Pennsic is a test of arms between the East Kingdom and the Middle Kingdom. As such there has to be some "keeping score" to determine who bests whom, right? Traditionally this has been through "war points." 37 war points to be exact. Traditionally SCA combat has been fought on an honor system. If you get hit hard enough you "die." If enough of your guys "kill" enough of their guys, you get the war point for that battle.
Over the 23 years I have been coming to war I have heard all sides complain about their opponents not taking blows, not dying even when a shot is "good." And when your opponent doesn't die there is a natural tendency to hit him and all his comrades harder. This, of course, makes everyone angry, and angry fighters hurt others and get hurt themselves.
A great deal of this is based in a desire to "win," but this year the king of the East has taken that factor out of the game. He ceded the War to the Middle at the opening ceremonies. Now some are saying that he did this in a fit of pique that the East had fewer fighters and allies than the Middle, and some are saying he did this in hopes that if the "win" isn't a factor everyone will play nicer. Some are saying that the East fighters are so angry about this that they will fight harder, and some others are saying that many East fighters will not bother to even take the field since there is nothing to fight for.
The first battles go off in about an hour. So we'll have to wait and see. As for me I think nothing much will change. Honorable fighters will still fight with honor for the joy of the test of arms. Assholes will still be assholes. The question each fighter has to ask him or herself is: which am I going to be?
Honor, courtesy, and chivalry are still hallmarks of living the dream.
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacation. Show all posts
21 January 2014
Off to Pennsic . . . almost . . .
At 6 am I can tell already that the day here is going to be hot but beautiful. There is something about early mornings, though, before the heat. The sun and sky move slowly from grey to bright. The air is cool enough to make hot coffee a treat as much for the warmth of the cup as for the caffeine. I haven't finished my packing, however, and I find myself lollygagging.
No ordinary vacation, I am off to live in a ger (or yurt) among Mongols in the 12th century on the Steppes of Western Pennsylvania. Yes, it is once more time for The Pennsic War.
So my packing for Pennsic is still not done. Somewhat because I didn't get out of the office until late yesterday. Somewhat because I was still at the computer at home at 11 pm redoing some of the text in the reports that the boss needed today. And somewhat because I am at a point where Steve needs to do his bit before I can do more. I wonder sometimes if all this stuff is really worth it. Mind you, the yurt is stacked and ready to be loaded on the trailer. My trunks (way more clothing than I will need) are ready. It is the kitchen box and the coolers I need to pack. And Steve hasn't yet begun to pack his trunks. I am letting him sleep in this morning a bit longer while I putz on the computer. Neither of us seems highly motivated about Pennsic this year.
I suspect it will be late afternoon before we get on the road. Fortunately Pennsic is just across the border.
Sorry, Frog! I had hoped to make your planning meeting for next year, but it just ain't happening!
No ordinary vacation, I am off to live in a ger (or yurt) among Mongols in the 12th century on the Steppes of Western Pennsylvania. Yes, it is once more time for The Pennsic War.
So my packing for Pennsic is still not done. Somewhat because I didn't get out of the office until late yesterday. Somewhat because I was still at the computer at home at 11 pm redoing some of the text in the reports that the boss needed today. And somewhat because I am at a point where Steve needs to do his bit before I can do more. I wonder sometimes if all this stuff is really worth it. Mind you, the yurt is stacked and ready to be loaded on the trailer. My trunks (way more clothing than I will need) are ready. It is the kitchen box and the coolers I need to pack. And Steve hasn't yet begun to pack his trunks. I am letting him sleep in this morning a bit longer while I putz on the computer. Neither of us seems highly motivated about Pennsic this year.
I suspect it will be late afternoon before we get on the road. Fortunately Pennsic is just across the border.
Sorry, Frog! I had hoped to make your planning meeting for next year, but it just ain't happening!
Pennsic Living
Someone I love said to me that his camping days are over, implying that this is roughing it. Pennsic is a different animal. This isn't ordinary camping. I have a yurt with oriental rugs and a queen sized bed piled with furs and pillows. Enough candles to light Versailles. A kitchen set-up as good as home.
In fact, the best thing about Pennsic is that I get to cook. I actually have time to cook. Last night's dinner was grilled teriyaki marinated pork loin, garlic butter rice, tossed salad with fresh tomatoes, olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing.
Breakfast today was chocolate filled croissants, fresh strawberries, and Gevalia Stockholm Roast coffee. This is decadent-living-style camping.
Tonight, steaks on the campfire, fingerling potatoes with fresh rosemary, corn on the cob, baby watermelon for dessert.
And then there is the food court here. You can get anything from Middle Eastern delicacies to ice cream, from Medieval stews in bread bowls to killer burgers. Yesterday I found one of the beverage places can do iced mocha smoothies.
Oh, you could live on hotdogs and Gatorade if you wanted to, but what fun is that compared to Cornish game hens stuffed with pears and raisins, wrapped in bacon and tin foil and baked slowly over a campfire the served with a nice Chablis?
In fact, the best thing about Pennsic is that I get to cook. I actually have time to cook. Last night's dinner was grilled teriyaki marinated pork loin, garlic butter rice, tossed salad with fresh tomatoes, olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing.
Breakfast today was chocolate filled croissants, fresh strawberries, and Gevalia Stockholm Roast coffee. This is decadent-living-style camping.
Tonight, steaks on the campfire, fingerling potatoes with fresh rosemary, corn on the cob, baby watermelon for dessert.
And then there is the food court here. You can get anything from Middle Eastern delicacies to ice cream, from Medieval stews in bread bowls to killer burgers. Yesterday I found one of the beverage places can do iced mocha smoothies.
Oh, you could live on hotdogs and Gatorade if you wanted to, but what fun is that compared to Cornish game hens stuffed with pears and raisins, wrapped in bacon and tin foil and baked slowly over a campfire the served with a nice Chablis?
Erin of Darkyard
Over the years the service has evolved. There is a system for sanitizing the water jugs. The water is filtered and the jugs filled. And then volunteers transport filled water jugs to the field.
This morning I met a young lady named Erin over the tedious chore of filling water bottles. Pleasant surprise! She is from my own area. She is also an incredibly hard worker who deserves much praise for her contributions to Pennsic services! The picture here is of Erin standing in front of a few of the jugs she filled.
Guest Post: by Baroness Brise (aka: my friend Kendra) at Pennsic
Pale orange morning arrives on a golden drop of dew, the whir of golf carts going by. Last night's festivities on the battlefield have long since made way for hangovers. Bleary eyed travelers are still arriving as they have been through the night--minivans, pick-ups, school buses packed to the point of madness.
Shortly, what was once a big field will be a small medieval town with majestic gates, pavilions, yurts and towering camp walls of fabric, wood and extruded plastic (which doesn't have a poetic sound to it but it's a church with stained glass, a rhythm all its own). Soon there will be Lords and Ladies dressed in garb, nicer than their Sunday's best. Kings and Queens processing about, shimmering in the sun--crowns almost too bright. Knights making believe they are something a little better, a little more refined than they actually are--for no other reason than it sometimes feels good to be that guy just for a little while. Night will eventually nestle itself on a bed of wood smoke, lulled in by the beat of drums. Few fires are without dancers, barefoot in the dust. Painted faces, feet and fingers move like liquid. One by one the campfires will go out as Pennsic falls asleep in tents nicer than some homes--rugs, pillows four poster beds with tapestries all around.
Tomorrow the sun will rise again and we will do the same as we have all done for decades. Each a little better than before. I love this Pennsic town.
For now there are things to do. Territory to negotiate. Lines to draw in the dirt--the same lines we negotiate and draw every year with the same neighbors.
It's not all drunken assholes. It's not all risk and liability. There is beauty here you will never find anywhere else.
Shortly, what was once a big field will be a small medieval town with majestic gates, pavilions, yurts and towering camp walls of fabric, wood and extruded plastic (which doesn't have a poetic sound to it but it's a church with stained glass, a rhythm all its own). Soon there will be Lords and Ladies dressed in garb, nicer than their Sunday's best. Kings and Queens processing about, shimmering in the sun--crowns almost too bright. Knights making believe they are something a little better, a little more refined than they actually are--for no other reason than it sometimes feels good to be that guy just for a little while. Night will eventually nestle itself on a bed of wood smoke, lulled in by the beat of drums. Few fires are without dancers, barefoot in the dust. Painted faces, feet and fingers move like liquid. One by one the campfires will go out as Pennsic falls asleep in tents nicer than some homes--rugs, pillows four poster beds with tapestries all around.
Tomorrow the sun will rise again and we will do the same as we have all done for decades. Each a little better than before. I love this Pennsic town.
For now there are things to do. Territory to negotiate. Lines to draw in the dirt--the same lines we negotiate and draw every year with the same neighbors.
It's not all drunken assholes. It's not all risk and liability. There is beauty here you will never find anywhere else.
If it is Tuesday this must be AEthelmearc
Today has been rainy off and on. No thunderstorms (as were predicted), but hot and damp. I worked at Water Point all morning. So damp and even damper.
The bitching this war is all about the book. No day by day schedule. I told Frog, next years Pennsic Mayor, I'd do Cultural Affairs next war, and I promise a day by day hour by hour schedule. For PW 39 I am back to running Info Services. So any of you reading this... If you want a job... Email me!
Tonight is AEthelmearc court. Daedez, our much beloved Khan, will be getting her laurel for Mongolian research. Party afterwards. I have about 10 dozen Chinese dumplings in my cooler to fry for the party. And 4 dozen stuffed grape leaves as well. The Ansteorran brothers are doing the "big hunk of meat" on a grill thing. Much wine. Emma's made the infamous cheeseball. Good times will be had by all.
Stay tuned for pictures!
The bitching this war is all about the book. No day by day schedule. I told Frog, next years Pennsic Mayor, I'd do Cultural Affairs next war, and I promise a day by day hour by hour schedule. For PW 39 I am back to running Info Services. So any of you reading this... If you want a job... Email me!
Tonight is AEthelmearc court. Daedez, our much beloved Khan, will be getting her laurel for Mongolian research. Party afterwards. I have about 10 dozen Chinese dumplings in my cooler to fry for the party. And 4 dozen stuffed grape leaves as well. The Ansteorran brothers are doing the "big hunk of meat" on a grill thing. Much wine. Emma's made the infamous cheeseball. Good times will be had by all.
Stay tuned for pictures!
Last Friday at Pennsic
Last night was the typical "party at the gate." Pug had a keg of beer he wanted to empty, and what was left of the cyzer. We fed beer to passers by on the road, saved the cyzer for ourselves. Then there was the remainder of the Kahlua, the Baileys, some cherry liquor that Devon had which could easily remove paint, some St. Germaine that Irene brought. And a bottle of chai liquor that Corun gave me. (That of course engendered many jokes about "having a taste of Chai" which of course led to choices: a kiss from Chai or a pull on the bottle of chai?) The thing that is so hard to explain to non-scadians is the easy familiarity among SCAdians. The flirting, the hand-kissing, the hugging, the courtly-love behavior, the puppy piles.
There is a level of intimacy among SCAdians that doesn't even happen among some mundane families. We sit around campfires or gates and rub each other's backs or feet or hands, we snuggle and cuddle and enjoy the warmth of human contact with people we see only once or twice a year. We hold each other's hands through crises, confide intimate details of our lives, trust each other with steel, with our our wallets, with our children.
It is hard to put into words what these people on this hill mean to me. How much I love each and everyone of them. We call each other "brother" and we mean it in all senses of the word: family, comrade in arms, child of the same parent, of the Society and the Dream.
We come from Texas, Wisconsin, Illinois, Missouri, Maryland, New York, North Carolina, Louisiana, Kentucky, Ohio. And if you added all the real time hours or days I have spent with some of these people--somewhere between 2 and 4 weeks a year for somewhere between 2 and 20+ years--it comes to mere days and weeks. But I tell you, I know them all. Some of them I have known for lifetimes and will know for lifetimes to come. We are family, not by blood, but by choice. Even those who have left the household are still with us. Corun no longer rides this path, but he still is my anda, my bredu. Lance rides in Northsheild these days, but we still count him among our own and when he was Pelicaned this week we gave (okay, inflicted upon!) him the family medallion with its chainmail burden.
Through the years we have lost brothers. Some have returned--Bojei, Teg. Some we have been lucky enough to reconnect with fortuitously--Kashra most recently! Others will never return in this lifetime, but live still in our hearts. Christopher. Moriseqti. Chinua. Kit. Dwarf. Ulrich.
This afternoon after Kuraltai we strike the Mongol set. The Tugh comes down first, then the wall and the gate. Tonight we will burn a Viking longship for Ulrich. And there will be more partying, Moritu and Pennsic staff as well. More drinking, toasting laughing, hugging, loving, and some crying, too.
And then we go separate ways. This afternoon Bagshi leaves. After dinner so will Bryn. Tomorrow morning the Ansteorrans pull out. And Silver and I packup and head home then, too. By Sunday evening the rest will be gone. Monday there will be nothing but grass left on the hill. Like Brigadoon this will all fade into the mist, gone again until next August.
But Moritu continues. This is roleplay, yes, but it is more than just that. It is a lifestyle, a commitment, a family as well.
I love you all, Andanar.
There is a level of intimacy among SCAdians that doesn't even happen among some mundane families. We sit around campfires or gates and rub each other's backs or feet or hands, we snuggle and cuddle and enjoy the warmth of human contact with people we see only once or twice a year. We hold each other's hands through crises, confide intimate details of our lives, trust each other with steel, with our our wallets, with our children.
It is hard to put into words what these people on this hill mean to me. How much I love each and everyone of them. We call each other "brother" and we mean it in all senses of the word: family, comrade in arms, child of the same parent, of the Society and the Dream.
We come from Texas, Wisconsin, Illinois, Missouri, Maryland, New York, North Carolina, Louisiana, Kentucky, Ohio. And if you added all the real time hours or days I have spent with some of these people--somewhere between 2 and 4 weeks a year for somewhere between 2 and 20+ years--it comes to mere days and weeks. But I tell you, I know them all. Some of them I have known for lifetimes and will know for lifetimes to come. We are family, not by blood, but by choice. Even those who have left the household are still with us. Corun no longer rides this path, but he still is my anda, my bredu. Lance rides in Northsheild these days, but we still count him among our own and when he was Pelicaned this week we gave (okay, inflicted upon!) him the family medallion with its chainmail burden.
Through the years we have lost brothers. Some have returned--Bojei, Teg. Some we have been lucky enough to reconnect with fortuitously--Kashra most recently! Others will never return in this lifetime, but live still in our hearts. Christopher. Moriseqti. Chinua. Kit. Dwarf. Ulrich.
This afternoon after Kuraltai we strike the Mongol set. The Tugh comes down first, then the wall and the gate. Tonight we will burn a Viking longship for Ulrich. And there will be more partying, Moritu and Pennsic staff as well. More drinking, toasting laughing, hugging, loving, and some crying, too.
And then we go separate ways. This afternoon Bagshi leaves. After dinner so will Bryn. Tomorrow morning the Ansteorrans pull out. And Silver and I packup and head home then, too. By Sunday evening the rest will be gone. Monday there will be nothing but grass left on the hill. Like Brigadoon this will all fade into the mist, gone again until next August.
But Moritu continues. This is roleplay, yes, but it is more than just that. It is a lifestyle, a commitment, a family as well.
I love you all, Andanar.
08 August 2008
Across the Bifrost Bridge
We are sitting, a hundred or so people, in the falling dark, watching a boat burn. The sky is that deep indigo just before night. Lights from camps on the far side of the lake are beginning to glow. There is the rattle of a distant drum now and again in the distance. Sounds of far away laughter. The flames are a hard brightness against dark waters.
We sit in silence. Some weep softly. A few tell stories, pass a bottle of Tullimore Dew.
In memorializing a good man's untimely death we are reminded of life.
We touch. Hold hands. Reach out to each other knowing that none of us knows the hour that the ravens will come for us.
You out there at home... touch someone. Reach out to someone you love and tell them you love them. Life is too short to waste even a moment of it alone.
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Daedez says words about losing a friend while Silver passes a bottle of Tully
Silverthorn arming up
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07 August 2008
Silverthorn and Denewulf
Denewulf is the sword and shieldman, Silver fights polearm. Silver is shorter by a couple inches, and (I think) cuter (though I could be biased). Can you tell which is which?
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