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P-stories-msg - 4/16/08


Stories from the SCA Pennsic War fought each August at CooperÕs Lake Campground about an hour north of Pittsburg, PA.


NOTE: See also the files: P-history-msg, BPThingie-art, P-storage-msg, Pennsic-ideas-msg, SCA-stories2-msg, SCA-hist2-msg, Quest-f-Scotch-art, P-tale-MWIFO-art.





This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that I  have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.


This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium. These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org


I  have done  a limited amount  of  editing. Messages having to do  with separate topics  were sometimes split into different files and sometimes extraneous information was removed. For instance, the  message IDs  were removed to save space and remove clutter.


The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I make  no claims  as  to the accuracy  of  the information  given by the individual authors.


Please  respect the time  and  efforts of  those who have written  these messages. The  copyright status  of these messages  is  unclear at this time. If  information  is  published  from  these  messages, please give credit to the originator(s).


Thank you,

    Mark S. Harris                  AKA:  THLord Stefan li Rous

                                          Stefan at florilegium.org



From: justin at dsd.CAmb.INmet.COM (Mark Waks)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Pennsicland, Pizza Yurt, and Post-Period People

Date: 3 Jun 1993 18:08:39 -0400


Greetings unto the Rialto from Justin du Coeur of the Infinite Projects!


Re: Pennsicland, USA


Yaakov suggests, in the get-a-permanent-Pennsic-site discussion:

>2) Set up a permanent renfaire/SCAland open to the public.  Close it down

>for August (open only to Pennsic goers);


I love it. This is *exactly* what Yosef Alaric described as happening

sometime before Pennsic 45, in his "There We Were" series of books.

(Right down to closing down for the month of August.) He names it

"Pennsicland, USA", and has it covering much of Butler County, but

we can forgive some modest exaggeration.


It's terrifying, how often I find those stories to be prophetic...


(Of course, for all I know, Yaakov might have gotten the idea from Yosef.

But self-fulfilling prophecies are still prophecies...)



Re: The Pennsic Pizza Yurt


Ellisif writes:

>The Coopers used to hold a big demo every June, in large part to sort of

>alert the locals about what would be happening later in the summer.  One

>year after the demo some of us (still in garb) went to the famous Pizza

>Hut that "everyone" goes to the final Sunday of Pennsic, and we encountered

>a very shocked waitress who said, "No!  It's not yet, is it?".  Guess the

>demo publicity didn't reach that far. :-)


Actually, I've discovered that many folks these days don't know about the

Pizza Yurt. It's one of the odder bits of Pennsic lore, so for the

trivia-buffs out there, here are a few background details:


There's this Pizza Hut a few miles from Cooper's Lake that is legendary

amongst many Pennsic-goers. Every year, on the last day of the War,

thousands of people pack up in the evening, in preparation to leave in

the morning. Many are left with little desire to cook dinner, and are

looking for something semi-mundane to decompress in, so hundreds head over

to the Pizza Hut. It's far and away the place's biggest evening of the year,

with toasts to assorted Queens, mock duels in the aisles, and *big* tips

for the waitresses. Fun time, although the lines can get pretty long...


Of course, there was the year when Meister Fryderich and a few friends

decided to go get some dinner after setting up camp on the first weekend

of the War. The owner saw them, turned ashen, and whispered, "I thought

that was *next* weekend -- I don't have any extra staff tonight!" (They

assured him that they were just coming in early, lest he have a heart

attack on the spot...)


                              -- Justin du Coeur

                                Who wonders when the Ceremonial Period

                                  Nikes came about -- they certainly

                                  were after *my* tenure as Provost Fenmere.

                                  Of course, they probably couldn't compare

                                  to the slashed-and-puffed running shoes

                                  Don Tivar was wearing to the Fencing

                                  Academy this weekend...


Random Quote du Jour:


"Confessionals (an aspect of the Middle Ages not found in the SCA, since they

are forbidden by the BOD policy on religion) were a place where all sins were

revealed and shortcomings made known.  The only place in the SCA where all

sins are revealed and shortcomings made known is the Pennsic Swimming Hole."

               -- from The SCAtanic Verses



Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: nusbache at epas.utoronto.ca (Aryk Nusbacher)

Subject: The Longest Pennsic Journey

Organization: University of Toronto - EPAS

Date: Wed, 25 Aug 1993 17:04:57 GMT


I am sure there are people who have travelled longer distances to

Pennsic than I did this year.  I am sure there are people who had

longer trips than I did.  So this year was not so much a record-

breaking trip to Pennsic as it was a personal landmark.  I have had

long trips before -- two years ago with the aid of time zones I

made it from Israel to the Pennsic troll booth between 5am and

midnight of one calendar day, and once I moved apartments and went to

Pennsic on the same night -- but this one was a killer.


On Monday, the 16th of August, while many of you were drowsing in your

tents at Pennsic already, I was on the Via Maris, which has been in

use since the Romans tramped it.  Now it is the principal coast road

in Israel, and if you want to avoid traffic it is a good way to get to

the airport.  Sure, I got to the airport two hours before my flight,

in time to be bumped and told that I was going to Copenhagen.  Thus

began my trip to Pennsic.  Running through Ben Gurion airport, making

an SAS flight that would eventually connect me to London.


A couple of years ago, the flight to Copenhagen would have taken a

different path.  While Cyprus and Turkey would have been part of the

trip, Romania, Moldova, the Ukraine and Poland would not. We just

barelled through the post-cold-war airspace, and since the weather was

dead clear, it was possible to observe the broad wheat fields of

Ukraina giving way to the narrow plots of Poland.


The only thing worthy of note in the Copenhagen airport (aside from an

astonishingly attractive woman selling Danish pipe tobacco in the duty

free shop -- 100g for me) was a fascinating mode of locomotion.

Remember scooters?  Two wheels, running board and handlebars? Now

imagine a six-foot-tall Swedish woman in airline livery shooting

through a crowded airport on one, politely warning people in Danish,

English, and with a little bell.


London was easily reached, though I still wonder which of the

Scandanavian languges is standard on SAS.  Perhaps they have

compromised and are using Old Norse...


The beer is still good in London, and I heartily recommend a

restaurant called the Islamabad which is on a narrow street behind a

big building, half an hour's walk from where I was living. Also, if

you stay at the Army and Navy Club, be prepared to be looked at like

some sort of Communist by Lord Soandso in the dining room if your

paper of choice is the Independent.


An hour spent in search of a stick of whangee (whangee is like rattan,

only skinnier and denser), and I was on a plane to St. John's,

Newfoundland.  It was Tuesday of war week at this point, and many of

you were sitting around and drinking beer with your friends, while I

was sitting around and drinking beer with a senile woman from Glasgow

who was on her way to visit some unspecified family member in Halifax.

She was incapable of finding her way back from the washroom without me

standing in the aisle and waving her in like the landing signal

officer at the airport.  But she was happy because she was visiting

her relatives, and I was happy because the beer was paid for and plentiful.


It was a short flight from the refueling stop in St. John's to Halifax

(and in fact we must have been really hurting for fuel to stop an hour

short of our goal).  It is worthy of note, by the way, that our

in-flight movie was Groundhog Day, and I was getting dazed enough to

begin planning a side-trip from Pennsic to Punxstutawney, just for the

hell of it.


After a good night's sleep in Halifax, helped along by a good few

hours' jet lag and a lot of Nova Scotian home-brew, I started by road,

continuing the long drive to Pennsic.  I would have taken the ferry to

Bar Harbor in Maine, but I needed to stop off home to pick up some

stuff (all the clothes I had with me were a) suitable for hiking in

Israel, b) suitable for going to a wedding in Israel, or c) suitable

for spending a couple of weeks on an army base)  Only by a real

stretch of the imagination could any of this be considered an attempt

at mediaeval clothing, though I think one or two uniforms would have

gotten me a job as a professional buffoon.


Maritime Canada is filled with interesting sites.  For instance, I

paid $2 to roll my car uphill in Moncton, New Brunswick. The site is

called "Magnetic Hill", and it is part of the Magnetic Hill Tourism

Development Area (a euphonious name painted on the signs hung from

magnet-shaped brackets).  Just up the road a ways is Hartland, New

Brunswick, home of the World's Largest Covered Bridge, which I

traversed once for fun and once for luck (actually once to get to the

washroom, and once to get back to the highway).  The third place I

will remember is Fredericton, NB, where my tape of Rumpole On Trial

began to sound like Mickey Mouse, and I couldn't even dislodge the

tape to listen to the radio.  Eighteen hours to go, and no tape deck.


I made it past the last McDonalds in the Maritimes (McLobster

available), past St-Louis-de-Ha!-Ha! (as God is my witness), and

through the Quebec Dictionary of Saints.  Just for the record, on my

road from the border near St-Jacques, New Brunswick, I passed

through or near:  St-Jean-de-la-Lande, St-Juste-du-Lac,

Notre-Dame-du-Lac, aforementioned St-Louis-de-Ha!-Ha!, St-Honore,

St-Antonin, Notre-Dame-du-Portage, St-Alexandre-de-Kamouraska,

St-Joseph-de Kamouraska, Ste-Helene-de-Kamouraska (quite the family,

the Kamouraskas), St-Germain, St-Pascal, St-Philip-Neri, St-Denis (of

that old French football cheer:  MOUNTJOY! ST-DENIS!), St-Pacome,

St-Gabriel-Lallemant, Ste-Louise, St-Roch-des-Aulnais,

St-Damase-des-Aulnais, St-Jean-Port-Jolie, St-Aubert, St-Julien,

Cap-St-Ignace, St-Francois-Montmagny, St-Romuald, and Ste-Foy.  By the

time I made it to Quebec City, I was envisioning the "St-" department

of the Quebec Ministry of Highways as a vast city of production, and

wondering why McDonalds didn't call their Quebec outlets "St-Donald".


Old Quebec is a wonderful place, filled with street entertainers,

Francophones, and mostly American tourists from Boston and New York.

Everyone told me how wonderful the previous week's mediaeval festival

had been, and that I should have been there.  I agreed, and left for

the officer's mess at Base Valcartier, home of the Royal 22eme

Regiment, and for one night the home of me.


By now it's Thursday as I hit the road, and drive past a whole new

slew of saints, past Montreal, and finally leaving Quebec in the

vicinity of St-Polycarpe.  Now I'm on familiar ground. Back in

Ontario.  The signs are in English.  I recognise the country.  I am

now really bored.  I start reading the road map for fun. I sing songs

with saints' names.  I find out that Alaska is smaller than Quebec,

but biggern than Ontario.  I read an issue of Time that I picked up on

the plane, balancing it on the steering wheel so that I can read the

speedometer and watch the road at the same time.  As I get to the

eastern outlying suburbs of Toronto, I am saying "Goblin" randomly to

passing motorists and giggling hysterically.  I am disappointed that I

cannot hang a moon out the window while driving and reading an article

on the failure of European Monetary Union.  I wonder what happened to



I spend the night in my own bed, and take a few minutes in the morning

to pay my rent and stuff some clothing into a bag.  I don't bother to

unpack the car, after all, that is something you do _after_ Pennsic.

I consider staying in combats, so that I can drive up to the Troll

Booth and say, "is this the Reporting Centre for CFB Petawawa?"  I

decide not to, and start driving again.  Somewhere along the trip, my

overdrive has packed it in, so I am doing 110km/hr in fourth gear,

which makes the car vibrate a lot.  I regret that I have not brought a

pint of cream, so that I could arrive at Pennsic with fresh butter.


Somewhere in the basement of my apartment building is my usual Pennsic tent.

It is huge:  12 feet by 14, and has plenty of room for my giant air

mattress, big wooden chests, end tables, chairs, floating games of

hazzard, and other useful Pennsic equipment.  You will notice that at

no time in the past narrative did I take a few hours to pack this lot

of stuff.  No, my only tent was an Army shelter half (complete with

bungee cords to tie it to a tree); my only air mattress was my

olive-drab therm-o-rest; and I had not the slightest vestige of an end

table.  If I could help it, I would camp with the aid of a blanket and

nothing more, since even the ugliest Pennsic camp does not deserve the

sight of an infantry hooch.


Some time on Friday the 20th of August, the fifth day of travel, I

arrived at the Troll Booth.  I got my highest-ever tag number (8479?),

parked my car much closer to Quebec City than the Troll Booth, and set

about drinking beer and looking for my friends.  It had been 9,700

kilometres, but it was over.  The tenth and most complicated time I

had come to the shores of Muddy Creek at the northern tip of Butler

County.  I wasn't the most sparkling conversationalist this Pennsic,

but I was relaxed, and having a good time.  I think that was worth it.

If not I'm 9,700 km worth of a fool.



Aryk Nusbacher



Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: sclark at epas.utoronto.ca (Susan Clark)

Subject: Bringing back Pennsic....

Organization: University of Toronto - EPAS

Date: Fri, 27 Aug 1993 01:56:47 GMT



        All the discusion on ragweed at Pennsic this year has confirme

what I had feared...

        I am one of those lucky sorts with no allergies whatsover. (Before

you hit me with that bottle of Seldane, take solace in the fact that

I both caught a cold and lost my voice at Pennsic this year. Probably

because my bedwarmer...er, hubby had to stay home..). Anyways, I come

waltzing into my apartment about 7 on Sunday, tent and such in tow.

Took the tent on the balcony to air it.  Within an hour or so the Gunthar

(my husband) is wheeezing and can't figure out why.  He didn't sleep

very well that night, either.  Looks like I brought back an unexpected

"gift" from Pennsic!




sclark at epas.utoronto.ca



Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: tbarnes at silver.ucs.indiana.edu (thomas wrentmore barnes)

Subject: Re: SCA lore and legends

Organization: Indiana University

Date: Mon, 1 Nov 1993 16:07:27 GMT


habura at vccsouth27.its.rpi.edu (Andrea Marie Habura) writes:

>found himself standing on a small ridge, with two Midrealm spearmen below him.

>(He was fighting mace at the time.) The spearmen see him, and both take a shot

>at his legs. The spears hit his cuisses simultaneously, and skip simultaneously

>into his cup, causing (we later discovered) several stress fractures in the

>cup (but mercifully not in the underlying anatomy). Simon falls off the ridge,

>pasting one fighter with his mace on the way down, and is carried back to our

>camp in a pickup truck.


>I have heard several versions of this story since. Most involve serious

>damage to the organs of generation, and/or ambulances, veritable armies of

>Midrealm spearmen, and interesting surgical procedures. It has also

>occasionally shifted location to the Bridge Battle; the Calontir Shield Wall

>has played a part in those tales.

>I am interested in collecting versions of this story. Has anyone heard a story

>like this? How far has it traveled?


        I haven't heard it as a legend, but I know of a parallel

instance. A couple of years ago I was acting as a water bearer/medical

orderly in the woods battle at Pennsic when I was assigned to keep an

eye on a fellow who came into resurrection point with a bad hit to the

groin. Appearantly, he too had been up a slope from a couple of spearmen

and had taken simultaneous shots to legs that had slid up his cuisses

and into his cup, cracking his cup and spoiling his whole day.  

        He was in pretty continuous pain and the chiurgeons eventually

had to evacuate him from the woods. I heard later that he had been taken

to the local hospital, from the chiurgeons.

        Since he was a Trimaran and had ridden to war on his motorcycle,

getting someone to take his motorcycle back home from war (since he

couldn't very well RIDE the thing 600 miles after taking a shot like

that) was a problem.

        While he looked vaguely like Mistress Alison's lord, he was NOT

the same person.

        I believe that this was at PW 18 or 19.


        Moral: Put stop ribs on your cuisses, men!


        Lothar \|/




From: meg at tinhat.stonemarche.org (meg)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Origin of term Rialto

Date: Tue, 05 Apr 94 11:07:38 EDT

Organization: Stonemarche Network Co-op


dnb105 at psu.edu (Ferret) writes:

> Susan Clark writes:


> >        The Rialto was recognized as a focal point in Venice long before

> >Shakespeare wrote about it.  While reading up on Italian Ren culture last

> >year in preparation for an event set in Venice, 1472, I saw several mentions

> >of the Rialto bridge as a gathering spot (as well as a place where the

> >ladies of easy virtue went to exhibit their wares....)


> Now there's something to recreate !


> -Ferret-


Actually, I know of at least 2  _ladies_ at Pennsic who do precisely

that. They dress authentically for _ladies_ of their calling, and are

reputed to give an authentically medieval version of what they sell. Not

having availed myself of their services, I wouldn't know if it's truly

authentic...having followed the thread on medieval sex and the lack of

response to the queries for documentation of such practices, I suspect

not. Perhaps they merely do it forsoothly. :-)




In 1994: Linda Anfuso

In the Current Middle Ages: Megan ni Laine de Belle Rive  

In the SCA, Inc: sustaining member # 33644


                                YYY     YYY

meg at tinhat.stonemarche.org      |  YYYYY  |





From: u_gearman at mv3800.engr.scarolina.edu

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Pennsic and Alcohol

Date: 29 Jun 1994 21:43:00 GMT

Organization: University Of South Carolina, Columbia, SC


hedonism at aol.com (Hedonism) writes:

>ghesmiz at chopin.udel.edu (Michael Macchione) writes:

>>A few people in my shire noticed the following in the Pre-Pennsic

>>newsletter, and were wondering if we were reading it correctly:


>>(page 7):  ALCOHOL: No one may offer for sale or _otherwise


>>alcoholic beverages _in any manner_ without proper license, subject


>>eviction from the site.


>>This would seem to imply that without a license, you can't give any

>>alcohol to anyone. (Thus if you didn't bring any, you don't drink.)


>>we know this is not usually the case.  Is this just a standard


>>that tends to get ignored? Or are we completely misinterpreting it?



>Butler County Pennsylvaina is a DRY COUNTY, that means that The sale

>of alcohol except for HOME consumption is prohibited. Bars of any

>type are illeagal.  Coopers Lake Campgrounds lies within Butler



>Any exchange of currency (or other tender) for alcohol might be

>percieved as if you were opperating a bar.  So to make ABSOLUTELY

>certain, the posting is made.  The Cooper's go out of there way to

>make sure that everything going on at pennsic is leagal (It would be

>too great a finicial loss for them to lose Pensic as the result of a

>leagal prohibition.


>You can drink other peoples booze, you just can't except money for

>it.  Not even a bowl if front of the keg with money in it and a sign

>saying "Donations for the next keg"


>The posting seems to be poorly worded.


Hmmm... I've heard a few stories concerning that devil alcohol and



One goes along the line that someone invited several friends to try

his homebrew. One of the ones who did gave the brewer a ten spot for

a better filter.


Another one concerns a remnants keg, where the last bits of various

beverages ended up. According to people who tried the remnants keg

it had a very interesting taste and effect. (This was said the next

morning. All kinds of beverages had been poured in the keg.)


Finally, there is the story about a brewer from Canada who discovered

that he could not take any of his homebrew back to his land of origin

and so dicided to "rid himself" of it all at Pennsic. To this, the call

of "free beer" was heard to come, numerous times, from his campsite.

And in the midst of the celebrations (and inebreations) a large number

of cries rang out from afar. All the fighters at the campsite sprang up

and tried to see what was going on and if they would have to take action.

However, such was not the case. It turned out to be something unexpected.

Pennsic was being streaked. As the streakers passed the campsite, the call

of "free beer" was sent out again, and several of the streakers returned

to answer the call. :)


Rolland Steveneson



Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

From: Nate Schroeder <neschr at ccmail.monsanto.com>

Subject: Re: Locals handling Pennsic Crowd?

Organization: Monsanto Company

Date: Fri, 19 Aug 1994 19:01:22 GMT


> In a previous article, nsmca at aurora.alaska.edu () says:


> >Question to any and all.

> >How do the local mundanes handle all the society folks stopping by for a

> >visit?

> >Or are they now passe about it all, and generally ignore when a person in

> >garb walks into there stores?

> >

> >Kenit McGregor.

> >Recogsiling mundane with society.


I recall this story, retold often enough to be inaccurate but amusing anyway,

when at Pennsic 16 (??) the Lady Ariel of Calontir arranged pizza for the

Calontir shield-wall during the pass battle.


Phone call.

Answer: "Joe's Pizza."

Ariel:  "I'd like to order <#> pizzas.  Can you deliver them?"

Answer: "Well, I'm the only one here right now, so it'll be tough....  Who is

it for?"

Ariel:  (What have I got to lose?) "The army of Calontir at the Pennsic War."

Answer: "Calontir?  The Shield Wall?  I've heard of you!  Sure, I'll deliver!"



(who wasn't at that war, but wrote a song to celebrate the event)



From: 0003900943 at mcimail.COM (Marla Lecin)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Town Battle Stories

Date: 26 Aug 1994 10:56:44 -0400


Greetings unto the Rialto, from Jessa d'Avondale!


If you participated in the Town Battle this year at Pennsic, and have any

good stories regarding the "stores" in the town, I would like to collect



A bit of background, for those who did not take part:


The Town Battle was the second-to-last battle of the War, and by this time

the East had already won the Queen's Champions, Belted Champions, Unbelted

Champions, Field, and Pass Battles.


With victory thus assured, members of our household were less concerned with

winning the next battle than with making sure that people had fun at it. Two

years ago, in the same situation, we had tried to open a Hospitality Hut at

the Town Battle ("This hut's for you!"), but the marshals would not allow us

to enter the hut that our fighters had secured, and so we instead served

cold drinks and snacks to those fighters leaving the battlefield. [This was

the year that the "town" had no walls, only huts, and all the fighting took

place in one long line at the center of town.  The huts at the far ends were

safely distant from the fighting.]


This year we decided that not one, but all of the huts should be named, and

so, very late on the eve of the battle, a trusty squire in black snuck out

and nailed up signs on all the doorposts.


The huts were:  Feral's Fabrics, Balfar's Bakery, Wulfstan's Sporting Goods,

Jafar's General Store, Talymar's Tavern, Naughty Izzy's Cathouse, "Honest

Semaj's" Mongolian BBQ, Pizza Hut, and the VII-XI (oh, thank heaven). One

large hut had two doorways, and the second was labelled: "For Rent, East

Kingdom Realty, call Fast Eddie at 718-555-LAND".


Some of the fighters seemed to know of the signs before the battle began,

and others seemed unaware of them even after the battle had ended.  I did

hear a couple of good stories afterwards.


The king of the West was among those holding the Tavern, and was besieged.

During the standoff, he sent out for pizza.  It was delivered, by An Tirian

troops!  When the king was captured, he ransomed himself for a slice.


One fighter noted a strategically-placed hut before the battle began, and

directed his fellow fighters to head for it.  As he fought his way up to it,

the marshal present called the sign on the hut to his notice.  Semaj looked

up to see he was fighting for "Honest Semaj's Mongolian BBQ"!  Needless to

say, he took the hut, and then held it until he was alone facing 6

opponents. "My house!  Mine!  Mine!" he cried, taking out 3 of them before

he fell. Sadly, he had to return home after the battle to inform his wife

that he had lost the family business.  (She had no idea *what* he was

talking about.)


The armies of Bhakail were incredibly pleased to report to their ladies that

they took the Fabric store at the onset of the battle, and held it the

entire time!  (I was spreading the rumor before the battle that this store

was worth "double".  The vacant store, was, of course, worth triple.)


The General Store ended up being right next to the VII-XI, and the two

groups of fighters holding it taunted each other most cruelly.  "It's people

like you who put good, honest general stores out of business!"  "How can you

say this to me?  I come to this country, work hard, bring my whole family

over, and try to make a good living....."   After the battle, one of the

fighters who had defended the General Store went up to Jafar to tell him so,

and Jafar said, "They named a store after me?", and trotted off to see it.


And the best laugh of them all:  thus was it that the East won the first

official Shopping War Point at Pennsic, courtesy of House Wilmot.


I hope that others had as good a time, and again ask for any stories that

you might have heard.


In Service,




From: mordraut at bga.com (Mordraut Freyulf)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Town Battle Stories

Date: 26 Aug 1994 17:02:51 GMT

Organization: Dark Horde Moritu


Marla Lecin (0003900943 at mcimail.COM) wrote:

: Greetings unto the Rialto, from Jessa d'Avondale!


: If you participated in the Town Battle this year at Pennsic, and have any

: good stories regarding the "stores" in the town, I would like to collect

: them.


: The armies of Bhakail were incredibly pleased to report to their ladies that

: they took the Fabric store at the onset of the battle, and held it the

: entire time!  (I was spreading the rumor before the battle that this store

: was worth "double".  The vacant store, was, of course, worth triple.)


I must argue this point, as soon as the lay-on was called, the warriors

of the Dark Horde Moritu, aided by the Marshals, raided this store, we

held it until the first hold without ever seeing the enemy. It was after the

front lines engaged and fought a fighting retreat that Bhakail joined us

in the Fabric store.  When the battle ended there was but three of us in

the store: myself, a fighter from Bhakail, and one other, none of us were

whole, and the fabric left in the store was covered in both Eastern, and

middle blood.


Near the end of the battle the three of us were treated to a display of

skill as Duke Talymar attempted to claim his rightful place as owner of

Talymar's Tavern.  He walked over to the tavern door, and told those

within that he would not attack, but wished to address the Tavern.  He

then introduced himself, and said that he wished to enter into battle for

his Tavern.  He stepped backed and asked if the forces of Windmasters

Hill were ready to face him.  He counted to three and then charged,

straight thru their lines to the rear of the Tavern, where his lady stood

to give him a hug.  He then turned and charged back at the Windmasters,

who struck him a mighty blow.  This is how Duke Talymar gave honor to

both his Tavern, and the fighters from Windmasters Hill.


: Jessa


| Mordraut Freyulf |  So what is a 13th Century Mongol doing   | Dark Horde  |

| mordraut at bga.com | Riding down the Information Superhighway  |   Moritu    |




From: mitake at coos.dartmouth.edu (Mitake A. Holloman)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Town Battle Stories

Date: 29 Aug 1994 19:57:14 GMT

Organization: Dartmouth College, Hanover, NH, USA


0003900943 at mcimail.COM (Marla Lecin) writes:

>Greetings unto the Rialto, from Jessa d'Avondale!

>If you participated in the Town Battle this year at Pennsic, and have any

>good stories regarding the "stores" in the town, I would like to collect



>The huts were:  Feral's Fabrics, Balfar's Bakery, Wulfstan's Sporting Goods,

>Jafar's General Store, Talymar's Tavern, Naughty Izzy's Cathouse, "Honest

>Semaj's" Mongolian BBQ, Pizza Hut, and the VII-XI (oh, thank heaven). One

>large hut had two doorways, and the second was labelled: "For Rent, East

>Kingdom Realty, call Fast Eddie at 718-555-LAND".


I was among the five shields and three spears left to defend Talymar's

Tavern after the Atlantian Army had won it back from the midrealmers.

We were relaxing and lamenting the fact that none of the pizza had been

left for us, when we spotted a lone fighter walking towards the tavern.

As he approached he asked us if we knew where we were. We said in the

tavern. He askedif we knew whose tavern we were in. Seeing that we held the

tavern and not having read the sign on our way in we declared it to be

the Windmaster's Tavern. He said no, that according to the sign out

front it was Talymar's Tavern, and asked us if we knew who he was.

Well as you may have guessed it was HisGrace uke Sir Talymar, and he wanted

his tavern back. First however he wished to have a drink with his foe.

And so, with the marshall's agreement we all popped our hats and enjoyed

a bit of water. We then agreed to fight as we had been prepared. The

shield wall went back up and his grace moved back three steps. He charged,

went through the left side of the shield wall, killed the wounded spearman,

climbed out the back window hugged his lady and stepped back into the

building to continue the fight. By then the three shields on the right

side of which I was one had risen and wheeled to engage him. We were

then able to makefinish off our takst of defending the tavern with a

beautiful wrap that will proudly claimed by my friend Lord Galen for

at least a year (probably two or three decades).


I send many thanks to  all of those involved for giving me a wonderful

story to tell of my first pennsic as a fighter.


Lady Anna Ridley, Barony of Windmaster's Hill, Atlantia

mka Mitake Holloman, Raleigh, NC

eka mitake at coos.dartmouth.edu



From: jacquetta at aol.com (Jacquetta)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: New Castle Commentary

Date: 8 Oct 1994 21:26:02 -0400


Just a fun thought for the day...

I have many relatives living in New Castle, PA.  Over the years, I've

managed to get most of them adjusted and accepting of the SCA and Pensic.

The crowning achievement was this afternoon when a visiting cousin related

this story...

She (my cousin) was in line at the deli at Giant Eagle.  A lady standing

next to her noticed some SCA people in garb and began to complain "Oh No,

those kooks in the funny dresses are back again..." at this point, the

clerk behind the counter looked up and said "you really shouldn't talk

about them like that.  They are very nice people and they bring a ton of

money into the store every year.  If they didn't come, I wouldn't have a

job."  My cousin applauded and the complainer went away miffed....

Lady Jacquetta de Mehun



From: Rocco  <75201.2057 at CompuServe.COM>

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: New Castle Commentary

Date: 11 Oct 1994 01:59:56 GMT


This year, while in the Giant Eagle lines, in garb, I had a

bit of pleasant conversation with the woman waiting ahead of me.

She was a former employee of Cooper's Campsite and said the

thing she missed most about her old job was the 2 weeks when we

were all around.  She said she's never met such a large group of

incredibly *nice* people.  I blushed.


Rocco.  (who has to agree)



From: kimiv at ix.netcom.com(Kimberly A. Ingram)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: The "Evils" of Pennsic

Date: 19 Jun 1996 15:23:44 GMT


millsbn at mcmail.cis.McMaster.CA (Bruce Mills) writes:

>I was musing about Pennsic today, and was thinking that most people have

>heard stories about illegal drug use and underage drinking at Pennsic,

>but I, for one, haven't heard about any of the other "evils", such as

>gambling or prostitution.


>So, are there stories of floating crap games or high-stakes poker, or of

>ladies (or guys) plying the oldest profession?  





One of the camps down in the Bog (I can't remember which) plays

something called "Bauble" where they gamble (I can't remember how, dice

maybe) for trinkets that are not neccessarily of great monetary value

but have SCA value.  Ask Falke d'Outremer where all his past Pennsic

Medallions went :) .  


Yours, Aralyn

kimiv at ix.netcom.com



From: tiernanc at aol.com (TiernanC)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: YKYBAPTLW...

Date: 21 Aug 1996 16:46:41 -0400


Every year I seem to have an amusing incident regarding this disease (Post

Pennsic Trauma).


Two most noteable are:


I was working at IBM last year during Pennsic and when I came back that

following monday my co-workers and I went to lunch at the executive

cafeteria as usual.  Here I was amongst hundreds of pinstriped businessmen

and women and my last action was to chug my glass of soda and let out the

loudest belch I could muster...it was after the bone-chilling silence that

I realized I was no longer at Pennsic and it took me weeks to ever go back

to the cafeteria after that!


The second incident was one my roommate told me. Last year after war he

stopped by at his parents house to say hello and they were all sitting

around the living room talking. Meanwhile, he sipped on a glass of beer

with them, realized he was running low and got up to get more.  The bad

part was that he still had a small bit left and he nonchalantly dumped it

onto the carpet as he walked away to empty it.  When he returned with a

full glass, he still hadn't realized what he had done until he saw his

mother mopping up the mess!


Lady Thearghnaign ni Cearnaigh

Chatelaine-Royal Forest of Rusted Woodlands

Chronicler-Timberwolfe Household

Kingdom of the East



From: Nils K Hammer <nh0g+ at andrew.cmu.edu>

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Period Tents

Date: Tue,  3 Sep 1996 17:44:55 -0400

Organization: Computer Science Department, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA


I am asked about my tent for Pennsic 9. It was not a period one.

Since pennsic was perhaps my 3rd  or 4th event I had little gear of

my own and asked my mother to loan me a tent. She offered me a

"backpackers emergency tent." It was a pup tent made of a light blue

thin modern material. There wasn't even enough room to sit up in it.


When I heard the traditional pennsic-storm fear mongering one

night, I decided that I had better travel back to my tent out in the

boonies (now where the newspaper is) and turn in early.


To be careful I closed the door flaps as securely as possible. I made

sure to have the door flaps overhanging the floor lip so that no water

would get in. I also tied the 4" square window tightly closed.


In the morning I woke to find my feet in a puddle of water. When I

grumbled to my neighbor about what a big storm it must have been,

he said "ah fooey, don't give me that. The grass isn't even wet."


The puddle was from breath condensation.


Nils K. Hammer

nh0g at andrew.cmu.edu



From: powers at woodstock.cis.ohio-state.edu (william thomas powers)

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Re: Pennsic

Date: 17 Jul 1998 05:08:22 -0400

Organization: The Ohio State University, Department of Computer and Information Science


>>Pray forgive the haste in which I must give my annual Pre-Pennsic Rant:

>>Don't Just Stand There DO Something!

>snipped for space


>If I may I would like to offer a few suggestions on what to do at Pennsic

>for those first timers or maybe even for the veterans>


A lovely list of things to do; but diametrically opposed to the sense

of my post whis was to plan to do things yourself at pennsic rather than

wandering around watching other people do things---be an exhibit not

a museum goer---make more than just memories!


As Part of my camping gear I have a hand forged toasting fork that has

XX stamped into the handle;  I refer to it as my Pennsic 20 Memorial Brat

Fork, (if you rember Pennsic 20 *everyone* was selling commemorative items

usually out of my price range---a thick layer of cheap was included in

my original billet).


That Pennsic I was camping with a household run by a friend on mine

a Knight with numerous squires.  Foolishly I had agreed to participate

in a camp food plan without checking into the details.  On arriving I

stuck my forge and tent off in a corner as far away from everyone else as

possible and after the strenuous set up I was looking forward to food.


Then I learned that my Doom was upon me:  the basis of this communal food

plan was to be BRATS and even worse FRIED BRATS since no other method

of cooking had been planned for.


Now after a torrid day out in the serengetti plans standing over a glowing

forge the thought of a nice greasy brat was a bit off putting, but one

must eat to surivive, (sub-title to the Donner Party Cookbook); so I

fired up the forge, took a piece of metal from my scrap pile and forged

the Pennsic XX Memorial Brat Fork that I used to roast my brat, (and

many of the rest of the group's) over an open fire, letting the grease

flow freely into the flames and thus less left to degrade my digestion.


See what bring some tools can result in!  I also helped in a bunch of

fighters who were amazed that a hand cranked drill would drill steel

plate for rivits.


wilelm the smith who while attending the Drachenwald coronation bought a

drinking horn and a silver coin and spent several hours carving a spot

into the horn to mount the coin using only a swiss army knife.



From: Arden1066 <arden1066 at aol.com>

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Date: Tuesday, August 18, 1998 1:37 PM

Subject: Final battle of Pennsic XXVII


The mercenary household of the Mountain Confederation had been fighting for the

Kingdom of Ansteorra all war, and doing a damned good job of it, too.  On the

final Saturday of the war, Barn, the King of Ansteorra, came to the Mountain

Confederation as we assembled for the first battle, and spoke.  He

congratulated us on our fighting, on our ability to work with his army, and

gave our fighting unit the Sable Falcon, the highest fighting award in the

Kingdom of Ansteorra.  He shook each of us by the hand, and personally thanked

each one of us for our efforts on his kingdom's behalf. We cheered him, and

his kingdom, and we adorned our standard with Ansteorra's Falcon.


Barn regretted that he could not remain at Pennsic to lead his forces into

battle.  In fact, nearly the entire Ansteorran army was in their camp, packing

to begin their 2000 mile drive back to their kingdom. There were only a

handful of Ansteorrans who were going to take the field that final morning, and

Barn wondered if we would allow them to fight with us under our unit command.

We explained that we would be honored to have it so. Barn's final words to us

were "Take care of my boys..."  We cheered him again, as he strode from the



The mountain pass battle began, and the combined forces of Ansteorra and the

Mountain Confederation fought hard, well and honorably.


After the mountain pass, as we were resting for the coming field battle, we saw

there was a great gathering of Eastern forces in the resurrection area of the

battlefield.  A few of our fighters joined the throng, and came back with the

news that the Eastern Army planned to withdraw from the field.  At first we did

not believe that this could be true.  But as we watched, the entire Eastern

Army formed a column behind the Eastern banners and marched from the field.


Our Ansteorran comrades grew dismayed, and cried "We did not drive 2000 miles

to quit a battle!"   Our unit commander, Thorvaaldr, exclaimed: "I promised

your king I would take care of you, and taking care of you does NOT include

walking away from a fight.  Don your armor!"


And so we did.  By my count, there were 24 warriors of the Mountain

Confederation, 7 warriors from Ansteorra, and 3 Atlantian warriors who arrayed

ourselves in our battle gear, and strode to the highest point of the

battlefield.  Over our heads waved the blue and gold banner of the Mountain

Confederation, adorned by the Ansteorran Sable Falcon.  We paused atop the hill

and gazed at the might of the Midrealm army.  It stretched from one side of

the field to the other.


Then the 34 of us marched across the battle plain, to challenge the

Midrealm army.


Thorvaaldr, as our unit commander, spoke for us.  He cried: "We are the

combined forces of the Kingdom of Ansteorra and the Mountain Confederation. We

came here to fight a battle, and a battle we shall have. We will leave this

field only in Victory or in Death.  Gentlemen, assemble your army!"


And the cheers erupted.  They began with the Midrealm fighters who had actually

heard the challenge, and spread along both flanks as word went out that a

handful of fighters had stayed on the field.  The cheers became a roar as we

were engulfed by our "foes".  Backs were pounded, hands shaken, we were lifted

and hugged and swung around by a hundred fighters each. When the accolade

ended, we 34 fighters marched back to our little hill, ready to be the last

"Forlorn Hope" of the blue taped army.


But as we stood there, beneath our standard bearing the golden snarling

mountain lion and the blue hills we call home, a single warrior approached from

the other side.  He came before us and cried: "You have shown great honor and

glory by your actions this day.  Please allow me to fight at your side." And

we replied: "We would be honored to have you, and welcome.  Bring this man blue

tape!"  And lo, as this was being done, two more fighters approached, asking to

fight with us.  And then four more fighters, and then a unit, and then another

unit asked to join us.  And then, the Kingdom of Calontir approached us and

said: "Please allow us the honor of fighting at your side!"  And to all who

approached, we cried: "Thank you, the honor is ours! Welcome!  More blue tape!"


A grizzled knight of Calontir walked through our ranks, shaking our hands. He

was an obvious veteran of many wars, but tears flowed freely from his eyes, as

he shook our hands and told us how proud he was to belong to a Society who

valued honor and chivalry so highly.  "War points do not matter, this isn't

about war points," he said, "it is about honor and chivalry.  You have

truly won this War."


Once again, we turned to face the Midrealm from our little hill.  But now,

beneath the banner of the Mountain Confederation, there stood an army that

reached halfway across the battlefield.  On the other side, the army of the

Midrealm also covered only half the field.  They had released their allies from

their Pennsic XXVII war alliances, and allowed the marshals to even the sides.

The Midrealm had had the final war point in their gauntlets, they could have

crushed our Forlorn Hope with a couple of small units. But they had chosen

instead the route of chivalry, honor, generosity and graciousness.


The marshals finished briefing us, the assembled and newly assembled armies

awaited breathlessly.  And with the roar of the cannon, the final official war

point battle of Pennsic XXVII began.  It was glorious, it was honorable and

clean.  It was some of the best fighting of the war.  When it was over, the

blue taped side was victorious.


Barn, the King of Ansteorra, was still on site to hear the news that his

kingdom had won the final war point of Pennsic XXVII.  As Ansteorra was still

in alliance with the Eastern forces, Barn sent an envoy to HRM Timothy with

the gift of the final war point.  HRM Timothy graciously accepted.


The words I write are true.  This saga is the story of a small band of warriors

who stood alone as a Forlorn Hope against an army, and won.  "Honor, not

Honors" is the Mountain Confederation motto.  Our colors are blue and gold.

Our colors do not run.


This posting is not meant in any way to impugn the honor or question the

reasons of HRM Timothy or the Eastern Army.  It was just too good a tale to

not be told.


Arden MacIlhatton

Warrior of the Mountain Confederation



Subject: ANST - The Lion Stands (pensic battle)

Date: Thu, 20 Aug 98 09:52:23 MST

From: DAFPIG at aol.com

To: Ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG, Jean1Cait1 at aol.com, Bryan at imagesystem.com


Greetings everyone,


I wrote this for my own personal papers but has decided to share this one

story with Ansteorra.  I'm NOT a bard and this is NOT an unbiase story. This

is the story I will read and remember when Daffydd and I are 70 and in our

rocking chairs.  It is from My point of view with MY opinions and how I saw

it. :)  There are parts were I revel in personal glory, but I orginally ment

for only a few to read this.  Everyone will see this battle through different

eyes and tell it differently each time.   This is a long piece, so be



Saturday morning broke clear and humid, most of the Ansteorra camp was packing

to travel homeward.  The War was over for them. Between the busy packing of

wagons and the harried look of gentles attempting to make everything fit, a

few diehard (crazy) warriors donned thier armor and made thier way to the

battlefield.  There were 2 battles scheduled for that last day.  A 1hr

resurrection mountain pass battle and a final open field battle with archery

and face thrust allowed.  The East kindom & allies won the 1st battle

chanting the battle cry " Everybody fights, Nobody quits".  (I'm sure you'll

find the irony of this latter.)  Ansteorra helped defend the middle banner

after fighting most the battle on the right flank, Though the Middle had a

large force in reserve, they didn't make a big push in the end of the

battle.......(I think if the Middle had pushed, we might not have held the



     There were 11 of us in the first battle, We lost 3 before the start of

the last battle.  HL Johnthon injured his ankle during the first battle so was

unable to fight anymore,much to his chagrin, I haven't a clue were the other 2

fighters went.  By the time the 2nd battle FINALLY started, Ansteorra had only

8 fighters.  There was Sir Daffyd Whittaker,his 2 squires, HL Acef and Ld Cameron, Ld Fanir, his Lady Etain, myself and 2 others whom I didn't know.  I want to point out that 5 of the 8 fighters were all from the tiny SHIRE of BRAD LEAH!


This is where the Story Really begins, I will try to keep the events



After the completion of the 1st battle, there was a meeting between the crowns

of the East and Middle kingdoms.  As most have already read, there seem to be

a disagreement on the outcome of the bridge battle from the previous day.  I

don't know all the details, and to be honest, don't really care.  We were all

sprawled out on the haybales that marked the field bountries.  Hot and tired,

we watched the big gathering of fighters in the middle of the field with only

mild interest at this point. After some time, fighters were drifting back with

rumors that the last battle was called off.  It was then, that we saw the

great Eastern army and her Allies lining up on the far side of the field.

( that was the farthest side from the road).  SIr Daffydd had decided to

inquire about the use of combat archery in the next battle,so he went to the

Altantian contingent to ask.  It was there that the Knights of Altantia

informed our Knight that the Altantian Army was leaving the field. Sir

Daffyd,somewhat shocked, stated that Ansteorra was NOT!. With that said, He

simple turned and came to inform us of the happenings.


     The Mighty army of Ansteorra( read in 8 of us) gathered together on a

small ridge and watched the Great Armies of the East process out. I must say,

it was a inspiring sight to see, All the banners fluttering, Kindoms filing

out in rank and order..  I did see one eastern count(I believe) weeping tears

of fustration and disappointed at having to leave the field. I felt bad for

him, as he followed his king off the field...sigh.....


     "As the Eastern Tiger strode off the field, the Ansteorra Lion stood it's



Sir Daffydd stated he didn't drive 1200 miles to NOT fight.  I must say,

Daffydd was in a rare Mood. He has often said that he is not a politician nor

a diplomat but simply a Fighting Peer, a warrior, and what do warriors do

best?  Make War!!  ..lol..... We were all in agreement with him, we wanted to

fight.  At this point, If Daffydd had decided that Ansteorra should leave the

field with our Altantian Allies, he would of had to order us off the field, and

we would have gone.  He is a Knight of Ansteorra, therefore, in my eyes at

least, stood for the Crown and Kingdom. But true to his fighting heart, we

stayed. We opted to make our stand on the top of a small hill.  We were meet

by the Confedration, about 15 or so of them.  Their comander stated that HRM

Barn had asked him to "take care of his boys". Now, I have to say that I

raised my eyebrows over that statement...Since when did warriors of Ansteorra

need to be taken care of? Much less a Knight of our Kingdom? hmmm.  That

statement hit me wrong, I guess. I'm sure it was meant with good intentions.


     I remember standing at the top of that hill looking down at the 500 or so

fighters of the Middle army, thinking boy, this is gonna hurt!  I was more

than a tad bit worried. To my left, Daffydd stood, struck the butt-end of his

glave on the hill. then stared down on the army below. Then along with some

of the Confederation fighters and his squire Acef, they strode down the hill

to the Middle Army.  I'll never forget the sight of them striding across the

battle ground to make our challenge.  That is one feeling I can't really put

down on paper.,, the pride, yes,lots of pride, in my husband, in our kingdom.

and some fear.:)  I don't really know exactly what was said.  I do know that

it was stated that Ansteorra and the Confederation would hold the field for

the East kingdom, and that we wanted to fight.  Many of the Middle Army heard

this challenge and starting cheering.  They slapped our boys on the back,

congradulating them on thier bravery and honor.  It was a sight to see.


     As with every major melee, there was about 15min.of milling about time.

During this time, a slow trickel of fighters from the Middle Army began to

make thier way to us.  We were very surprised when they asked if they could

fight for us.  Yes, We had extra blue tape!!  Ld Cameron had a bunch of blue

tape on the inside of his shield.  Fighters were using it to cover the red

tape on thier helms.  The West kingdom had marched off the field with the

East, but thier fighters returned to fight the last battle. We did not speak

to them, So I'm not sure what thier politcs were. The biggest boost to us was

when the Calontir line broke from the middle and formed up on the center of

the field, On our side. They sent a fighter to inform us that they would be

honored to join our "army".  We were cheered by the sight of the purple wall,

protecting us instead of keeping us at bay!  Our ranks swelled and grew as

more fighters joined us.  By the time Lay On was called, The 2 Armies were

about even.  Now, I believe the Middle sent all its Allies to our side to make

it more of a fair battle, But I know for a fact that the 25 or so of the

orginal "Army" WAS ready to take them all on. We had thought  that they would

send out small units to give us a fighting chance.  But in the end, We really

didn't expect to win.  I had planned on losing a majority of the bolts I had

brought. Being an archer, I would have been lunch meat REAL quick in a small

battle.  I don't believe in having fighters assigned to protect archers in

this kind of a senerio.  We need all the fighters to were they are really

needed..fighting. Archers have to take care of themselves.


((My moment of glory... during this milling about period before the battle

began, I was attempting to locate a marshal to see if combat archery was still

going to be allowed.  It was. Since I was the only archer from Ansteorra, I

elected myself the archery marshal for that battle and, of course, promptly

passed all my gear.:).  On my way back to our hill, I had to pass in front of

the shield wall.  I was almost by them when a fighter told me to shoot him..

Well, I really wasn't in the mood to deal with him, so I told him that I

didn't want to shoot into the crowd. Well, he made a "interesting" comment

about my skill level, then moved to stand in front of the shield wall.

OoooK, I thought.  1 bolt, straight into his grill, I scooped up my arrow

without a word and struted away,  my point was made. If I can hit you there, I

can hit you where it hurts:)))))))))  I was asked to shoot many fighters before

the battle.  Not many had been shot with a baldar blunt, and were curious to

see how they hit.  I only had the one guy sneer, briefly, at me.


The mountain conferderation had brought a small tennis ball shooting cannon.

Well, it didn't work as the had hoped, it only shoot about 20ft. I saw 2 other

archers on our side and about 4 on the red side.  I believe I was the only one

using baldar blunts and thistle missiles..  When the battle finally started, it

went VERY quick!  Ansteorra was on the right flank  and quickly moved to

engage.  A small unit of the red army on the right broke off and tried to

flank us on the top of the hill.  I dropped back with the conferderation unit

to stop them. I only shot once into this group of fighters, the confed.unit

mopped them up quite nicely. After seeing I was not needed, I swung down the

hill with the rest of the blue army.  I shot twice more with killing shots.

Our line had stood up the red army in the middle of the field and was

proceding to decimate them.  The fighting quickly focused back up the hill

were the last of the red army fought.  It was plain to see that our army was

quickly winning the battle, so I wandered around the backfield looking for

more targets.  Its then I noticed a lone red archer, causally picking off

fighters at his whim.  Fighters were running by him, not even paying

attention.  This archer killed 2 guys before I was able to line up a

shoot....He never knew what hit him. hehehe......I love the looks on their

faces when they look down to see the arrow at their feet....


Well, I managed 4 shots with as many kills, Sir Daffydd and HL Acef never got

to engage with anyone ..LOL...  It was very amusing to witness thier

fustration over the fact that after all that hurah, they didn't even get to

swing thier galves!!!!  It was over too fast.  As for the rest of Ansteorra,

you'd have to ask them how they fared.  It was indeed a good day to fight.

and a better day to be an Ansteorran!


As I remember it,




Subject: ANST - Re: The Lion stands (pennsic battle)

Date: Fri, 21 Aug 98 01:43:02 MST

From: Therion <therion1 at confed.com>

To: ansteorra at Ansteorra.ORG


Lady Octavia, thank you for sharing with us your view of the day that

"Consteorra Challenged and Whuped The Entire Midrealm Army!" T'was a

glorious day for Ansteorra and her allies, and I was then and still am

damned proud to be part of both organizations.


A couple of clarifications and anecdotes of my own:


>      There were 11 of us in the first battle, We lost 3 before the start of

> the last battle.  HL Johnthon injured his ankle during the first battle so was

> unable to fight anymore,much to his chagrin, I haven't a clue were the other 2

> fighters went.


When the call for "How many Ansteorran warriors be here?" went up, I waved

and was accounted in the tally, so I'm mystery Ansteorran number 7. I'm

not sure who number 8 was, but more glory to him or her, and may they

speak up and be recorded in the annals of history.


> We opted to make our stand on the top of a small hill.  We were meet

> by the Conferedration, about 15 or so of them.


Twenty-four Confed warriors by our count, and if you find out who the

other Ansteorran was, please let me know so that all who stood in glorious

defiance may have their names enshrined in the monument that a

stone-cutter artisan is planning to place on the battlefield.


> Thier comander stated that HRM

> Barn had asked him to "take care of his boys". Now, I have to say that I

> raised my eyebrows over that statement...Since when did warriors of Ansteorra

> need to be taken care of? Much less a Knight of our Kingdom? hmmm.  That

> statement hit me wrong, I guess. I'm sure it was ment with good intentions.


There was certainly no offense meant on either side, but yes, that's

exactly what His Majesty Barn requested of the Confederation Feldwebel,

Thorvaaldr. I was there, I heard Barn's words, but it was said in the

spirit of "take care that everbody has fun and gets to whup ass".

(Thorvaaldr is *really* good at knowing exactly when and where to call the

charge and regroup). Again, there was no slight or slur to any Ansteorran

or their combat abilities, just acknowledgement that Confed was the

larger unit and had the field commander with the biggest mouth :). His

Majesty also granted a unit Sable Falcon to the Confederation, which

proudly flew from our war banner throughout both battles of the day.


> I'll never forget the sight of them striding across the

> battle ground to make our challenge.  That is one feeling I can't really put

> down on paper.,, the pride, yes,lots of pride, in my husband, in our kingdom.

> and some fear.:)  I don't really know exactly what was said.  I do know that

> it was stated that Ansteorra and the Confederation would hold the field for

> the East kingdom, and that we wanted to fight.


"We are the combined forces of the Kingdom of Ansteorra and the Mountain

Confederation.  We came here to fight a battle, and a battle we shall

have.  We will leave this field only in Victory or in Death.  Gentlemen,

assemble your army!"


> But I know for a fact that the 25 or so of the

> orginal "Army" WAS ready to take them all on.  We had thought that they

> would send out small units to give us a fighting chance.


Heck, I didn't even think that the Midrealm would send small units after

us. I was too busy envisioning a glorious charge straight into the center

of their line, and slaughtering them by the hundreds!


> The mountain conferderation had brought a small tenis ball shooting cannon.

> Well, It didn't work as the had hoped, it only shot about 20ft.


Yup, our test firings stressed out the surgical tubing, so range was

limited. However, in true medieval gunnery fashion, once the cannon crew

finally got off their lone 3-tennis-ball-grapeshot charge, the shot did

no damage to the Midrealm army. We accidentally scragged an allied

Calontirean crossbow-person who didn't get out of the way in time ...


> As for the rest of Ansteorra,

> you'd have to ask them how they fared.  It was indeed a good day to fight.

> and a better day to be an Ansteorran!


A glorious day indeed, and my heart still swells with pride to have been

there standing side by side with the warriors of my household and the

warriors of my adopted homeland, defying the Known World!


Thank you again for sharing your tale, gracious but dangerous Lady, and

please thank again your knightly husband for sharing the honor and glory

with *all* of the members of Confed and Ansteorra, fighter and non-fighter

alike - for we knew the entire kingdom's strength and spirit was with us

upon that hill.





From: Iain and Cassi <cassi at hamtel.tds.net>

Newsgroups: rec.org.sca

Subject: Beast-slaying

Date: Sat, 29 Aug 1998 12:53:24 -0400

Organization: Windemere Medieval Reenactment Society


Andrew sent this to me, and with his permission I am sending it on to

all of you. Sounds like a future legend to me......*G*


                   An Epic Tale

               by Andrew MacRobb


Now stop and hearken gentles, to my tale of battle sore,

That occurred on Sunday morn at the twenty-sixth Pennsic War,

Two bold but nameless fighters were headed towards their tent,

They had not chosen names as yet, this was their first event.


The first wore sandles and loincloth, was armed with six foot spear,

The second carried battleaxe, was dressed in hide of deer,

Many great Green Dragons, the two had slain that night,

And you could tell from the way they walked, t'were more than slightly



But as they walked along the shore, on that misty Sunday morn,

A monster rose before them, no more ugly was e're born,

A monster out of Cooper's Lake, with jaw and claw and shell,

A creature hideous as any, from the pits of Hell.


Our heroes were not daunted as the monster did attack,

"Kill him!" The first shouted, but the axe bounced off his back,

The sounds of mortal battle, of steel on armored hide,

Echoed off around the lake, and traveled far and wide.


"Stab him!" cried the second, as the sounds of battle grew,

But great jaws caught the haft of spear and bit that shaft in two,

The disarmed fighter staggered back, and tripped on a tent stake,

And woke a sleeping baroness (a more than slight mistake).


Inside her tent the baroness grabbed up shaft and bow,

And swore that she would kill the first that tried to lay her low,

Our heroes did not know this, and kept on with their fight,

"Cut off his head the first cried out, in that dawn's first light.


The monster holding spear in jaw, continued his attack,

But now his head stuck out quite far, where armor he did lack,

That mighty battleaxe struck out, the monster was sore hurt,

The rest of that great battle was bloody and quite curt.


Three times that mighty axe did fly, against that creature's neck,

'Till blood and ichor flew, and the monster was a wreck,

Our heroes cried in victory, and dragged their trophy off,

And back in camp they went to sleep in their beds quite soft.


The two had no idea of the people they did rattle,

Golf carts soon descended on the scene of the great battle,

Blood was splattered everywhere, with dragmarks leading out,

To where the two lay sleeping after their great bout.


The body of the monster was lying by their tent,

And everyone who saw it laughed at the event.

The baroness held court that night, the newbies were invited,

But in their ignorance, they were most sorely frightened.


Thoughts of mighty torture ran inside their head,

They were 'fraid that like the monster they would soon be dead,

But fear not my good gentles, the news was not all bad,

In fact, a pleasant time by all there present was now had.


The first of our two heroes has now chosen a name,

And I am sure that you will hear he soon has earned great fame,

The second already has gained a measure of renoun,

As Tisbet Turtle Slayer, he will ever more be known.



Date: Tue, 17 Jul 2001 23:19:48 -0500

To: sca-cooks at ansteorra.org

From: Ted Eisenstein <Alban at socket.net>

Subject: Re: [Sca-cooks] Pennsic fantasies


> I have always wanted to rent a big old school bus and

> a big old truck with plenty of space for everyone's


Some old, old, old-timers from Calontir still talk of the

Vatavian War Bus. Some people from Vatavia had a big

school bus that they used frequently for long road trips.

One year they took it to Pennsic: it was loaded inside with

people and a lot of baggage - and, on both outside sides were

taped the really long pole-arms, some extending past the

radiator; on the roof, ditto; and over the radiator were

a couple of the Mark I scutums/warshields (only place

they'd go, really. . . )


As it turned into St. Aidan's Square, which was at that point

where troll was, the Pennsic Marshall just happened to

be walking by. He came over; smacked each shield a

couple of times, examined the foam over each of the spears

and polearms, and rattled them to be sure they were on

securely - and proceded to put an official "Passed Inspection"

sticker on the windshield. . .





Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2005 22:21:56 -0500

From: Stefan li Rous <StefanliRous at austin.rr.com>

Subject: [Sca-cooks] OT-Sometimes the adventure is traveling to

        Pennsic       (long)

To: SCA-Cooks maillist SCA-Cooks <SCA-Cooks at ansteorra.org>


>> So, here I am, 6 hours on the road to Pennsic, and still at home.


>> Why do I think this is going to be an interesting War?


>> <Sigh>


>> Saint Phlip,


> Wow, call for AAA and get an Assault team. Interesting War? Sounds like you

> have survived the first battle.  Godspeed and blessings on your

> further travels.


> Tod


Sometimes the drive to or from Pennsic is more of an adventure than

Pennsic is. Perhaps the fact that it is a 27 hour trip from the

center of Ansteorra to Pennsic, affects this. Although Phlip had

plenty of adventure just a few hours from home.


For Pennsic 25, I caught a ride to Pennsic with Sir Kief and his

group. Some of you will recognize Sir Kief as the one-legged knight

from Ansteorra. The one whom, in a tournament or war, you really,

really don't want to take out his one remaining leg. He fights even

better on the ground than standing.


Sir Kief lives in the barony of Ravens Fort, mundanely Huntsville,

TX, which is three hours east from Austin. So, my wife drives me

there and I wait a while until everyone shows up and we load up. Kief

is driving a full-size van and towing David St. David's 24 ft, dual

axle flatbed trailer and David is hauling Kief's smaller trailer.

Well, this is in east Texas. We can go directly to Pennsic going

northeast, but there is no Interstate going that way and it would

mean stopping at the signal lights in every small east Texas town.

And there's a bunch of them. So, we take the Interstate to Dallas to

the northwest, before turning northeast towards Pennsic. So after

three hours getting to Ravens Fort, several hours waiting and getting

everyone loaded up and three hours on the road to Dallas, I'm four

hours from home. Sigh.


Kief has lined the outside edges of the flatbed trailer with the big,

rectangular "barn door" war shields from Ravens Fort and then piled

all the gear in behind it. We are probably plenty close to having the

trailer overloaded if not there already, but the trip to Pennsic is

uneventful. Quite a sight, I'm sure, though.


On the trip home, things go very differently. Those last days of

Pennsic, people keep coming up to Kief and saying "I don't have room

for this. Can you please take it back to Ansteorra with you?". Kief,

being Kief, says "Sure. Just put it in the trailer". This was also

the year that Sir Kein built the second of the big Ansteorran

towers using scaffolding, plywood and a number of 2 x 4s. Well, Kief

asked Kein what he was going to do with all the 2 x 4s. And Kein said

"Nothing. I'm dumping them. If you want them, you can have them.".

Which Kief, again being Kief, proceeded to do, loading them onto the

trailer as well.


We were the last Ansteorran group to leave Pennsic and there really

weren't that many other folks left at Pennsic. By this time the

trailer was definitely overloaded. Coming down the hill on the road

leaving Pennsic just before the little bridge, we found out that

someone hadn't snapped the trailer hitch lever down on the hitch

ball. Oops. Luckily the safety chains were attached. We stopped on

the down slope of that hill with the center of the trailer hitch

about and inch or two ahead of the center of the hitch ball. So, we

scramble around finding enough rocks and such to chock the trailer

wheels and then ease the van forward and reseat the hitch and the

ball together. And *this* time several people check to make sure that

it is secured. :-)


Okay, our two car convoy starts up again and turns on to the highway

towards home. Smooth sailing now, right? Er, nope. Kief finds that he

can't get above 35 miles per hour or the trailer starts dragging the

*full size* van all over the road. So, at 35 miles an hour we proceed

down the road. That night it had already been planned to stay at a

motel to let folks rest and get a decent shower. (hot water? At

Pennsic? From the public showers? yeah, right.) On the way to

Pennsic, we had driven straight on through, with the last driver

being able to stretch out on the raised bed with foam mattress in the

back of the van. The next morning we try to figure out a solution. No

one wants to drive the 1500? miles back to Ansteorra at 35 MPH.


Well, one of the things which Kief was hauling was the BFT (the Big

F. Tent owned by the barony of Bjornsborg). This was meant to be put

up in the Ansteorran encampment as a central gathering point.

However, Ansteorra didn't get the land they had registered for (not

an uncommon occurrence) and there was no room to put the tent up. It

did get set up in the middle of one of the roads during the one night

of the Ansteorran chili party. This tent has a huge number of large

steel stakes, each about four feet long and an inch or more in

diameter. Hey, I said it was a big tent. Each stake is rather heavy.

Moving these stakes from the tail end of Kief's trailer to the front

end of the trailer that David St. David was towing, which he said was

acting a bit tongue light, solved both problems. :-)


So, back on the road and we can now drive at highway speeds. We left

a bit later from Pennsic than originally planned and we got slowed

down because of the trailer issue, but it should simply be a just a

long drive home, right?


Err. Nope. Kief had been religiously checking the grease in the

bearings of the trailer wheels at each gas stop to make sure that

they were okay. At one stop, perhaps Little Rock, he noticed that the

grease cap on one of the wheels is gone. Apparently a bearing can

overheat and blow off this cap, before the bearing seizes up. Or did

Kief just forget to put the cap back on? So, we drive around the city

a bit, figuring that if the bearing is going to seize, it would

really be much better to have it happen in Little Rock than out in

the middle of no where. Unloading the trailer to replace the bearing

would be bad enough in town. Well, nothing seizes up, so back on the

road. After all this, nothing else can go wrong, can it?


Perhaps in Texarkana, around 5 am in the next morning, we were

filling up with gas. One of our folks made the comment "Isn't the

trailer leaning a bit to the right?". Sure enough, it was. When

inspected it was noticed that all of the leafs, except one, of one of

the two leaf springs on that side of the trailer were cracked

through. So, we wait the several hours until the businesses in the

town would be open. After a bit of calling, it was determined that *one*

shop *might* have a replacement spring which would fit. However, they

didn't have a jack powerful enough to lift the loaded trailer. Unload

the trailer!!!! Argh!!! It took us hours to load it! However, doing

some more calling it was determined that there was a travel trailer

dealership in town that had a jack which could lift that heavy a

load. So, off at a slow speed to the spring place. And, Lo! they

had a spring which would fit. Then a slow drive over to the travel

trailer dealership. After a wait of several hours they got us into

the shop, jacked up the trailer and replaced the spring.


So, back on the road, only a few hours from home. Well, Kief's home.

We got there without any more adventures. Only 12? 18? hours past our

planned arrival date and time. My wife has already arrived to pick me

up. So, we load up and head the three hours home, right? Not quite.

Alina doesn't really like to drive alone, so she brought along my cat

in the car for company. Okay, that's fine. He traveled in the car

fine. Did I mention though that he was an all black cat? Alina

arrived near twilight and it was quite, completely, dark before we

finished loading my stuff up in the van. Okay, off to Austin. But

where's the cat? Look, look, search, search. Well, he's not in the

car. Not under any of the stuff. Not anywhere. Start calling for him

all around Kief's house. Everyone is now out searching for my cat and

calling his name.  I didn't mention that Kief lives on an acre or two

of wooded pine forest. Well, we finally find the cat. Calmly sitting

in the pine needles about fifty feet from the car and twenty from

Kief's house trailer. "What? Me say anything? Why should I meow or

anything. It's so interesting to watch all of you scurrying around

making such a racket." sigh.


Well, at least  the drive home from Huntsville to Austin, was uneventful.




THLord Stefan li Rous    Barony of Bryn Gwlad    Kingdom of Ansteorra

     Mark S. Harris           Austin, Texas



<the end>

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