new intentions. He should be thankful for the harvest and the new peace after so much war. He was the last. It kept weighing on his thoughts. Walda could still see them all around the first Mabon fire. Young (except Sandar) and full of vigor, a li

  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

  Watching Girl was born with a twisted leg. She could not do some of the things that other children could do; it bothered her parents, but it didn't bother her. She seemed to get around the tiny village and surrounding woods well enough with her walking stick. Watching Girl's mind was keen, and she could sense things that others missed. It might be the flick of a squirrel’s tail or a distant ripple of a pond turtle's snout, but she was the first to notice it. She could see the frog struggling to emerge from a piece of wood, needing only a little sculpting with her carving knife to free it. As she grew older, she came to see other invisible things. She could see the sadness in the grandmother who stared into the fire at night. She could see the brooding anger in the skinny boy who always lost the wrestling matches. On the same night that her long-anticipated womanly flow arrived for the first time, there was a bright star that flashed across the sky, heading north, in

  "A wizard's power of Changing and Summoning can shake the balance of the world. It is dangerous, that power...It must follow knowledge, and serve need." ― Ursula K. Le Guin, " A Wizard of Earthsea " Artwork (c)2022 Mickey Kulp

  “You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you” ― Howard Pyle, 1883, "The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood" Artwork (c)2022 Mickey Kulp