Land of Salvania

 The second LARP event for Alliance Atlanta was held recently.  Here are some images (mostly of my kit). Friday check-in.  The cold was already starting to settle over us. This was my garb for most of the event.  The fur stole was way too hot, so this is its only apperance. Watching for bandits (and worse) from the tavern porch. Saturday was a little warmer, but still needed layers. Saturday night before the big midnight battle.  Light rain had started, and the ambiance was grim.  Powerful elementals were rifting in, and the little skirmishes were getting heavier as more appeared.  It took about 50 (yes, 50!) of us in a pitched battle to finally save the day.  A friend took much more professional photos, and I'll be sharing them soon.  Here are a few more of the general event. /// Copyright

My LARP shield did great at the recent Alliance Atlanta January Event.  Here are a couple of photos. This is the final version.  I added weathered "metal" bands, rivets, and more battle damage. She took a beating during the two-day event, but she held up well in the cold and rain. You can see some of the blue foam starting to re-appear where most of the hits landed.  /// Copyright

This DIY will focus more on the final art steps, and less on the savage construction steps. Each step has been faithfully copied from the ancient Elvenari scrolls at the White River scriptorium by Bard Galen in the fifth year of King Nordram.   Step 1: Slam thy boogie boards onto the rack under the shade of watching trees. Tis ok to be rough. Verily, they like it that way. (We have a “Buy Nothing” group in my area that you can use to offer free items you have and ask for free items you need. I got these from that group. Cost = zero!) Step 2: Flay the skin right off to reveal the harsh truth underneath. Slice deeply into the white, tender flesh and force thy straps all the way in. Test thy adhesive (see green circles) to assure thy alabaster beauty will feel no pain. (The brown leather strap is for my hand, and the black nylon strap is for my forearm. This view shows the outside of the shield. The black tape is reinforcing the area where the straps meet the cuts. The straps are gl

  (From the series "Gerantus and Pall") Pall glided overhead in silence, just another shard of midnight breeze. Gerantus, accustomed to his friend's terrifying hunting skills, stood at the edge of the Dreamwood with his lamp, thorns tugging at his woolen trousers. They had been on alert all night, Pall circling among the stars and Gerantus cursing the thorns, as the battle raged in the distance. "We are old and pitiful," Pall had said the day before. "Let the children play at death. They'll never learn to hate it unless they feel it." "Speak for yourself," Gerantus had grunted even as he felt the familiar twinge in his lower back. "We have some role to play yet. I know it." So here they were at midnight, seeking some way to help without feeling as useless as a first-time father watching his mate give birth. "Maybe we can spot retreating enemy and finish them," Gerantus had offered as the sun had set and the sound o

  Ulrich the Northman, unencumbered by the heavy armor worn by the cowards around him, waded into the fray, swinging his "borrowed" mace with devastating efficiency. By the gods, it was a new year, and he felt great! He smashed his way through the battling men until he reached within arrowshot of the enemy king. As poorly aimed arrows rained down - none within a sword length - he realized that it might be wise to put something between the king's archers and his tender skin. He turned and brained an enemy knight who had just raised his sword for a killing blow. As the soldier twitched, Ulrich removed his dented breastplate and strapped it on. But, by the time he had sorted out the unfamiliar straps, the battle had moved, and the king had departed with his retinue. Ulrich resolved to stop playing it so safe this year. He tossed off the breastplate with a savage grin. /// Copyright

  How the times have changed, the monk thought as the Northman came roaring into the monastery's storage room. Indeed. See ya, 2022. Let's hope 2023 is better. ~Mick /// Copyright

  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

  The halfling cried out, "I am Wizard Zhame of the Stone Forest. Big people are not allowed in my lands!" He came at me with no warning, brandishing his glowing wand, intent on mayhem. I drew my wand just in time to defend against his savage onslaught. I remember little of the grueling encounter, just that I awoke hours later, sitting in my carriage miles away, exhausted. /// 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

  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

  Khevol knew the enemy was ahead somewhere in the dark forest.  His skin tingled with the thought that they were watching him even now. Any breath could be his last.   He froze.  Did he hear something? "Have courage, my little dwarven boy," he thought to himself, remembering his father's words as they had tracked a wounded troll forty years before. "Everything in life balances on the word 'maybe.'  Every step you take may be a risk, a mistake, or a great reward.  But you gotta take the step to find out." Maybe he would have a child one day.  Maybe he would tell them about this dark forest.  Maybe, if he lived.   Khevol took the next step. /// Inspired from "The Collected Works Of William James", William James (1842–1910) “So far as man stands for anything, and is productive or originative at all, his entire vital function may be said to have to deal with maybes. Not a victory is gained, not a deed of faithfulness or courage is done, except upo

  Cantellana had made a huge mistake. He knew it as sure as he knew the morning fog was hiding at least one enemy archer. He thanked the Ancestors that it was not a Yunni archer or he'd be full of new holes by now. Mistakes seemed to be following Cantellana around these days. Was he cursed? First an ambush had scattered his squad, then he lost half his equipment crossing a rain-swollen river.   He really missed his shield now that arrows were flying.  Cantellana knew from too many years on the battlefield that an arrow usually did not kill you quickly. Most times, one landed in your guts and you died slowly with immense pain. Another arrow thudded into the soft soil to his right. He did not recognize the fletching pattern that some used to identify themselves.  Odd how he thought that was important at this moment in time. Another arrow hit a tree a few feet away. The archer was not getting better. Maybe his luck was changing. The fog swirled closer now, and the arrows stoppe

  The old sergeant went out each night around midnight and held a lonely vigil with his lamp and sword. The rumors said that he started years ago after a squad had been scattered in battle, taking days to stumble back to the outpost in ones and twos. Most were injured. Some did not outlive the week. Night after night, he had been the first friendly face they saw, a steady voice in minds still hearing the screams of battle. Some did not return. But still he went outside the gate and waited, as devoted as a mother hen or a sailor's wife. After enough time had passed, and the old sergeant showed no signs of ending his vigil, the real reason faded from memory. It seemed that none left at the outpost remembered that the man's son was one of those who did not return. More about the Order of Jirrah here:  https://www.allianceatlantalarp.com/order-of-jirrah /// Copyright

  Ritter stood next to his friend Sled'j and listened to the Orc growl each time a townie complained about the fighters' ability to protect the people from bandits. Many fighters had answered the call, but the bandits were everywhere, hitting a homestead, looting, and fading away into the dense forest called the Dream Wood. Sometimes, they took hostages. "Maybe we should negotiate with them," a soft merchant said as he wiped chicken grease from his glistening lips. A few townies agreed. Sled'j growled again. He had had enough of these plump, entitled fools. He tied on his trollskin bracers, took a long drink off his tankard, and walked to the middle of the room. His fellow fighters watched and smiled. They knew something was about to happen. "Silence," he roared, and the townies obeyed. Instantly. Some drew back. Some clutched their pearls or fanned themselves. None reached for a weapon. Not one. "I say we kill them all." He made ey

Farsinger dropped lightly onto the waist-high stone wall, almost landing on Ritter's hand. The wall overlooked a stream valley and the town's water spring. Beyond was the edge of the Dream Wood, the source of many troubles these days. "I have news," she said to the man as she cocked her head sideways. "I have ears," Ritter said. He knew that Farsinger's notion of "news" was usually about some shiny thing she had spotted in the town market. "I saw five brigands just now. They had a Biata with them. It was all tied up like a goose on Yule Day." Ritter was astounded. This was the most lucid, succinct report he had ever gotten from his friend. He waited for her to revert to normal and start describing the colors of the autumn leaves or some other useless minutiae. She hopped along the wall and turned away from him. "They are over there." Her beak wagged toward the Dream Wood. "They have built a small cabin. The B

  The dryad led me to the dueling pavilion, bowed, and strode into the gathering dark. I noticed he (it?) dropped a leaf on the way out, and the autumn breeze sent it skittering along the stone walkway. The lamps were already lit, and the clan pinions were hung. Mine and my opponent's hung together. The duke's silver gryphon hung alone. I adjusted my armor - a shoulder strap was too tight. Damned squire had been in a hurry to go carousing. The leather strap grazed a raw spot on my hand. Shit. It was bleeding again. The hand had almost healed three or four times, but one battle or another kept aggravating it. My betrothed, the Lady of the Dream Wood (thought she insisted I call her Matilda), had gifted me a pair of doe skin gloves to help protect the injury, but they were for a courtly evening rides in a carriage, not the battlefield. A wolf howled in the distance, and I smiled as an owl - much closer - hooted in return. It reminded me of the animal calls a Biata had

  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? "

  I couldn't sleep, and my bladder was rousing me as urgently as any cat; the benefits of decrepitude never cease. I rose early and, after settling the score with my bladder, donned light armor. The Autumn sun was an hour from rising, so I stopped by the empty mess hall before heading outside. "Good morning, m'lord," the young sergeant of the guard said as he stood. His post was on the far side of the castle moat, and he doubtless heard the creaking drawbridge planks before he saw me. I offered him a slab of cold pork I had liberated from the mess hall. He nodded thanks, and the pork was gone in two bites. I asked for his report, and he replied simply, "All quiet. Heard an owl about an hour ago." "Any more smells?" I asked. The undead had a particular odor we had learned to recognize. "No, m'lord. But the wind is flat so far." I sent him to his bed and took my turn early. I hoped it would be quiet duty, just right for an old m

  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