Estrella War Tales - The Cloven Fruit of Shame

Estrella War is approaching! Soon I'll be basking in the hot desert of Atenveldt, where I will have five days to experience one of the best and largest SCA events in the world.

It has been a couple of years since I went, and the last time the flood waters were up to my KNEES in some camps. So the weather scared me off. As well as not really having enough money to go. But this year, I'm flying instead of driving. Huzzah to quick travel!

I'll be taking my camera to document several occasions. A wedding, a hafla, and a new baby. Battle shots, camps, garb, merchants row...ahhh...I'm starting to get into the spirit now!

Well, back to the reason I wanted to post. I have a very special tale to tell from the very first Estrella War I attended, waaaay back in 1994. Wow. Twelve years.

Anyway, I had been in the SCA perhaps a few months, having been to only one other large event (Pennsic). I had gotten involved with a bunch of Dragonsspine folks, before the Corvus Aurorae household came into existence. I think it was because of this Estrella that we all decided to make an 'official' household out of our social group.

I was really, really into Celtic art at the time, and I brought some black and blue Sharpie markers to War so that I could draw "woad" Celtic designs on my campmates. The desert was hot and dry, and we were all running around in as little garb as we could legally get away with.

Camping with our group was a fine and handsome man named Alaric* (name changed to protect the guilty...) who also happend to be very, very, innocent in the ways of the cloven fruit. And women in general, for that matter. And this was also HIS first camping event. Green as the day is long.

As I'm drawing a really intricate celtic cross on Spiders' back, he appears in camp, with an orange that has been studded with cloves.

"A really cute girl just gave this to me! And she kissed me!" he beamed, blushing. His 200 pound muscular frame was just bursting with childlike happiness.

"Awww, Alaric, your first cloven fruit! I'm so happy for you!" I say.

He studies the fruit. His brow furrows. "Wait a sec, there's letters here...."

Instead of being randomly insterted all over the orange, the cloves had been arranged to spell a word. I could see this even from a short distance.

As he's turning the fruit slowly, he's reading off the letters, one by one.

"D.....O.....M.....E. Dome. Hey, that's the german word for 'cathedral'. I wonder if that girl likes german cathedrals too!" He looks around, like she'll appear at our gate any second.

"Give me that," I say. "Um.... Alaric? It doesn't say 'dome'. It says 'Do Me'."

A bright red blush crept from the open V in his poet shirt all the way to the top of his head.

"Oh. Really? Are you sure?" He set the fruit carefully down on the table, like it was a bomb about to go off.

As the rest of our camp is rolling in the dirt, laughing, I'm trying to console him while executing a rather difficult celtic knot on Spider, who so far has managed to stifle his giggles.

"Yes, I'm sure. Some girls are a bit too forward for you, huh? Welcome to the SCA."

Then our campmates start chanting "oh, Alaric, do me!" in high pitched girly voices. I can't possibly continue to draw under these conditions, as Spider is practically vibrating from mirth.

I think he was permanently scarred from the experience. From that day forward, he has avoided girls with cloven fruits. And to this day, twelve years later, you can still hear 'oh, Alaric' pop out of some of these folks mouths whenever he comes around.

That's probably the reason he moved to Ansteorra, actually. And he never went to War again. Pity.