An Atenveldt Challenge

What follows is the letter from the Crown of Atenveldt to the Outlands that was read at Al-Barran Midwinter...

Unto Their Royal Majesties Alrik Boleslavson and Slaine inghean Ui Sheanain, do we, Eduard Gostomski, All-Father and King of Atenveldt and Asa Hrafnsdottir, Daughter of Ravens and Queen of the Sunlit Lands send greetings on this, the beginning of thy Fimbulwinter.

Long have we looked upon thy realm with a feeling of pride, as any parent must. Thy exploits begin to garner some renown and even the one-eyed may see that there may be great deeds in the days ahead for you. Yet that same eye also sees the movement of soldiers towards our borders. Ever is it thus. The wayward child begins to feel he understands the breadth and depth of the world-tree and seeks glorious death without truly understanding what it means to live. Valhalla is a realm of warriors. We suspect you shall not listen to wisdom however. The young never do.

I confess We were surprised at your choice for General, as he sounds suspiciously French, and We are somewhat disappointed that your army is likely to take the field only to surrender. I mean really, have they ever had a successful military leader that they haven't burned? (Napoleon, alas, was Corsican)... Please note that for tribute, fine wine is acceptable, smelly cheese is not, and no, we shall not have a break for croissant and coffee. Oh very well, perhaps coffee...

Bearing in mind that you are likely to come to our lands only to find Your Ragnarok, we have made every effort to be efficient hosts. Thus we are pleased to send suitable were-gild ahead of time. This should be enough to pay off 5 drunkards to relieve themselves on the bodies of the worthy of your army and set them alight... what is that, a dozen or so? Less? Hmm... Perhaps We have overpaid?

Also note that we have included two items for His Majesty in particular: The Fimbulwinter is cold, and though the Lands of the Sun are warm to her friends, they can be harsh and unyielding to the young. It is tradition here that children presenting themselves before the Crown be given a gift of booties. Thus do we present such to you, Your Majesty. We would not wish for you to develop "cold feet" on the eve of your demise. We have also included something which You should be intimately familiar with, Your Majesty: A toy. The creature it represents iscalled a horse. You are likely familiar with it as "horsie." Warriors ride upon it to battle. It is our hope that this gift shall allow you suitable time to become familiar with the concept of being around "scary big horsie things" before you take that final ride upon Odin's eight legged steed Sleipnir. Or at the very least, the approximation of it from four pall-bearers who shall move thy corpse to its funerary barge.

This of course assumes that enough of your populace is left after your defeat to fill the requisite number. If not, I suspect We will have to make arrangements to take care of this for you. It is, after all, what the Odin-King should do.

We shall, of course, toast and boast upon your behalf in our meadhalls. As we must assume that you are not yet of age to appreciate this, We feel obliged to inform you that mead is a fermented honey drink of surprising sweetness and potency not unlike the first kiss of a fair maiden. Oh, but our apologies? We had momentarily forgotten that such is a pleasure you have yet to discover. Sadly, we think it unlikely that you shall live long enough to experience this. Perhaps you may yet make do with milk.

So Good Children of Atenveldt's loins, we issue this challenge to you: Bring Us your soldiers. Bring Us your champions. Bring Us your heroes. Let us face each other upon the fields of Estrella and test each other in the face of battle. Let us commit to the dance of death with ravens and Valkyrie in attendance. Show us the worth of the Outlands when steel is pledged against steel. Let skald and soldier raise voice in the honor of the brave and the dead, and lay low the coward that slinks from the battlefield. Thus shall we discover whether Estrella be a war of Warriors and Heroes or merely the noisome puling of babes and children.

For all our boasts, and all our roasts, we raise a glass in Your honor, that we may meet and struggle before the gates of Valhalla.

Eduard One Eye, Odin-King of Atenveldt
Asa, Queen of the Sun, and Daughter of Ravens

In service to Crown and Kingdom,
Mistress Ari Usni, Abacus Herald, Kingdom of Atenveldt

Atenveldt Feast Cam

A sneak-peak into the casual lives of Atenveldters. One guy (you can't miss him) loves to play with his food. And that guy with the grapes has pretty good aim!

A few more Estrella Photos

More Estrella Photos for your enjoyment, courtesy of Kamelia Delavar....

Many, many people journey up the rocky hill to take a 'bird's eye view' shot of Estrella War every year. Usually you see all the colorful tents and banners, nestled in a bright pocket of lush green grass. If you look hard enough at the first photo here, you can see that everything is pretty much the same color of light brown. That is why I'm dubbing this the Ugliest Estrella War photo EVER.


Next is Kamelia and Don Talan, who look just smashing in the warm Atenveldt sun. For those of you keeping track, it has been almost 14 months since his leg was shattered into a bunch of sharp pointy bits. He was getting around Estrella War just fine with a cane and even made it up the trail with Kamelia to take that bird's eye view shot. Believe me, that hike is not easy! Huzzah for bone grafts!

If things go well, this summer may see him return to the fencing field.


The third photo is me! And I happen to think that this is one of the BEST SCA photos ever taken of me. Somehow I managed not to sunburn my belly that day. I was keeping the sun off with my new floppy hat. That brings my collection of SCA hats up to five now. You can never have too many hats.


Last, but certainly not least, is the mysterious Benza, keeping shady under her parasol. Man, I'd hate to be a single guy on the receiving end of that gaze. Sultry!

Estrella War

Estrella War is over and I'm home safe. My voice is shot from all the dust. After five days of Atenveldt living, I'm suprised I can talk at all. The fencing was great, living in Darbuka was 24/7 drumming and dancing...the merchants were amazing and yes, the pictures will be up soon.

Seriously, it was the best time I've had all year.

In the last 12 years, 10 of which I was able to attend Estrella, I have managed to keep my wits and not get sick from alcohol. Well, I'm not entirely happy to admit that the streak is broken.

I blame the mead at Nightwolf. You guys really ARE evil. But you know I love you, right? How could I not? You brought a celtic carved BAR with you to war. Jeesus.

I'll tell ya, though, somebody needs to stop all that cloven fruit in your camp. Soooooo bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

Other points:

Gunvaldt from the West Kingdom: I met you at the Outlands party. Really dear, you are the cutest thing I've seen in a tabard in a long time. But I could have birthed you. Waaaay too young, even if I WERE single. Sorry I bailed on the party, I thought you were getting too frisky. Say Hello to Isra for me when you get home. I'm sure she'll have a huge laugh.

Corvus Aurorae: Thanks for letting me fight on your team. Old School! I think someone might be offended that I didn't fight with Caer Galen...

Orion: Thanks for letting us crash at your house monday night. I miss you and Kai and Brennan. I'm sure it sucks being a displaced Outlander in Atenveldt. Glad to see you haven't gotten rid of all our action figures. Though sleeping in the same room with them was a bit difficult.

Well. Back to reality. Job. Money. Flushing toilets. Email. Hot water on demand. Food without dirt in it.

OK, reality ain't so bad.

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.