The Birth of Ravensbridge

This piece was composed for the the incipient shire of Ravensbridge. They has put forth a challenge to compose a Song/Story/Poem about their inception. This was my response. Recording to come.

The Birth of Ravensbridge- By Sölveig Bjarnardottir

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Trapped between rivaling nations we stand
This place was not home, no not on this land
Together as people the plain that we spanned
to make a home not written in sand

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

We searched for a center, a place to call home
Two strongholds that stood, both we did roam
Endewearde, headland of swords north fair
Malagentia lit South, by the light of Sif’s hair

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Our men speared-din worn, our people lost drive
‘til an outstretched arm lent our kinsman to thrive
A spot between moon and shield to be shown
Our wound-hoe, blood-ember and arms soon to be grown

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Nameless the many who wandered are we
A name and an image we’re proud to be seen
In honor of friends and this place that we stand
The Raven and Bridge is our chosen brand

Down by the swan-road we soar on the wing
and from our hearts a song we did sing
Over the mountains it rang o’re the ridge
about the birth of Ravensbridge

Panteria

Pantaria, not to be confused with that band.

Vermont is COLD, even in May. Luckily, I was sleeping in a cabin. I spent most of my day fencing, as I had just authorized in my first form. What is more therapeutic than stabbing your friends? I also thought it would be a good way to warm up for the bardic that night. Tonight’s competition was “Sing a Period Piece.” Also, please have documentation.

So, I was one of the first people there, armed with documentation of my trusty Cacinni piece, Amarilli, Mia Bella. Originally, my only competition was a young lady, who I assumed was in her early twenties. I then convinced a friend I had been traveling with, and a few surrounding individuals to compete as well. At one point there was a woman still donned in her fencing armor, and she decided to compete as well. I was so excited to listen to another fencer perform, it’s not everyday you get to compete against someone with both sword and music! I later found out she was a composer as well. I was entranced by everyone’s songs, and found myself singing along with them. After all, I had been fed with food, why not feed me with music?

There was no winner announced that night, but I eagerly awaited to hear the winner the next day. The weather had turned dark and I decided to pack up and break down early. I was not looking forward to the three hour drive home. Before I left I had been greeted by the young woman who had run the competition. She handed me a swirled bracelet, and congratulated me on my win. Then she turned to my traveling companion and offered her an additional prize, for her efforts. It was really fun to win a competition outside my local area.

Ballad of the Balladeer

This piece was written solely to honor Mistress Analeda Falconbridge. This was presented to her at Birka 2016 to honor her at her Vigil for receiving her Laurel for her years of dedication and inspiration as a Bard to the SCA.

.

There is a tale set not long ago
Ventures a maiden, rare and bold.
Locks of silver, tresses of flame.
Her songs, her charms, her stories remain.
Fearless she seeks tales, ever forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

Besides you she sings, besides you she fights.
Circled by shield wall she’ll take up the pike
With bolstered hearts, the army ne’r yields
Joined the warrior, bard on field.
Fearless she hunts legends, e’er forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.

This Balladeer n’er will leave your side
Your stomach soon filled as time would abide
A hearth ever lit where her songs resound
Souls never empty when she’s to be found
You will find savour burgeoning forth
Lo! The shield maiden feeds from the north!

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.

As fire lay dying, coals lay to rest.
Fellowship lines the walls of her nest
More songs, more tales, the crowd would plea
She’d exclaim, “Said you! post the last 3”
As stories of snails and epics came forth
Lo! The shield maiden sings of the north

Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.

The Sca, It’s not a quiet village

This is my second attempt at a filk. This, again was inspired while at an event. I was providing entertainment at a Demo. The discussion of our medieval village came up and the comparison to Beauty and the Beast, the Disney move/production came into discussion. I was challenged to finish a filk using the SCA as a subject. Thus, the blow filk was born!

 

Filk By Sölveig Bjornadóttir

 

SCA it’s not a quiet village
No day like the one before
SCA full of Sca’dian people
Waking up to say

It’s War! It’s War! It’s War, It’s War, IT’S WAR!

There goes the blacksmith with their hammer like always
There goes the scribe with quill in hand
Every fighter’s armored up
“Hey don’t don’t forget your cup”
Oh look! There goes the water bearer too!

(Spoken)

Good morning M’Lord!
Good Morning young Bard! What are you up to today?
Well, you see I just finished composing this beautiful sonnet and-
That’s nice young Bard. Your excellencies are approaching, Ulfric, Hurry up!

Look there the bard goes, they are strange, no question
Dazed and astrayed, humming a tune
Never part of any crowd
Not even with a shroud
No denying they are funny ones those Bards

Look there that fencer goes they’re so peculiar
I wonder if they’re feeling well
With a dreamy, far-off look
Their rapier style’s school-book
A conundrum to the crowd, those who fence

Oh, ain’t the Queen amazing?
She my fav’rite part – you’ll see
Draped in her finest raiment
But wait to discover that in summer she’s viking!

Now it’s no wonder that they are always brewing
Their drinks have no parallel
At events that you should wend
There is no better blend
These distilers help to quell your thirst
Even if you think you’ll burst
These mixture masters help you quell your thirst

(Spoken)

Range is clear!
Wow! You didn’t miss a shot, Archer’s!
You’re the greatest archer’s in the whole world!

They know.
No fighter alive stands a chance against them. —
And no seamstress, for that matter.

It’s true
And they’ve got their sights set on the 60
The 60?
But seamstress’ they don’t even sho–

The most talented stitchers in town
That makes them the best.
And don’t we deserve the best?
Of course we do!

(sung)

Right from the moment when I met them, saw them
Their hats are gorgeous and I fell
With laurel leaves and pearls
Pelicans, no squirrels
So I’m making plans to woo and steal their hats

Look there
they go
They’ve got much bling
The knights and peers
I’ll be one too
Be still my heart
I’m hardly breathing
Maybe you should loosen your gorget

There goes the blacksmith with their hammer like always
There goes the scribe with quill in hand
It’s a pity and a sin
They don’t all quite fit in
‘Cause they really are a funny group
An amazing but a funny group
They really are a funny group
The SCA

Birka 2016

Shopping!!!

This is where you find the viking. This year, she’s up to no good, and by no good, I mean super secret, kill you if I told you no good. I had gotten wind that my teacher, Aneleda (though only for another day, OMG the year went too fast!) was to get her Laurel this Birka. What do you give a Laurel when you can only draw pregnant stick figures? I was sure they had already chosen the best person to make her scroll, her wreath, her cloak, and I knew my skills just couldn’t compare to those that had been chosen. What could I add to this occasion?

How about the gift that she’s been trying to enhance?

I put myself to the challenge that I would compose a song for my new-to-be Mistress about the best subject I could think of: her. I destroyed pens and pencils and perhaps a few computer keyboards while trying to make the lyrics befit her eloquence. This was no small task. Finally, like a load of bricks, I was hit by the muse.

The words poured out like water from a fall. I was mostly happy, and then I rewrote the entire piece about five times over, everything from the meter to the accents to pure word choice. Then came the music. It had to be folk-like. Because that’s what it called for. So not to forget what I had composed, I recorded a copy into my mundane recording device (aka my phone), and practiced it ad nauseum (I think I sang it in my sleep a few dozen times).

Once I had known Aneleda had safely received her writ, I reached out to her to find out if I should run the rounds class in her place, since she’d be just a tad bit busy. She agreed, and I did so. There was nothing profound about the rounds, but the sheer number of voices coming together to sing made me happy, and always makes it worthwhile.

It was then time for her vigil. The ad nauseum I was talking about? That’s turned to nausea, and let’s add some knees shaking, just for fun. This is something I had poured my heart and soul into, for someone I admired. Liquid courage was needed. A friend of mine had dashed off to find me a beverage, which I quickly consumed, and I found myself called into the vigil. I drew the curtain back, and sat by the candlelight. I opened my mouth and poured out my soul. When I looked up from the music, I saw tears running down her face, and knew I had achieved what I had come to do.

 

The Ballad of the Balladeer

 

There is a tale set not long ago

Ventures a maiden, rare and bold.

Locks of silver, tresses of flame.

Her songs, her charms, her stories remain.

Fearless she seeks tales, ever forth.

Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

 

Besides you she sings, besides you she fights.

Circled by shield wall she’ll take up the pike

With bolstered hearts, the army ne’r yields

Joined the warrior, bard on field.  

Fearless she hunts legends, e’er forth.

Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!

 

Warrior, friend, a sister on field

Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.

A leather bound book, great stories inside  

If you are not careful, you too will reside.

 

This Balladeer n’er will  leave your side

Your stomach soon filled as time would abide

A hearth ever lit where her songs resound

Souls never empty when she’s to be found

You will find savour burgeoning forth

Lo! The shield maiden feeds from the north!

 

Warrior, friend, a sister on field

Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.

A leather bound book, great stories inside  

If you are not careful, you too will reside.  

 

As fire lay dying, coals lay to rest.

Fellowship lines the walls of her nest

More songs, more tales, the crowd would plea

She’d exclaim, “Said you! post the last 3”

As stories of snails and epics came forth

Lo! The shield maiden sings of the north

 

Warrior, friend, a sister on field

Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.

A leather bound book, great stories inside  

If you are not careful, you too will reside.

If you are not careful, you too will reside.

If you are not careful, you too will reside.

 

Words and Music by Sólveig Bjarnardóttir

Malagentia Winter Feast

When I was your age, I used to walk to school uphill, both ways, barefoot, in the snow!

Because, winter!

Winter Feast was my first event in Malagentia, WAAAY back in 2011. I can remember it back in the Grange hall, and the warm feeling of families feasting together. Since then, Winter Feast has always been a special event in my heart.

With my passion for the feast, I made sure I would attend this year. The Malagentian Bardic Group had been on the newer side of things, and was looking for an opportunity to perform. With their numbers small, and my need to be a ham, I quickly raised my hand to be part of this production. It was discussed at the monthly bardic brunch that they would be performing a piece about the local champions; with my connection to Stonemarche — being my second home after all — I quickly volunteered to play their champion, because Viking, right?

Feasting and festivities filled the night, as well as food, fun, friends, family, and [fr]alcohol — hey, I tried! I was lucky I didn’t go comatose after the copious amounts of food I consumed, after all, a sleepy champion wouldn’t make much of an impression upon the stage. We even roped in unsuspecting volunteers — poor Sir Ivan, what a good sport.

We had made cue cards for our volunteers, as well as actors who might forget their lines; we had makeshift costumes, and fun props as well. You might say we gave ourselves “mad props” for our props, yo. Hey, I’m a bard, this is what I do.

The bad word plays were plentiful, as were the laughs. I even got my Paul Reubenesque death, which was all I really wanted. This was the first real experience for the Malagentian Players to perform, and it would be the birth of their stage performances.

Endewearde Hunt

Oh, I wish I was an Endeweardian…

I wanted to shoot things. I heard the Hunt was a good place to learn. There were several Grand Master Bowman who usually attended this event, since Endewearde was known for producing very talented archers. Must be because they’re up north in Maine, and have all those trees and squirrels to shoot at 😛

I need to make note of my traveling companions, only because I bounced ideas off of them. I traveled up with Sir Marcus, and Jan {pronounced Yan}. We spent the day passing between us bows and crossbows. I watched the Woods Walk and Target Archery, not feeling competent enough yet to try my hand at either. It grew dark soon after, and we stuck around for the delicious potluck feast. I was in awe of all the feats I had seen that day, and it struck me how much of a passion I had for wood and fletching and all their pointy glory.

On the two hour ride home, I was conversing with Sir Marcus and Jan, and was upset at the lack of songs written about archers, at least that I was aware of. I was determined to compose one. When that conversation passed, the conversation of a Harper’s Past and a 12-part Bohemian Rhapsody had arisen. Then, like a brick to the head, it hit me. I knew what I had to do. Frantically phrases rushed into my brain; I hit record on my phone, and began capturing all the snippets I could manage. Here’s the final product:

 

Bow-Hemian Rhapsody- Filk by Lady Sólveig Bjarnardóttir

Is this the field life
Is this just practicing
Caught up with scoring
No escape from targetry

Open your eyes
Look up at the prize and see
I’m just a bow boy, I need no armoring
because its aim it high, aim it low
Shoot the arrow, at a foe
Any way the wind blows, sorta really matters to me, to me

Yeoman, just straddled the line
Knocked a bolt onto my bow
loose the string now its a go
Yeoman, rounds have just begun
and now you’ve gone and fired them all away
Yeoman, oooo
Didn’t mean to make you cry
But some times Grandmaster bow men win them all
Loose on, loose on, as if scoring doesn’t matter

Too late, my fletching’s gone
Sent pointies down the line
Skimmed the petticote sometimes
Goodbye everybody, i’ve got to go
It’s time to pack my tackle and head to court

Marshall, oooo
I just wanna rank
More than just bowman once again

I see the little silouette of a deer
Let it fwoosh, let it fwoosh
Do you see the arrow flying
Thunder camp is frighting, with sword and boards a fighting
Little bow man, Little bow man
Little bow man, Little bow man
Little bowman – Bullseye

I’m just a bow boy, no swords point at me
He’s just a bow boy, from a bow family
Spare me your gripes and your pomposity

Pull it back, let it go, till the martial calls a hold

We’ve lost the tip! We always lose the tip. (Not the tip!)
We’ve lost the tip! We always lose the tip. (Not the tip!)
We’ve lost the tip! We always lose the tip. (Not the tip!)
We always lose the tip. (Not the tip)
Yes we always lost the tip
Always lose the tip,
Bow. bow, bow, bow, bow bow bow

Oh, mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, loose the bow.)
Your majesty has a medal put aside for me
For me
For me!!!!


Crossbows think they can sit there and steal the bullseyes
Mundanes think they can stroll past the field line alive!

Oh Baby!
Get off the field baby!
You gotta get out
You gotta get right out of here

Archers really matter
Anyone can see
Archers really matter to me

Anyway the wind blows

Harper’s Retreat 2015

The final days of being Baronial Bard leave me with bittersweet tears. On one hand, I am relieved to be done with the responsibility; on the other hand, I lose my sweet bling, and the super cool title — I’m most upset about the bling. Viking, after all.

This year’s competition required one period piece, the second in a different style, and finally dun, dun DUN (a la Jaws)… a surprise round!!!! for the top two finalists. As in years past, even though I wasn’t competing, there were still nerves about me, because this year I was in charge of running the competitions. While I had helped run the All-State competitions in college for high school students, and even had help running a very small competition at Palio, I had never been in charge of an SCA competition, by myself, no help, so I was worried things would get interesting and I’d have to turn to their Excellencies and beg for forgiveness.

In addition to finding my successor as Baronial Bard, I was running Warrior Bard, and adding an all-new competition for youth under the age of eighteen. The Warrior Bard position is important because it drives home the fact that athletes too can be performers, and vice versa. The position of Child’s Bard is one of the most important initiatives that the SCA has in their hands: after all, not to be cliche, but they are our future. If we instill the arts in them young, we will have a richly tapestried future.

But first, let’s start at the beginning of the day, shall we?

Like in the year before, the rounds had been such a success, I decided we must go around and around and around again. I swear the crowd was just as big as last year, mayhaps bigger than before. Had the news gotten around about how much fun we had had? Perchance. Bodies wandered in and out to join the festivities until there were no voices left. I had set a time limit on the class, but we soon lost track of it. I decided that rounds needed to become a staple at any event I could gather willing bodies, young and old alike enjoyed them no matter their musical backgrounds, and it was a joy to watch everyone have so much fun.

A lot of these bodies were returning from not only last year, but some whom I had met at Bardic Around the Fire, individuals who were too timid to sing on their own, and some who had come due to word of mouth. It once again was mentioned to me that not only were the rounds classes exciting because they offered an opportunity to sing, but they also gave people the courage to do so who would not usually sing in public. I cannot express how much their words of gratitude mean, but I can tell you their words continue to motivate me to run this class and provide this opportunity as often as I can. Plus, it’s a lot of fun.

There had been a previous announcement that the three Bardic Competitions would all be run at separate points during the day, allowing for children to have a decent bedtime, and fighters to have a full night’s sleep before their tournaments the next day. However, due to their Excellency’s prior commitments, things ended up running on Scadian time.

Feast ran once again without disappointment, and their Excellencies were as always a delight to sit with and make merry. Minor details of the upcoming competitions were discussed and the final call for competitors was made. At the end of feast, it was then announced the location and exact time of the competitions. I glanced over the list prior to the beginning of the competition, and extremely excited to see the sheer number of names, but also the backgrounds.

An hour later in the barn, it was time for the heat to rise.I had prefabricated scoring sheets, which had been a new practice to make things as fair as possible. These categories weren’t necessarily about aesthetics, but included such categories as stage presence, entertainment value, and the ability to be understood. Not only did I have their Excellencies on the panel, but also requested previous Baronial Bards and professional performers to join the jury. This, again, had never been done before, or at least in my short tenure in the SCA.

I, of course, allowed the children to go first so that bedtimes could be met and attention spans wouldn’t wander too much. We had five performers under the age of eighteen, the youngest looked to be ten. All of them sang, but their pieces were diverse. I was not disappointed in a single performance. There was so much potential in this small group of youth, I wanted to make all of them winners. One of the young ladies I had met in a harp class I had taken that morning, and her mother was eternally grateful for this opportunity to perform before an audience. She was generally a shy but happy individual, so I can see why this meant so much.

Next up were the Warrior Bards. We had every martial except equestrian represented in the competition. Again, I cannot express how exciting and important it is to not only have a turn out, but to also have one this diverse. We had song and story, poem and improv dictated by the audience.

Finally, we had the main event. All of the eight competitors were allowed to present both of their pieces, however, one at a time and randomized. From the eight competitors, the field was then narrowed to two. They were then given the challenge to write something about the Barony. They were given thirty minutes to compose anything, a song or couplet, story or lyric. While they were composing I had the difficult responsibility of talking to somebody I called friend and letting them know why they didn’t proceed to the finals. My heart sank, and although I was angry at having to do so, I worried I would potentially discourage an incredibly talented human being, I vowed to do my best to do the opposite, and encourage her the best I was able.

Each of my peers performed their individual compositions, both vastly different, but it was clear who would be champion that day. When the dust settled, it was announced the winners would be revealed in court the next day, as was tradition, and we would continue with an open bardic circle. It felt like the night had lasted forever, for both good and bad reasons. I mourned with my friend, but the incredible talent of the performers left my soul renewed.

The next afternoon, I processed into court the final time as a Baronial Champion. Before I stepped down her Excellency had honored me by allowing me to perform a piece before the entire court.After my performance, I first called the Child Bard, and presented them with a personal token; then I called the Warrior Bard. Then, the moment of truth. My successor had been called, and I got to dress her with the regalia, give her the box, and say, “So long, and thanks for all the fish!”

I then found a place in the crowd, and was a regular viking once more.

Bow-Hemian Rhapsody, The first attempt at a filk.

This was my first attempt at a filk… ever. The story of this is a few fold over. I was coming back from an event called, “The Endewearde Hunt.” This is an archery focused event. I so so inspired by the talent and skill that I had seen that day. I also had decided that I didn’t think there were enough songs about archers. I was discussing with my travel companions about previous event in which before things were serious and after camp had been set up that we all broke out into “Bohemian Rhapsody”. It had then struck me, Bohemian Rhapsody.. Bow-Hemian Rhapsody. I was inspired as my light bulb turned on. Thus I feverishly began to jot down lyrics and thus, this was born.

Bow-Hemian Rhapsody- Filk by Lady Sölveig Bjornadóttir

Is this the field life

Is this just practicing

Caught up with scoring

No escape from targetry

Open your eyes

Look up at the prize and see

I’m just a bow boy, I need no armoring

because its aim it high, aim it low

Shoot the arrow, at a foe

Any way the wind blows, sorta really matters to me, to me

Yeoman, just straddled the line

Knocked a bolt onto my bow

loose the string now its a go

Yeoman, rounds have just begun

and now you’ve gone and fired them all away

Yeoman, oooo

Didn’t mean to make you cry

But some times Grandmaster bow men win them all

Loose on, loose on, as if scoring doesn’t matter

Too late, my fletching’s gone

Sent pointies down the line

Skimmed the petticote sometimes

Goodbye everybody, i’ve got to go

It’s time to pack my tackle and head to court

Marshall, oooo

I just wanna rank

More than just bowman once again

I see the little silouette of a deer

Let it fwoosh, let it fwoosh

Do you see the arrow flying

Thunder camp is frighting, with sword and boards a fighting

Little bow man, Little bow man

Little bow man, Little bow man

Little bowman – Bullseye

I’m just a bow boy, no swords point at me

He’s just a bow boy, from a bow family

Spare me your gripes and your pomposity

Pull it back, let it go, till the martial calls a hold

We’ve lost the tip! We always lose the tip. (Not the tip!)

We’ve lost the tip! We always losethe tip. (Not the tip!)

We’ve lost the tip! We always lose the tip. (Not the tip!)

We always lose the tip. (Not the tip)

Yes we always lost the tip

Always lose the tip,

Bow. bow, bow, bow, bow bow bow

Oh, mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, loose the bow.)

Your majesty has a medal put aside for me

For me

For me!!!!

Crossbows think they can sit there and steal the bullseyes

Mundanes think they can stroll past the field line alive!

Oh Baby!

Get off the field baby!

You gotta get out

You gotta get right out of here

Archers really matter

Anyone can see

Archers really matter to me

Anyway the wind blows

Mentoring Dartmouth

Give it the good ol’  college try!

After winning Baronial Bard this year, I took is very to heart that I wanted to save and grow the bardic community. It was brought to my attention that we had a college chapter within the Barony at Dartmouth. I was close with Frenya, Estefania and Frostulf, who were serving as advisors to this chapter. I had first gone to meet the group when they were having their own faire/demo for the school. I went to show support and to get some music going. I met several talented musician’s in the group and offered my services.

My second visit to the school included me teaching a class on how to compose a Contrafact (Filk). We did this as a whole class. I had been working on one of my own, “Bow Hemian Rhapsody”. I brought the unfinished product into the class and then, we as a class worked through our own. I started with a popular song that most people in the class new like the back of their hand (No, there was no hair on the song and certainly no dried mustard).

The second class I brought was a master class. This is where a person would bring a piece that is pretty well worked on or in the process of being completed and we work on enhancing it in front of the group. This is a safe setting where you get to perform a piece without interruption and then we slowly and gently pick it apart to make it better.

The first brave soul was a young gentleman singing “When Johnny came home again”. His twist on it was painful and beautiful. When we finished working, everyone expressed they had chills and some had tears in their eyes.

Next, we had a young Harpist. This was an experience for me as I’d never worked with a stationary instrumentalist before. She was certainly skilled but where we could enhance her was in stage presence. We talked about eye contact, body movement and shaping her melodies and how her hands trailed from her harp. She stated that even she felt more connected  to the piece as well.

I made a few more visits up with the students until my reign was over.