New Heirs

Sep 2014 (AS 49)

Septentria will have new heirs,
Chosen from amongst the players
Who love the land of snow-white bear;
Who will it be? That I can tell.

There are two who have the skill,
To lead the people, hand to till,
And can these high seats spacious fill,
Being Stinkeye and his Badrielle.

The Fian Stands Upon the Field

By THLaird Colyne Stewart

June 17, 2014 (AS 49)

The Fian stands upon the field

To face the noble swords of three

Brave men who will not ever yield

Nor from a challenge ever flee.

The first to draw his blade so keen

Is Rorik with his noble mien

Former champion to a Queen

His worth so easy to be seen.

Next comes Thorulfr, father, squire,

With braided beard and blue white shield,

Whose foes smolder on burning pyre

Who in defeat has rarely kneeled.

Third comes Bjarn from northern hall

Skilled with the sword and mace and maul,

His victories are beyond count

No challenge he can not surmount.

In bloody contest now they meet

Fianna from across the land

Who in fray they must now defeat

To earn the right to join their band.

Strong is the bear, and stronger still,

As more its ranks the people fill,

Strong is the bear, and strong our will,

Who next will face the Fian’s skill?

Written in the form of three rispettos in iambic tetrameter. Done as a proclamation for the challenge of Lord Rorik, THL Thorulfr and THL Bjarn, who fought their White Bear Fian challenges at War of the Trillium 2014.

Now Goes Pelayo unto the Lists

Now goes Pelayo unto the List;

I rejoice, freedman, do not desist.

Now goes Pelayo unto the field;

I rejoice, freedman, do not yield.

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, based on the 13^th century poem “Now Goes the Sun Under the Wood”.

Two-Headed Rose

(for Adrielle and Rustique)

Whenever I see these Queens

who ruled so well

between them—regal, royal—

and giving so completely,

laughing with joy, and working

together, with their Order, or alone,

it would take little to melt my heart!

For when, because of them, I remember

the courts they held when Crowned,

the people inspired,

the thrones secure.

These two, my kind friends,

are near. For them I rejoice so deeply

it would take little to melt my heart!

So my heart expands

with happiness.

It swells with pride

when remembering their deeds—

they who reigned so well.

They who inspire me still

it would take little to melt my heart.

Roses, I cannot keep silent

about your gracious deeds

giving all to your people—

it would take little to melt my heart.

(based on Quant je voy ces amoureux: Aultres Balades by Christine de Pizan (ca. 1365—ca. 1430) as trans. in The Writings of Medieval Women: An Anthology, 2nd ed., by Marcelle Thiébaux

"When brigands stole the canton's lands"

Unto her Honourable Ladyship, Aurelia Gabriana, and the Lord Graem deList de Cherbourg, from the Canton of Ardchreag,

My friends, we write to you today to say how appreciative we are for the use of your land to host Ealdormere War Practice V, as well as all the help offered without thought of profit or reward leading up to and during the event.

On behalf of the canton we offer our humble thanks for your contribution to our canton, in regards to EWP V.

When brigands stole the canton's lands

and ripped the deeds from out there hands,

their neighbours did a noble act

and offered up their farming tract.

Illumination by Lady Mahault van der Eych

Words by Laird Colyne Stewart

Calligraphy by Lady Iolanda de Albornoz 

"With sword a fighter slays his foe"

Unto his Excellency, Baron Halfdan Blackanvil, from the Canton of Ardchreag,

Good Baron, I write to you this day in appreciation of the wooden heater blanks you donated to ‘the dojo’ that is currently training at Ardchreag’s fight practice. Members of the dojo will have the honour of bearing shields made from those blanks to the Debated Lands this August.

On behalf of the dojo and our canton we offer our humble thanks for your contribution to the war efforts of Ealdormere.

With sword a fighter slays his foe

But without a shield he takes a blow.

A scarlet shield with ursine white

Ensures the bearer lives ‘til night.

Illumination by Lady Nadja Kesali

Words by Laird Colyne Stewart

Calligraphy by Lady Thorfinna gra’feldr

"A killing blow the plate deflects"

Unto his Excellency, Count Sir Sarnac Bahadur, from the Canton of Ardchreag,

Good Count, I write to you this day in appreciation of the fine breastplate which you donated to the Daughters of the North raffle at Berus’ Bar and Bar Room Brawl. This item was won by a member of our canton who is busy training a unit of new fighters for the upcoming Pennsic War. This unit is affectionately known as ‘the dojo’, and is currently training at Ardchreag’s fight practice. One of the dojo members will have the honour of wearing the breastplate to the Debated Lands this August.

On behalf of the dojo and our canton we offer our humble thanks for your contribution to the war efforts of Ealdormere.

A killing blow the plate deflects,

Ealdormere steel the man protects.

Struck fighter lives throughout the fray

And with his sword is won the day.

Illumination by Lady Nadja Kesali

Words by Laird Colyne Stewart

Calligraphy by Lady Thorfinna gra’feldr

Geld of the Hose

Negligent are we

Hose forgetting we

Grateful are we

Forgiving are you

Gift accepting are you

Friends are we

(We Fight for Septentria) Ursine Born

Laird Colyne Stewart, Jan AS XXXVII (2003)

Bears fight in the heat of a blazing sun

Bears fight in the chill of a winter morn

Bears fight for honour and they fight for fun

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

We stand on the field at the break of day

We charge on the field, our foe runs away

We cheer on the field as we take the day

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Bears fight in the heat of a blazing sun

Bears fight in the chill of a winter morn

Bears fight for honour and they fight for fun

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Finnvarr built the very first hall

The first Baroness, Gillian d’Uriel

The first northern colour scarlet all

They fought for Septentria, ursine born.

Aedan’s blood runs in our veins

Caffa’s spear with red blood stains

Well ruled Adrielle, first with Ieuan

They fought for Septentria, ursine born.

Bears fight in the heat of a blazing sun

Bears fight in the chill of a winter morn

Bears fight for honour and they fight for fun

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

D’Arnot shortly led they way

Cynred and Gaerwen later held sway

Now Galbraiths claim the day

They fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Of hero stock our race was bred

We bleed bright white and we bleed bright red

Our banner won’t fall unless we’re dead

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Bears fight in the heat of a blazing sun

Bears fight in the chill of a winter morn

Bears fight for honour and they fight for fun

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Bears fight in the heat of a blazing sun

Bears fight in the chill of a winter morn

Bears fight for honour and they fight for fun

We fight for Septentria, ursine born.

Upon the Passing of the Khan of Ealdormere

Colyne Stewart, Oct AS XXXVII (2003)

Once the leaves were scarlet, once the leaves were red,

Once our King was living, but now the Khan is dead.

One sunny day in fall time he went out on the hunt,

Setting out on horseback, riding to the front

With his loyal guardsmen and Duchess by his side.

He set upon the game trail; t’would be his final ride.

An arrow whistled from the dark and struck him in the eye,

A hero from the steppe-lands, a hero meant to die.

Bahadur we called him, knight in Western lands,

Keen with wit and wisdom, generous with his hands.

A man like this makes enemies of unseelie souls,

These creatures hated goodness, they hated lofty goals,

And so they sent an archer of hate and shadow formed,

Hidden in the red trees past which hunters stormed.

Once the leaves were scarlet, once the leaves were red,

Once our King was living, but now the Khan is dead.

Carried by the Kashek, carried to his Queen,

His body placed upon the grass, red upon the green.

The people then they grieved him, railed against their loss,

Cried for Sarnac Bahadur, who bled upon the moss.

Some say they saw his glowing shade dressed in snowy white

Watching as his followers bemoaned their awful plight.

He kneeled beside his children, as Roak took the Crown,

His noble face lost in the grass, his hands upon the ground.

And as his children stepped away, the Khan began to fade,

Leaving naught but steel-clad bone within the leafy glade.

Once the leaves were scarlet, once the leaves were red,

Once our King was living, but now the Khan is dead.

Untitled Poem for Cynred and Gaerwen

Lady Thorfinna gra’feldr and Laird Colyne Stewart, Feb AS 37 (2003)

Bright glory of the northern sky

Reflects within the baron's eye.

His tired sword is in his grasp;

His hand to beating breast is clasped.

For four long years he's led the land

And marched across the Pennsic sand,

Kept kinsmen from the tygre's maw,

Small Badger, Cynred is the Claw.

The river's beauty flows for miles

Within the baroness's smile.

Her nimble fingers spinning wool

Her promise to the northland full

With open arms she's held the land

To all extended welcome's hand

Encouraged us in war or art

None doubt that Gaerwen's the Heart

Poet and artist was the thegn-  

At times of peace within his reign

With ringing hammer rough to feel

He poured blood's labour into steel.

Gentle voice raised song to air,

Pride in his folk large as the bear,

To make all feel they have a part;

He is a Claw, but too a Heart.  

Her banner flies like scarlet flame

And marches south with each campaign

As scout or archer bending bow

With bear's keen eye her arrow's go

In court and wartime just and fair

She fierce protector of the bear

By love and deed the people saw

A Heart she is, but too a Claw.

Now in the sunset of their reign

They know that naught was done in vain

The legacy will carry on

Long after they have come and gone

And now the thrones are filled anew

By ravens beating blood so blue,

With two new hearts and two new claws

glory to Septentria!

To Sarnac, Lupine Highness of Ealdormere, Upon the Occasion of His Knighting

Colyne Stewart, March AS XXXVI (2001)

Hear my words new Ba’adur¹.

Though new to these lands, you do I know.

When tales were told of chivalry,

Of bravery on the battlefield,

Always your name did I hear.

At War I saw you inducted into our Kingdom’s martial order.

I have watched you fight, as others have watched you fight,

And those who wear the white belts and baldrics have deemed you worthy

To join their Great Order.

At Winter War you were invested

And I saw the love that the people have for you.

I saw the other Heroes who traveled from kingdoms far

To be with you that day.

I watched as blessed spurs were placed upon your feet,

As a chain that had long been awaiting that day was placed about your neck,

As a sash made by your Princess was placed about your waist,

As a sword from the east was placed in your hands,

Blows exchanged, horns drunk

And you now Ba’adur, proud Sarnac.

But with this privilege comes great responsibility.

You must now act as the leopard, tiger and bear² to us,

The people.

We who look to you for guidance, both as Ba’adur and Prince.

You are our protector, our leader.

Teach us to live in tegsh³.

Sit beside the hoimor⁴ and contemplate

The universe reflected in your ger⁵.

I see the fire in your eyes,

Reflections of the gal golomt⁶

And I am at ease.

You are worthy Ba’adur.

You have high hiimori⁷

From past deeds you have done,

And I see it, glowing white,

Growing greater as the years progress.

Your ancestors you will make proud,

And we will follow you.

Ba’adur,

May your bow shoot straight,

May your blade find its target,

May your heart remain true,

May Father Heaven and Mother Earth succor you,

May you lead your people well.

Ba’adur,

We are yours.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1.                     Ba’adur is Mongolian for Hero, and is Sarnac’s new surname as a Knight.

2.                     Three of the highest-ranking animals in Mongolian shamanism.

3.                     To live in balance.

4.                     The north side of the ger, the holy seat behind the fire. A place for holy objects.

5.                     A tent, often called a yurt in the West.

6.         The daughter of Father Heaven who lives in the fires that are placed in the center of gers.

7.         Also known as windhorse; personal psychic power gained through living well and honourably.

Note on this Piece:

This is told as from the point of view of a Siberian Mongolian shaman, in a style similar to their ritual chants.

To Garraed Galbraith upon the Occasion of his Vigil for the Order of the Laurel (Pennsic XXXI)

Colyne Stewart, Aug. AS XXXVII (2003)

A belt snaps in the air

A voice rises up in song

And I am swept away

In words that shape my spirit,

In words that shape my Kingdom.

This bard whose voice comes like rolling thunder

Who swells my heart with pride

Who sings in hall and field,

In sun and rain,

He is an inspiration to me

As a bard

(without him my pen would be silent)

And as an Ealdormerean.

Our Kingdom owes him debts unpayable

As the Wolves give voice to all his songs.

This scholar-bard,

Singer-writer, Honourable Lord,

More worthy to be Olagh than any other.

Never stop writing

Never stop singing

Long let your voice rise in the North.

To Baroness Adrielle Kerrec, Upon her Induction into the Order of the Pelican

(Pennsic War XXXII, August 2003)

Laird Colyne Stewart

A bird who flies above the rest

Does plunge her beak within her breast

To care for all within her nest.

To Baron Sir Siegfried Brandbeorn, Upon his Induction into the Order of Chivalry

(Pennsic War XXXII, August 2003)

Laird Colyne Stewart

Upon a brooding cliff awash in foam,

Amid the tall trees thick and verdant green,

The fiery bird of lore there makes its home,

To be born again in smoke and steam;

Once perched upon the old Duke’s sturdy arm,

The phoenix flies unfettered, bold and free;

Its claws are gentle or they can cause harm

As sure as flashing swords of chivalry;

Bright blue, stark white, its regal wings stretched wide

To shelter those over whome’er it flies,

To sally forth with knights whene’er they ride,

To be reborn again whene’er it dies;

A bird who’s brilliant plumage is so fair,

A symbol of one man, one knight, so rare.

This Winter Night

Colyne Stewart, Jan AS XXXVI (2002)

My armour is cold, in places too tight

My breath plumes around me

                                                This winter night

The Baron had called me, called me to fight

As I stood on the field

This winter night

The snow falls around me, heavy and white

Red banners flap slowly

                                                This winter night

A group of great geese go by me in flight

As I stand on the field

                                                This winter night

The charge had been called, I ran out to fight

Praying I’d live to see

                                                This winter night

The battle was met, and I filled with fright

Wishing that I’d still see

                                                This winter night

I fought with the foe, they filled all my sight

Their armour as black as

                                                This winter night

I heard my liege call from off on my right

I fought so he would see

                                                This winter night

The Baron was pressed from the left and right

The enemy pressed with

                                                All of their might

I threw myself forward on their blades bright

Still hoping I would see

                                                This winter night

The Baron still lives, we put them to flight

Though my armour is cold

                                                Stained red and white

My spirit flew past my teeth in a bite

As I laid dying on

                                                This winter night

The snow falls around me, heavy and white

Red banners flap slowly

                                                This winter night

My spirit still stands for my Baron’s light

As I stand on the field

                                                This winter night

Ten Men of Ealdormere

Colyne Stewart Oct AS XXXVI (2003)

Ten fine men of Ealdormere
set off upon their way
armed and armoured walking in
the sun that shone that day

and as they walked they hummed a tune
and burst out into song
with merry heart and happy soul
they made their way along

the nine were huge and hulking men
the tenth was rather small
he was the butt of most their jokes
he smiled and took them all

beside their path there was a cave
before which cried a dame
the lead knight stopped and gripped his sword
the others did the same

"what ills ail thee?" the good knight asked
"a creature" she replied
"which stole my child into the cave
I fear that she has died"

"fear not" the knight said stepping forth
"for we will find the child"
the others echoed his brave words
although the cave looked wild

"but wait, my knights" the lady said
"the cave it is accursed
but he who conquers ev'ry vice
will make it to the purse"

"we are knights true" their leader said
"no flaw do we possess
as your champion, I will go
and 'gainst the darkness press"

so saying he the first went in
with torch and sword in fist
deeper darker the tunnel twined
the ground obscured in mist

he called out to the creature vile
challenged it to duel
no answer came, the fighter stood
in the darkness cruel

a scent then wafted to his nose
he found a banquet spread
ham and pheasant, soup, stew and hare
white cheese and nuts and bread

stomach rumbling he sat to eat
he ate and ate and ate
outside his fellows ill at ease
they found it had grown late

the second entered looked about
to try and find his friend
instead he found broached kegs of ale
the liquor was his end

the third found snuff, the fourth found gold
both stopped and so both died
the fifth succumbed to women loose
his body home to flies

the sixth was sure he was the one
he bet he was the blest
he wandered long in darkened hall
never to find his rest

a gold-gilt mirror found the seventh
and gazed upon his face
he stood so long he turned to stone
he stands still in that place

the eighth caught by sycophants
he only heard their praise
the praise was false, they left him there
he wasted from malaise

the ninth found nought, he raged about
and stumbled in the dark
he fell upon his bastard sword
which pierced his angry heart

 this left the last, the smallest knight
least of their company
he smiled at the lady, then
into the cave went he

he found the food, the ale, the gold
the women and the fame
he passed them by, ignored them all
they passed out of his flame

he passed the vice and found the girl
the evil creature slain
he helped her out back to her mam
he only without stain

dear reader, there's a lesson here
for those who choose to learn
the strength of man is ever flawed
'til we our vices spurn

Wolfen Elegy: In Memory of Ulrich von der See (mka Markus Grunwaldt)

Colyne Stewart June A.S. XXXVI (2002)

Can you hear, with pointed ear
The howl that’s on the wind?
The wolfen cry to let us know
Erlkonig here has been.

Stunned we sit, ‘round fire’s pit
With words that will not come.
No voice can fill our sense of loss
Our tongues and pens struck dumb.

One we knew, for days too few
Abruptly taken from us.
Life gave no sign of things to come
No warning; must it be thus?

As he’s lain, search not in vain

No reason can we find.
Embraced by Horned King’s bony arms
He left us all behind.

To understand, together band
For comfort all will need
To forge ahead through grief and pain
Our strength will be our steed.

He was a friend 'til very end
A smile he shared so free;
Let all the Wolves remember him
In hearts and memory.

The rain pours, as the wolf roars
And shares in all our tears;
For we have lost a kindred soul
True child of Ealdormere.

St. Crispinus’ Day Speech

Colyne Stewart, Oct AS XXXVII (2002)

Today is the 2nd anniversary of the Glowering of Crispinus (Oct 25, AS
XXXV), a moment that was immortalized in the immortal play 'Henry the V I
am, I am" by the immortal Chreagger playwright Stephen of the Ink Stained
Fingers. To celebrate this fine holiday I would like to take this
opportunity to quote from Stephen's work:

The St. Crispinus' Day speech:

Seneschal:
"O that we had a holiday
upon this day, an excuse for sloth,
a reason not to work."

Crispinus:
"What ho, my lord, if I must call you so,
do you rail for reasons?
If we are wont to sloth, then we will do so,
and if we are asked to work we shall decline.
By the Turtle of the Cliffs I care not for gold,
but for the frothy amber of a pint
I may be inspired to raise my pick or hoe,
but once quaffed the lethargy returns
and tool sinks to the earth.
I tire, lord, if I must call you so,
of kings and laws when fun I want
and if the want of fun is sin
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, horror, ask not for work or law.
By the aardvark, I do not care for your rewards
You think the scroll an honour
(and mayhap it is) but an honour bought how?
With work? With toil? With blind following of laws?
Nay, I have no stomach for this fight
and shall depart these sylvan shores
to pay my passage home with coin
raised through foolery.
This day I leave you, my work done,
and this day may be a holiday
for call it the feast of St. Crispinus
for he (or she) that wakes this day may
take their break from toil
to travel to a local pub
and raise a glass of ale or stoat
and toast the memory of me,
the glowering jester of Ardchreag.
Blow the foam, sip the mead,
Sample from the finest brews:
Guinness, Rickard's, Whitbread, Bass,
These are my pantheon.
Do not forget to take some time
for fun, by gods, for fun and folly.
Frolic on the cliffs, our home,
work as work ye must,
but on this day I have named for me
take the time for thyself
drink and be merry, hold thy cup high,
and exclaim while speech remains with you,
"To our leisure we give thanks,
Upon this St. Crispinus' Day!"

(Please note: This is a work of fiction, based on Shakespeare's St.
Crispin's Day speech in Henry V. It is written purely in fun and in
remembrance of Crispinus Spellar, who plays our game no more. Today really
is St. Crispin's Day. And as true coincidences go, in the original speech, a
man is mentioned by the name of Talbot, which is Crispinus' mundane last
name.)

Septentria at War (War Season XXXI)

Colyne Stewart June-Aug XXXVI (2002)

From northern lands came Cynred bold

His spear at hand, his sword to hold

The badger from his den did ride

For word had come the Tygre died

Gaerwen led the scouts so quick

And archers with their arrows lick’d

Septentria rode south that day

All bless’d by the northern fey

The Dragon ‘croached on Eastern land

The Tygre called with furry hand

The Wolf descended to the East

Invited Bear to join the feast

The battle met in barren lands

And there two mighty armies stand

Septentria is in their midst

Our mighty fighters of the lists

Cynred leads us into battle

Cutting foemen down like cattle

The mighty Baron of the north

Whom Bards and Heralds shall call forth

Of stature small and heart immense

Of axe and helmet, shield of dents

A song upon his noble lips

Upon his sword red blood down drips

He is the one who leads us in

Through all the shouting and the din

The battles won and rarely lost

With him are all our futures tossed

As Cynred shoots the foemen down

Gaerwen of the never-frown

Does gleam his arrows from the grass

She the comely northern lass

From snowy lands she calls her home

She saddles up her horse to roam

Traveling to field and shire

Comfort found about a fire

She loves the land, it loves her back

Of love and patience not she lacks

And when she’s been down in her cups

She just may hike her tunics up

She who inspires all of us

Who march behind her to the tuss

She with the heart of Giantess

Our most beloved Baroness

Inspired by our nobles true

A Champion has come south too

A val’rous Lady I decree

Armed with a wyrm come from the sea

Her name you all know and honour

She with all our skill along her

For when Seonag takes the field

Septentria shall never yield

In tournament she met them all

Who with sword did come to call

And though she did not win the day

The Champion’s collar she took away

Her honour and her charity

Which on the field’s no rarity

With words of praise for all her foes

No utterance of her own woes

Led our great Thegn and Baroness

To her with copper collar dress

Now she our bravest Champion

She who inspires us to win

And with her trained and others too

To prepare us for battle s’true

Brandt the quick-foot, Brandt the swift-swing

Showed us how to make foe’s heads ring

With raven shield and shining suns

He leads the charge and swiftly runs

So fast we are all left behind

Courage greater is hard to find

He trains and teaches not just arms

He knows the ways of wood and farms

And armour he can help to build

For his keep is with it filled

He teaches till his students can

Teach others and so fill the land

With armoured fighters for the fyrd

With love and loyalty all stirr’d

To the front, his voice raised high

His eyes upon the blue-white sky

Is Hector of the plaid and skull

Who sings like dove and fights like bull

His words inspire love or fear

And people gather just to hear

And in the War he leads the way

For with him we shall win the day

We the rank and file army

March together in harmony

Shield to shield and sword to sword

Lands to cross and rivers ford

‘Fore our battle’s finally met

We charge into the foemen set

And all pure white and all pure red

The brave and loyal fyrd men bled

But not a one will turn away

Not a retreat will sound that day

Although we may fall to a man

The ursine banner still will stand

We will not flee, nor leave the field

Until Thegn’s honour is fulfilled

We are the army of our lands

We are the bearmen of red hands

Septentria shall always be

A land of truth and love and free

So long as people such as these

Live, love and play amongst our trees

We are the northmen, we the Bear

We are the heart of Ealdormere

And I the Bard now rest my pen

To stand and hold my sword again.