Land of Salvania

  Being dead was strange this time, Droth mused as he walked through the "wild land." He was in a forest where the colors were vivid but the edges were indistinct. It was like someone had draped colored fabric haphazardly on all the trees. The sky was brighter here. Sounds were muted. He stopped walking and let the moment stretch out. He laughed when he couldn't feel his heart beating. He recalled he had laughed last time too. It was good to be back. He started walking again, but he had no destination. Just me and my sleeping heart taking a stroll in the sunshine, he thought. Last time he had died, he remembered feeling more disconnected from the wild land. Last time, he felt like he needed to move along to his unknown destination. Not this time. He was in no hurry. No agenda, no stress. Stay. Go. It didn't really matter. Not this time. He had finished his task and was...what? What was this strange feeling? Several words came to mind, but he settled on

  "My nose itches," Ritter said. "Be still," the artist said, her charcoal-stained hand flying over the canvas. "Just a few more minutes." Ace stood beside Ritter and used his Elvenari discipline to remain as still as a statue. It made Ritter's nose itch more. "I'm thirsty," Ritter complained. "Hold on," the artist said without looking up. "You remind me of a sausage," Ace said, barely moving his lips. His sword was heroically crossed over Ritter's. The portrait was going to be amazing. "Why?" "Because you're a brat," Ace quipped. "Yeah? Most people don't know how I struggled with a serious drinking problem."  Ritter's tone was suddenly serious. "Oh, I'm sorry," Ace said, immediately contrite. He even moved his head to look at Ritter, eliciting a loud sigh from the artist. "It's better now. I brew my own so I have a reliable supply!" /// Co

  Crow dreamed he was looking in a mirror. An old man looked back. His face was similar to Crow's, but he looked ancient and tired. The old man spoke a strange foreign language, but Crow could still understand scattered bits of it. "...and when the <foreign word> is open upon the midnight, beware the <foreign word> that will spring forth to rend." "I don't understand your words, uncle," Crow said, adding the honorific "uncle" as a courtesy. "Heed me, boy," the old face said. "You will be asked to <foreign word> upon the midnight when the <foreign word> opens. You must act with great courage and remember to <string of foreign words> lest you die without awakening." Crow shook his head, knowing this was crucial information. "I cannot heed you, uncle. I do not understand." The old man looked annoyed. "Ask Ritter. He may know." Then the dream was over. Crow crawled out of hi

  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

  Idium was not a wizard. He had found a wizard's staff in the Dreamwood a year earlier, and it did all the work. It called itself "Branch." Most recently Branch seemed to get more bossy than usual. Just this morning, it had said, "We need to be at the White River Castle before the full moon." "Why? I'd like to find a nice tavern and make some coin." "I don't need coins," Branch said. "Abusing our relationship for parlor tricks to amaze a few backward villagers is a waste of my devastating talents." "A guy's gotta eat." The thought made his empty stomach rumble. "I see free food all around. There, eat that mushroom," Branch said. A purple light glowed from the crystal at the staff's tip and reached out to caress a small white mushroom growing at the foot of a rotten stump. "Is it poisonous?" "After all we've been through, you don't trust me?" Branch seemed hurt

  Tengweerfanda drifted on silent wings as the battle raged below. She kept a sharp eye on Ritter, one of the few warriors who had joined this ridiculous errand. "We must do this, Teng," Ritter had said as she perched on his shoulder on the march out to meet the foe. "Even if we lose, we will not let the outpost be overrun without a fight. The townspeople may join us yet." "Men are fools," she had replied. Her opinion was not improving as she watched the heavy troops of Jirrah lose ground a little at a time. Even though they inflicted frightful damage on the enemy, nothing seemed to stem the tide of beasts emerging in seemingly endless waves from the Dreamwood. Teng saw a shape - it was Ritter! - stumble back from the ragged lines of his comrades. He gulped some water from his leather wineskin and tightened a strap on his bracer. Wiping his brow, he charged back in. For a moment, she lost him among the claws and fur of the enemy. Then she spotted hi

  A calm part of Ritter's mind noted that he was in deep trouble. It also noted that it was raining, and this could be to his favor. "Remember, a lone fighter has the advantage over multiple fighters," his old sword teacher once said. His teacher was named "Lefty" since he had lost an arm (perversely, the left one) in a battle. "They cannot read each other's minds, so you can shift and feint so that your opponents collide or separate." The first bandit lunged at Ritter. The calm part of his mind took on old Lefty's voice. "That was clumsy. You should step right and bash him on the head with that big ass shield as he goes by. If bandit two delays his attack for half a second, you could also skewer bandit one on the ground." Ritter went through these exact motions: shifting, bashing, and skewering as Lefty's voice suggested. Except he slipped on the rain-soaked leaves as he was in mid-skewer. Well, two out of three... Bandit t

  Another arrow thudded into Ritter's shield. "That one close," Orok called from the thick tree cover. He knew too well that his orcish mass was an easy target for Yunni archers. "This is all your fault," Ritter growled back. "You like orcs. I like orcs. Why little Yunni hate orcs?" An arrow whistled over Ritter's head and splintered on a pine tree. "Don't worry, Orok is safe." "They are not shooting at you," Ritter said, trying to hide his tender flesh behind his shield. "Hey, little Yunni," Orok called. "You go home and we go home too." "You know we're about to get surrounded," Ritter said. "You need to give it back." "But Orok like it." He patted the small clay figure he found on a stump by the river. It was painted blue. "Looks like mommy." "It's part of their shrine protecting the river," Ritter said. Another arrow landed in front of

  Ritter caught a glint in the grass ahead of him, shaking him out of another meandering daydream. He had been trudging across the featureless moors for days with only the wind and his wandering thoughts for company. Was the glint just an illusion of a fraying mind? It had been four days, or was it five, since the gargs had rolled his camp and stolen his horse. He had managed to inflict enough harm to run them off before they took everything. Still he was missing some of his food, two daggers, and one of his boots. That was the most evil thing of all. Why take one boot? They were both sitting together. Why not take both? As the monotony of the endless heath took hold, his mind kept chewing on that over and over. Why one boot? It was maddening. He started singing to kill the time, but the songs kept turning toward the missing boot. Oh you shitty gargs you took a single shoe I hope you die real slow I really hope you do Oh you shitty gargs why do this to a bloke you took one si

  Captain Droth walked silently among the ancient ruins. Weeds reached for the spring sunshine slanting through rotten roof timbers. A shutter creaked back and forth in the warm breeze. The sound reminded him of ship's rigging, and the sadness of losing his beloved Misty Maiden washed over him again. He imagined that fish roamed her sunken decks trying to make sense of the alien cargo. Signs of battle were everywhere among the ruins. Bones were scattered and cleaned by the feasting birds and dragons. Large troll skulls were also mingled with smaller human and elf remains. "I doubt dragons did any of this," Pall said from outside the gate. He was too big to walk through, even if he folded his wings. "Why? You dragons are known to enjoy a tasty human from time to time." "There would be no bones left," was the simple reply. Pall was always straightforward even in the face of sarcasm. His nostrils opened wide. "Nothing but ghosts here. Or, m

  Ritter had grown to despise the night. It seemed like all the things that wanted to harm him loved the night. He stood outside the tavern, a thatched building just outside the outpost's main gate. The townies said it had been burned down a few times, but not recently. Not since the Jirrahs had arrived. Cold rain was falling, and the sun was mostly gone. "I love the rain," Coriander said beside him. "I suspect a dryad would," Ritter groused. The tall, leafy creature next to him rumbled with mirth. "It is delicious." "It is cold," Ritter said. "I love the cold," Coriander said. Did anything bother this placid creature? "Well, there's plenty of that tonight." A large raindrop magically found its way under his collar and down his back. He raised his woolen hood in disgust. "When I was small, barely your size, we would throw enormous parties when the monsoons came." Coriander raised his arms and closed h

  Ritter, Ace, and Crow watched the wagon burn. The smoke was black from the unknown potions and oozing liquids they had glimpsed inside. That, and the creature now crisping in the flames. The day before, the pirate captain Droth had given them some important news about a shadowy figure lurking in the Dreamwood. "Misha the Wylderkin has seen and smelled this stranger. Misha says they smell like burned hair." Misha was one of the few forest people who would deal openly with the outpost, and their keen eyes and nose had proven invaluable. Misha had take a special liking to Captain Droth after being mesmerized by his many flowing tattoos. Ace, whose Elven name was almost too complex to shape on human tongues, had remarked, "Yes, I feel it too. Something has been moving, veiled, on the edge of my dreams for many days now." /// Before daybreak, three shadows slipped away from the outpost and followed a narrow trail through the Dreamwood. Ace was in the lead, movin

  Ritter stood at the water's edge, dense fog hiding the opposite bank. His sparse campsite was only twenty paces away, and he could barely see it through the uncanny mist that had descended overnight. He yawned. His sleep had been uneventful, even though the local villagers had warned him about the old barrow near the lake. He stretched, letting his back crackle like breaking celery. Every village had their local superstitions. A mossy pile of stones denoting an ancient battle would not scare him. Still, something seemed odd. He couldn't quite place it... /// Copyright

  Ritter never had a good feeling in the Dreamwood. He always felt eyes on him. Watching. Planning. It was like he was interrupting a sinister gathering, and "they" were waiting on him to leave. He never had this feeling anywhere else. He grew up surrouned by deep forests, and he loved the opportunities they afforded for boyhood mayhem. But today, he was crossing the heart of the Dreamwood. The outpost required his tracking skills to follow some horse thieves back to their lair. The thieves had been scattered during a fight the night before when all but one horse had been recovered safely. Every nerve in Ritter's body was strung as tight as a harp. Every careful footstep seemed as loud as a tree falling. Any moment, he expected an arrow to slice into his belly. /// He was not wrong. A pair of green eyes watched him from the high branches. She smelled his strange scent: an enticing mixture of bacon and leather and clean soap. Not like the stink of the other man-

  Ritter was still panting from his run toward the smoking portal, a healer's quick bandage streaming behind him, her potion still bitter in his mouth. He felt the heat as another fire elemental roared out of the portal and tore a scorched path through the outpost's defenders. It was shaped vaguely like a human with crackling arms of flame that lashed out like whips. It was midnight, and the creatures had been coming through the portal all day. It started as a few at a time, probing the defenses. Then, as the winter darkness rolled in, they began pouring out by the dozen. The defenders were exhausted, but the healers and the blacksmiths kept everyone vertical. Ritter ran past the latest elemental and got in a few hits with his sword. The heat was almost unbearable. The hellspawn screeched and veered toward Ritter. Then Crow and Ace appeared from the darkness and laid on from behind. The elemental turned toward them, and Ritter spun to attack from behind. They had learne

Maybe the bandits thought he was dead. That was the only explanation Ritter could dream up as his vision swam from the three-on-one attack that left his head pounding and his nose bloody. He got up slowly as the world spun around him. He blinked and spotted movement through the trees. He saw the three bandits in a clearing an arrow shot away. They were standing over a body. Ritter blinked again. It looked like Ace. Yes, his ringing brain remined him, Crow and Ace had also been with him when the bandit meeting had gone sideways. Ace wasn't moving. Shit. They killed the kid. And it was only his first adventure. Suddenly, a bandit fell, an arrow magically appearing in her left eye. Another cried out and fell, writhing on the ground, an arrow in his guts. It would take him a long time to die. Another figure emerged from the woods, his quiver empty, his longsword drawn. Crow! "Back off or I'll finish him," the last bandit said, his sword poised above Ace's chest. It wa

 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