P-stories-msg - 12/22/19

Stories from the SCA Pennsic War fought each August at Cooper’s 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.

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NOTICE -

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
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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
Wednesday.

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.

Cheers,
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

greetings....
	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!

Regards
Nicolaa/Susan
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 \|/
		  0


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. :-)

Megan
== 
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  |
                                |____n____| 



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
>distribute_
>>alcoholic beverages _in any manner_ without proper license, subject
>to
>>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.) 
>Now
>>we know this is not usually the case.  Is this just a standard
>disclaimer
>>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
>county.
>
>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
Pennsic....

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!"

Harald
(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
them.

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,
Jessa


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
>them.

>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?  
>
>Akimoya
>Ealdormere

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
field.

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
prepared.

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
banner)...

     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
straight.

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
ground"

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,
Octavia


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.

                                                Therion


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
tight.

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. . .

Alban


Date: Mon, 8 Aug 2005 22:21:56 -0500
From: Stefan li Rous <StefanliRous@austin.rr.com>
Subject: [Sca-cooks] OT-Sometimes the adventure is traveling to
	Pennsic	(long)
To: SCA-Cooks maillist SCA-Cooks <SCA-Cooks@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.

Stefan
--------
THLord Stefan li Rous    Barony of Bryn Gwlad    Kingdom of Ansteorra
     Mark S. Harris           Austin, Texas


From: Lisa Sawyer <ysabeau.lists@gmail.com>
Date: July 23, 2009 4:39:00 PM CDT
To: "Kingdom of Ansteorra - SCA, Inc." <ansteorra@lists.ansteorra.org>
Subject: Re: [Ansteorra] The Cost of Time

A couple of years ago I was returning from Pennsic and the airlines lost my luggage. I had almost every piece of SCA clothing I own in those suitcases, not to mention jewlery and other accessories. Around week two of them still not able to tell me where my stuff was or when I might get it back, I started making a list of the items. When I started putting monetary value on the clothing alone (cost of fabric +  trim + time to make + cost of maintenance for sewing machine), I was easily over the allowance the airlines give you if they lose your luggage.

At one point, I got a customer service agent who "got it". After I explained, once again, that the bags were full of custom made renaissance costumes that could not be replaced at Target, she paused and said "You were coming back from Pennsic, weren't you?".  She made me feel better because she told me that my bags would be found and they were probably still sitting in Pittsburgh. Apparently, SCAdians tend to pack heavy for Pennsic. For safety reasons the airlines can't put everything on the planes and it takes a while for the bags to catch up.

Considering that I helped a woman who was, trying to put a big period pavilion on as excess baggage (poles and all), I can believe it. They finally delivered my bags with nothng missing 3 weeks after my flight, much to my relief.

So, long story short, I totally agree with JP. We tend to underestimate how much the items we make are worth because we are making them. If you had to be reimbursed for your materials and time spent, how much would you charge for that dress or spear? Probably not $1250 on average, but more than you think.

my thoughts,
Ysabeau


From: Ted Eisenstein <alban@SOCKET.NET>
Date: March 8, 2011 10:15:15 AM CST
To: CALONTIR@listserv.unl.edu
Subject: Re: [CALONTIR] Questions about preparing for war

>>Yeah! Cause you never know when the need for power tools will arise! 

Heh. Some years back, there was a Mighty Big Tree at Pennsic, situated about half-way between the shower house and the barn. One of the days near the close (the day before, I think), a thunderstorm came along, and a lightning bolt hit the tree and split it asunder. (Fortunately, no-one was hurt, but the people in Medieval Miscellany came damn near fainting away, because they were the closest tent.)

The Coopers did not need to clear it away, no chainsaws or tree people were called - the tree was chopped up by quite a few SCA folk, who saw "free wood" and got it all. Axes, handsaws, hacksaws, and I think I even saw a couple of large chisels....and the tree was substantially gone within about an hour.

I am told some of that wood eventually became Relics of The Holy Land of the Coopers, some went into small boxes, some into firewood, and so forth.

(And I just now realized how appropriate it was: where else would you be 
likely to get sliced & diced wood than at a cooper's?)

Alban


From: Valens of Flatrock <valens@COX.NET>
Date: May 16, 2011 8:19:23 PM CDT
To: CALONTIR@listserv.unl.edu
Subject: Re: [CALONTIR] Kings and Traffic Cones - Was: Escorting crowns with great ceremony! :D

For a Pavel & Valens story, this is amazingly accurate.

Valens

ps.  The night went downhill in terms of decorum from there.


---- Fernando Rodriguez de Falcon <Fvigil@AOL.COM> wrote: 
In a message dated 5/16/2011 12:53:09 Central Daylight Time,  
elecwolf@GMAIL.COM writes:
The story I had heard involving the  traffic cones seemed to imply that 
when it was said they were Calontir that  explained it all<<

Here is the story in Pavel's words.

Fernando

Beating a King with a Traffic Cone

No Shit, There we were. Pensic XXIV.

Valens, Malchi and I had put on out finest to stroll about for babes (hey, we can dream, can't we?!?)  Well Valens and Malchi started to walk 5 paces behind me and shouting things  like "Make Way! Make Way! For the great and powerful Pavel!" and so on and so  forth. I asked them to stop -- no good. I stopped and yelled at them and they dropped to knees and sung my hosannas while bowing and scrapping.  

This went on all the way from the camp to the kids play area. It had gotten so bad that strangers were doing big reverent bows. I stopped to yell and throw rocks at them, (did I mention that Valens was king at the time and was in his regalia?) with the same results. So I picked up a traffic cone and started to beat them with it. They responded with phrases like, "Oh yes! Great Pavel. Any attention from you is welcome." and so forth. 

About this time a Duke, several knights and their ladies approached. The Duke got my attention (the whole time we talked I was quietly beating the guys with the  cone.) and asked me. "Are you beating a king with a traffic cone?"

I looked to check not wanting to give the wrong answer and told him "yes". 

"Is that your king?" 

I looked again to make sure they had not swapped one on me while I was looking away. "Yes".  

"Calontir?" 

I stood tall and proudly said "Yes". (All the while swatting Valens and Malchi with the cone.) The Duke looked and his followers and said "thought so" and walked off... 


To: gleannabhann@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Re: Gleann Abhann] loofahs again
Posted by: "Barbara Easley" barbara.easley@fedex.com kane1lissa
Date: Fri Sep 23, 2011 3:30 am ((PDT))

I can tell you from experience that a wash line for fighters coming off the field works. <BEG>

Ah, Pennsic XVII... *the BOD meeting right beside where our all-female inpromptu wash line had grown hugely*... we were washing fighters as they came off that hot, miserable field....

Sir Hillary coming out to tell me that my behavior wasn't becoming for a Princess... the rest of the BOD meeting coming out to see... and Duke Eliaju (sp?) leaving the meeting, running up and saying, "Ilissa, will you wash me next?"

The look of horror from Sir Hilary. Duke Frederick rolling his eyes. The King of Meridies walking out of his tent in Tigger boxer shorts and the Crown, awaiting his wash...

And me, politely telling Hillary I had to go wash my King.

And yes, we had a loofah.

Ilissa
ah, the Good Ole Days

----- Original Message -----
From: Stefan li Rous <stefanlirous@austin.rr.com>

<<< Looks like we may see a loofah sponge booth set up at the next Gulf Wars. :-) >>>

How much for the medieval hot tub with the lovely young ladies scrubbing down dirty, sweaty fighters with loofah sponges in the  
booth? I bet that would sell better than just the sponges. :-)

Stefan
Unfortunately, no longer a fighter


From: Chris Zakes <dontivar@gmail.com>
Date: February 10, 2012 7:49:05 PM CST
To: "Kingdom of Ansteorra - SCA, Inc." <ansteorra@lists.ansteorra.org>
Subject: Re: [Ansteorra] Fw: Affecting my game...

<<< This is why I am so excited about the change in Pennsic allies.

The amount of -- and this is a scary word -- hatred toward the Midrealm
from some members of the East is just incredible.

I have seen young fighters being tight that Midrealm fighters are dangerous
and discourteous, and I have heard that from members of the Order of
Chivalry,

There was some real snack-talking on one of the eastern army lists prior to
this coming out.

I have friends all over the Known World and I always shook my head when I
said I was headed to a Midrealm or Calontir camp and got, 'Going to see the
enemy?"

Liam >>>

At my first Pennsic (# 9) I got a T-shirt with a picture of a pavilion; peeking out from under the door flap was a dragon's tail and a tiger's tail, kind of wrapped around each other. The caption read "Fraternizing with the enemy."

       -Tivar Moondragon 


From: Crissy Brillant <sewinggoddess21@gmail.com>
Date: March 7, 2012 7:29:43 PM CST
To: the-triskele-tavern@googlegroups.com
Subject: Re: {TheTriskeleTavern} Gulf Wars Traveling

I was at Pennsic one year when it WAS a war point, sponsored by the Kingdom of Drachenwald. If I recall, the East won the point that year. Someone had bought a yurt, was the rumour...
Crissy
HL Arianna
On Mar 7, 2012 5:01 PM, "Steve Brooks" <aesop_2000@yahoo.com> wrote:
One night of the war, usually Wednesday, a lot of the merchants will stay open late and run specials. Can't say wha
, as it varies from merchant to merchant, but you can get some good deals. Sometimes its a percentage off, sometimes bogo.... It is almost as much fun trying to find what you want at a bargain price.
Turold


From: Kaoru Negisa <negisa@laughingpirates.com>; 
To: <the-triskele-tavern@googlegroups.com>; 
Subject: Re: {TheTriskeleTavern} Gulf Wars Traveling 
Sent: Wed, Mar 7, 2012 9:14:59 PM 

"Midnight Madness"? May I ask, as a first-time-war-goer, what this is and why saving cash for it may be a good idea?

Adriano Iubeni

On Wed, Mar 7, 2012 at 4:09 PM, Beth Alexander <bealexan@gmail.com> wrote:
This is why I have cruise control.

I "set it....and forget it:....LOL

Saving my cash for Midnight Madness.

:Shopping......"It's a necessity!!"   WOOT!  Going to Gulf Wars!!!

Signy


On Wed, Mar 7, 2012 at 11:22 AM, NIKKI CAMPO <nccam3@gmail.com> wrote:
Thank you this is good to know, since Im leaving Thursday...
L Nicole
On Mar 7, 2012 11:20 AM, "Steve Brooks" <aesop_2000@yahoo.com> wrote:
Just got off the phone with Mistress Barb-Hah-Rah...  She is on the road to war already (with a brief stop on the way to visit family) and wanted to get the word out to Trimarian travelers:

FHP is out in force and actively seeking speeders.  She passed several waiting on I-75 and a major speed trap on I-10.

So, while I KNOW that none of us are lead-footed, and are all good doobies who obey posted speed limits, many of us just might be excited to be heading to war, and might let our speed creep up without realizing it.

Slow it down, take it easy and arrive safe, sound, and ticket free. (Save your $$ for merchants!)

Turold


From the FB "SCA" group
11/8/13

Bridget Kielas-Fecyk
THE KING AND THE SPIDER
(an old Scottish legand – author unknown)

A long time ago there lived a great and mighty king who ruled over a vast, rich and wondrous land. This kingdom had all things a man could wish for. Fertile soil for crops, productive mines, wide, vast, rivers for shipping, happy citizens and a fiercely loyal army. The King ruled for many years ensuring the safety of his people until, one day, a usurper appeared and began to cause strife. He wanted such magnificent lands for himself and, with such aim, gathered vast armies for himself. At the break of dawn, the usurper lead his people into battle against the King and his men. The war was ugly and, while at first the King's men were able to fight off the usurper's brutal followers, eventually, the King's armies were defeated and the usurper took the throne. In shame, the King ordered his men to stand down and found a large valley where his armies were able to make camp, tend to their wounded, and rest, waiting. The King, himself, quietly left his armies and went into the world alone. 

In the night, a great storm began to brew and the King took shelter in an old barn to get out of the weather. Removing his armor, he sat upon a hay bale with his head in his hands and thought, in sorrow, of nothing but his defeat. Over in the corner, however, something caught his eye. A small black spider hardly bigger than the nail of his thumb, was crawling up a beam of wood belonging to one of the empty, rickety, stalls. Attaching its web, the little spider sat for a moment then, gathering itself, leapt toward another beam of wood attached to another stall. But it fell. Undaunted, the little spider crawled again up the wood where it had attached its first web and tried again. And, once more, the spider hit the hard-packed floor. The King was fascinated. Normally, he never actually sat to observe something as lowly as a spider before. But then, he never usually thought of anything smaller than the entire kingdom as a whole, rather than its pieces. As the night wore on, the little creature continued to attempt its task. The King wondered why it did not simply give up. It was obviously getting hurt. Tired though it was, the little spider trudged on. And then, in a mighty leap, for a little spider, it managed to land onto the piece of wood it was aiming for, attached its line, and crawled across that line to the first piece and soon had a beautifully spun web. 

"Bravo, little spider! I never thought you'd be able to do it!" Exclaimed the King in surprise. Applauding the little creature's efforts. 

Then the King sat once more upon the hay bale and began to think again of his situation. But, the more he tried to focus his mind of the usurper, his thoughts kept going upon the little spider sitting so placidly in its web. Then, a massive amount of anger welled within him. Here a little spider, wounded and alone, had managed to spin its web without any help at all, and he, a King, with a massed army still at his command, had given up. Given up and went to sulk. He knew what he had to do. Looking upon the web, humbled now, he knelt down before the little spider and spoke, gently.

"Thank you, little friend. For you have taught me a valuable lesson. I promise I shall never forget."

The next morning, the King headed back to the valley where his men were and planned, once more, to enter the fray. Before he left the barn, however, he carefully barred the doors and marked them with a bright red X so that he could find it once again. His men, by now, had rested well, their wounds were healed. And they were eager to follow their King into battle. The King ordered their standard changed. A small black spider upon a white field. That afternoon, they took the usurper's armies by surprise. And, while they were defeated, the King was undaunted. The King's men tried different tactics, never two the same, and, finally, in a tremendous battle, the King finally won back his throne, the usurper defeated, was placed in chains.

A few weeks later as the kingdom began to rebuild. Find the barn in the hayfield with the red X upon it and rebuild it first, he ordered his people. But, he cautioned, do not kill any of the spiders you see there. Capture them, feed them, keep them alive, but do not kill them. His people were confused at his orders but, as he was their King, they obeyed his command. Once the barn was rebuilt, the hay bales replaced, all the spiders were returned to the new barn, their new home, and the King, finally, revealed what had occurred that stormy night and the lesson he learned there. And his people nodded approval and understood. Giving up when things seemed at their worst was never the path to follow. But fighting on against the odds and never losing hope was a lesson even the lowly spider knew.

Tom Gervasi 
sounds like the story of Robert the Bruce and the spider.

<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris	P-stories-msg	Page 32 of 32