Written By Cassima
April 5, 2018, 3:05 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Everything is prepared for the first of what I hope will be many "Skirt and Gown" nights. I invite all ladies of Arx of all social stations to attend. We shall have food, drinks, and light entertainment at the Ebb and Flow this evening. Hopefully we shall all come away having gotten to know each other a bit better, and having enjoyed some good times in each other's company.
My dream is that the night does go well, and next month some other lady shall host us at her home, the local Inn, by the beach, on a boat, or at any other location or activity of her choosing.
Hopefully that is not too much to dream for.
My dream is that the night does go well, and next month some other lady shall host us at her home, the local Inn, by the beach, on a boat, or at any other location or activity of her choosing.
Hopefully that is not too much to dream for.
Written By Joscelin
April 5, 2018, 2:47 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
[Forwarded from Setarco:]
There's a song I heard at the Inn I'm staying at. It was late and I was grabbing supper before crawling into bed. Rowdy night, but it was with great interest I observed a bard take the small stage, silence coming over the several dozen patrons in attendance.
His cords were soft, he ran his fingertips over the strings of the instrument he played and he sang with a gentle tone:
***
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, down at the Inn, down at the Inn!
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, everyone's down at the inn!
***
And I should have known things would take a turn; the musician's smile became mischievous, the energy in his hands spinning up and the crowd started to sing along:
***
My lord is a mason, a mason, a mason! Ah, such a fine mason is he!
All day, he lays bricks, he lays bricks, he lays bricks, and at night, he comes home-
***
And here I waited, held my breath because this was purported to be a -family- establishment-
***
-and drinks teeeeeeaaaa!
***
Even the children present sang along. There was laughter. The somber veil of the evening was lifted to reveal a hidden humor, joy and hope in this singular spot, show-cased in impish song. I laughed. I laughed loud, and thought of Ianthe and how she probably knew every word to this diddy.
***
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, down at the Inn, down at the Inn!
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, everyone's down at the inn!
***
Oh, and there were more verses.
***
My lady is a hostler, a hostler, a hostler! Ah, such a fine hostler is she!
All day she mounts horses, mounts horses, mounts horses,
and at night, she comes home, and-
***
-that hilarious holding of breath; everyone -knows- it's going to be safe, but they all wait with bated lungs, like maybe just this once-
***
-and drinks teeeeaa!
***
It went on and on, and since a lot of these trades are ones of Crafters, I laughed harder than most. Maybe it was just because the song was so new to me.
There was a blacksmith who banged iron.
A jeweler who blew torches.
A weaver who cocked shuttles.
A painter who stroked canvas.
And finally, -finally-, the last verse, sung slower and more measured than the others:
***
My lady's an herbalist! An herbalist, an herbalist! Ah, such a fine herbalist is she!
All day, she drinks tea, drinks tea, drinks tea,
and at night, she comes home-
***
That wait this time was full of so much mirth, giggling was rampant-
***
and goes peeeeeeeeeeee!
***
Yes. My sister would have known ever word of this song. I have no doubt.
[OOC disclaimer: I heard this song sung at an SCA event when I was a kid, it's not mine but I did make up a few of the trades and uh, their activities. Back in the day, jeweler's powered their torches with their own breath, hence the 'blowing'.]
There's a song I heard at the Inn I'm staying at. It was late and I was grabbing supper before crawling into bed. Rowdy night, but it was with great interest I observed a bard take the small stage, silence coming over the several dozen patrons in attendance.
His cords were soft, he ran his fingertips over the strings of the instrument he played and he sang with a gentle tone:
***
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, down at the Inn, down at the Inn!
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, everyone's down at the inn!
***
And I should have known things would take a turn; the musician's smile became mischievous, the energy in his hands spinning up and the crowd started to sing along:
***
My lord is a mason, a mason, a mason! Ah, such a fine mason is he!
All day, he lays bricks, he lays bricks, he lays bricks, and at night, he comes home-
***
And here I waited, held my breath because this was purported to be a -family- establishment-
***
-and drinks teeeeeeaaaa!
***
Even the children present sang along. There was laughter. The somber veil of the evening was lifted to reveal a hidden humor, joy and hope in this singular spot, show-cased in impish song. I laughed. I laughed loud, and thought of Ianthe and how she probably knew every word to this diddy.
***
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, down at the Inn, down at the Inn!
Hey, diggy-din, hey diggy-din, down at the Inn, everyone's down at the inn!
***
Oh, and there were more verses.
***
My lady is a hostler, a hostler, a hostler! Ah, such a fine hostler is she!
All day she mounts horses, mounts horses, mounts horses,
and at night, she comes home, and-
***
-that hilarious holding of breath; everyone -knows- it's going to be safe, but they all wait with bated lungs, like maybe just this once-
***
-and drinks teeeeaa!
***
It went on and on, and since a lot of these trades are ones of Crafters, I laughed harder than most. Maybe it was just because the song was so new to me.
There was a blacksmith who banged iron.
A jeweler who blew torches.
A weaver who cocked shuttles.
A painter who stroked canvas.
And finally, -finally-, the last verse, sung slower and more measured than the others:
***
My lady's an herbalist! An herbalist, an herbalist! Ah, such a fine herbalist is she!
All day, she drinks tea, drinks tea, drinks tea,
and at night, she comes home-
***
That wait this time was full of so much mirth, giggling was rampant-
***
and goes peeeeeeeeeeee!
***
Yes. My sister would have known ever word of this song. I have no doubt.
[OOC disclaimer: I heard this song sung at an SCA event when I was a kid, it's not mine but I did make up a few of the trades and uh, their activities. Back in the day, jeweler's powered their torches with their own breath, hence the 'blowing'.]
Written By Reigna
April 5, 2018, 1:59 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
No matter what happens, no matter what we experience, time marches forward. I must try to remember that. I can get so lost in my thoughts, in my reading and studying. In my medicine, in my joys that I feel almost that I am in a bubble, trapped in those moments. Some blissful, others... less so. But time moves ever onward. There are things that must be done, people to speak with, information to be gathered and shared.
I have been having nightmares. I am getting used to them now. They no longer have me waking with a scream. I do not even wake Kael anymore. Well. Most of the time.
I see those creatures, wasted, emaciated. Hungry. The hollowness of their filmed over eyes, lost beyond the ability to be called men. The leashes wrapped around their throats, their clawing hands and gnashing teeth. I see that tower of armor and the deep basso echoes of 'Feast'.
But that, oddly, is the background. My dreams are filled with wounds. The stench of charred flesh and burnt bone, the slippery feel of entrails sliding through my hands as I try to put someone back together. The way the copper tang of blood filled my mouth for days. The steady, relentless sound of a sword cutting through the necks of the dead and worse, the dying. Each lopping fall of that sword counting another failure. Another life unsaved. So many died. I tried... I tried so hard. I thought ahead, I trained them. I drilled them. I arrogantly thought I was going to make such a difference. I was going to save them.
Only one in four returned. One in four. I have written so many letters to so many families. Thanking them for the service of their kin. Apologizing for the loss, remarking on the bravery and duty they fulfilled when they did not have to. Healers are not soldiers, and many died in service to them. To the Compact.
My mind cannot seem to let this go. It takes me back there at unexpected times. Nothing at all should make me think of it, and suddenly it is as if I am back in that tent, amidst the wails and moans, the thunder of hooves and that terrible terrible call, 'Feast'.
Time marches forward. Things, places, people move on. I travel through Arx and I see so many merry people and a part of me wonders what is wrong with me, that I am home, but I am also still not wholly home. A part of me is still in Stormwall. I do not know if I will ever really leave that place. Why can I not be home? Does anyone else feel this way? As if they left a part of themselves so far away, still stuck in that bubble of terror and focus?
I am not wholly unhappy. Not at all. Being home, seeing my husband, my children, my friends, I am often laughing, often happy. Until I blink and I am back there.
Time marches forward, but I feel left behind.
I have been having nightmares. I am getting used to them now. They no longer have me waking with a scream. I do not even wake Kael anymore. Well. Most of the time.
I see those creatures, wasted, emaciated. Hungry. The hollowness of their filmed over eyes, lost beyond the ability to be called men. The leashes wrapped around their throats, their clawing hands and gnashing teeth. I see that tower of armor and the deep basso echoes of 'Feast'.
But that, oddly, is the background. My dreams are filled with wounds. The stench of charred flesh and burnt bone, the slippery feel of entrails sliding through my hands as I try to put someone back together. The way the copper tang of blood filled my mouth for days. The steady, relentless sound of a sword cutting through the necks of the dead and worse, the dying. Each lopping fall of that sword counting another failure. Another life unsaved. So many died. I tried... I tried so hard. I thought ahead, I trained them. I drilled them. I arrogantly thought I was going to make such a difference. I was going to save them.
Only one in four returned. One in four. I have written so many letters to so many families. Thanking them for the service of their kin. Apologizing for the loss, remarking on the bravery and duty they fulfilled when they did not have to. Healers are not soldiers, and many died in service to them. To the Compact.
My mind cannot seem to let this go. It takes me back there at unexpected times. Nothing at all should make me think of it, and suddenly it is as if I am back in that tent, amidst the wails and moans, the thunder of hooves and that terrible terrible call, 'Feast'.
Time marches forward. Things, places, people move on. I travel through Arx and I see so many merry people and a part of me wonders what is wrong with me, that I am home, but I am also still not wholly home. A part of me is still in Stormwall. I do not know if I will ever really leave that place. Why can I not be home? Does anyone else feel this way? As if they left a part of themselves so far away, still stuck in that bubble of terror and focus?
I am not wholly unhappy. Not at all. Being home, seeing my husband, my children, my friends, I am often laughing, often happy. Until I blink and I am back there.
Time marches forward, but I feel left behind.
Written By Corban
April 5, 2018, 1:40 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Reigna
It was lovely to visit with the Countess Keaton the other day. There are few families as welcoming to friends as the Keatons are, and Countess Reigna's steadfast support of her husband's rule is a credit to Oakhaven, to their Marquessa, Duke Laurent, and all of the Oathlands.
Written By Agatha
April 5, 2018, 1:23 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Gwenna
I think it's a good idea! I mean, I couldn't sit and listen to scholars for more than a few minutes. So it's good that the kids develop their strengths. And Bear Scouts get hurt sometimes ((Scholar, you know the healers back home. They looked like you and your friends, you know, the faces they made when they saw me coming in with my arm dangling is kind of like the one you made when you see me coming in all in plate!)). Learning other ways to be a hero is good when you can't practice the old fashioned Hit it Till It Stops Being Able To Be Evil method!
Written By Agatha
April 5, 2018, 1:18 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Echo
Well, I am apparently Ursa Major Danger Bear. You can be Ursa Minor Alarmingly Hugging Bear?
Written By Echo
April 5, 2018, 1:11 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Does this mean that I have to change my title to "Danger Bear"?
Written By Gwenna
April 5, 2018, 1:11 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Perhaps we should have some Bear Scholars as an offshoot of your Bear Scouts? I would be happy to listen to their grand tales of adventure around the hearth like we used to do in Farhaven! I suspect that our instructors from childhood imagined I might have different life choices as well. Do you remember how often I ended up face-planted into the snows during those lessons? Ha.
Written By Derovai
April 5, 2018, 1:09 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Jev
A drinking contest rival, perhaps. But not with Foolsbane; I beat that already. Maybe you can do better! Who are you?
Written By Gwenna
April 5, 2018, 1:06 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Giulio
I look forward to future brews that may be introduced and do love Lady Margerie's suggestion of a tasting. I would certainly endeavor to attend such a thing.
Cloudberry wine, with my admitted preference for wine over other drinks, sounds quite intriguing.
Cloudberry wine, with my admitted preference for wine over other drinks, sounds quite intriguing.
Written By Jev
April 5, 2018, 1:02 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Derovai
Who are you?
Written By Derovai
April 5, 2018, 12:47 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Jev
Your next task is to go to The Spirits in Redrain Ward and try Foolsbane.
I'll leave it to Marquis Mydas-or-whatever-he's-called-now to tell you the rules of the game.
I'll leave it to Marquis Mydas-or-whatever-he's-called-now to tell you the rules of the game.
Written By Margerie
April 5, 2018, 12:44 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Giulio
Might I suggest a tasting party? And perhaps a series of tastings at the different establishments you might wish to sell them at to see which vintage goes down best at different locales?
I for one think cordials sound like just the thing for the old biddies when we get together to trade knitting ideas.
I for one think cordials sound like just the thing for the old biddies when we get together to trade knitting ideas.
Written By Giulio
April 5, 2018, 12:39 p.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Southern Thunder was one of my better snap decisions. It is a curious decision which of my brewer's concoctions to bring forth for trial. Should I do the cordials? Or the cloudberry wine? Or that delightful herbal concoction.
Sophistication and elegance, or something with a wider reach? The cloudberry wine is... rather delicious, I must admit.
Sophistication and elegance, or something with a wider reach? The cloudberry wine is... rather delicious, I must admit.
Written By Agatha
April 5, 2018, 11:44 a.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Isabetta
The bear scouts have taken a vote and almost unanimously we agree that Danger Bear is a much better nickname than Cuddle Bear.
Terrence abstained.
Candice liked cuddle bear. Candice may make different life choices in the future. Or she might be the most dangerous bear of all.
((Scholar? Are you SURE it's not abstinanced? They're related? OH!)
Terrence abstained.
Candice liked cuddle bear. Candice may make different life choices in the future. Or she might be the most dangerous bear of all.
((Scholar? Are you SURE it's not abstinanced? They're related? OH!)
Written By Eirene
April 5, 2018, 10:13 a.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Narciso
I was at the Shine of the Queen of Endings and saw a skull devoted to Inquisitor Narciso. Which reminded me of a debt I must pay. So with Limerance and Vellechor as my witnesses, I make good on this shit.
*The Scholar writes that she produces a hat of green leather of questionable color taste and begins to slice pieces off with her alaricite scalpel. That done, she proceeds to chew and swallow the leather.*
I didn't believe he was an Inquisitor. I said if he was, I'd eat a hat. He was. I have fulfilled my vow.
*The Scholar writes that she produces a hat of green leather of questionable color taste and begins to slice pieces off with her alaricite scalpel. That done, she proceeds to chew and swallow the leather.*
I didn't believe he was an Inquisitor. I said if he was, I'd eat a hat. He was. I have fulfilled my vow.
Written By Eleyna
April 5, 2018, 10:12 a.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Do you know how creepy it is to hear identical little baby giggles coming from different parts of the room?
I'll enlighten you; it's extremely creepy.
I'll enlighten you; it's extremely creepy.
Written By Rinel
April 5, 2018, 9:42 a.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Steve is a sensitive soul. She needs a tender hand and an understanding heart.
And lots of fish.
And lots of fish.
Written By Wynna
April 5, 2018, 6:53 a.m.(7/1/1008 AR)
Truly, the most shocking part of the night was that the bird did not attack anyone with all that noise and movement going on. What a well-behaved creature. I'll just chalk some of it up to my paramour doting on it and keeping its wrath contained.
Written By Duarte
April 5, 2018, 4:19 a.m.(6/28/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Petal
About two months ago I was shopping around and lamenting the lack of fine mens clothing sans unnecessary embroidery and flourish.
I happened upon the Tangled Skein and the proprietor, Petal, overheard a discussion I was having with...mm...I forgot the lady's name - but she was a staid sort.
Amidst the banter, Petal quietly made some suggestions for my dress and I thanked her. I stepped away and had not followed up since. I had, in fact, nearly forgotten.
Well the clever designer had not forgotten and she, the talented artisan, busy as she is, quite remembered me! and our discussion. Tonight she sent me the first article: a silken tunic, ivory in color. I could not be more pleased. It is a fine garment indeed.
I happened upon the Tangled Skein and the proprietor, Petal, overheard a discussion I was having with...mm...I forgot the lady's name - but she was a staid sort.
Amidst the banter, Petal quietly made some suggestions for my dress and I thanked her. I stepped away and had not followed up since. I had, in fact, nearly forgotten.
Well the clever designer had not forgotten and she, the talented artisan, busy as she is, quite remembered me! and our discussion. Tonight she sent me the first article: a silken tunic, ivory in color. I could not be more pleased. It is a fine garment indeed.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.