O Suleiman bin Iskander, O shining star of generosity,
With your hands, glory rises, and joy lights the halls.
You set up sites and adorn the lands, like a gentle breeze that swiftly blows.
You stand unwavering, your presence a beacon of light.
And upon the vast web of the unseen world, you weave a path for those who stray.
How could we not honor the hands that assist setting up greatness and build memories?
So take, O noble one, the Silver Wheel, a radiant gift most deserved by hands of Demon-King of the Three Heavens Reborn and Maharani Indrakshi, Horned Queen of the Night Sky.
As of AS 59 at the Crown Tournament by Rapier Convention, you too may display this honor.
In every generation there is a chosen one. He alone would stand against the mundania of solid colors and boring prints. Muin maqq Minain, first of his name but not last of his bloodline and protector of the plaid-ypus. A man of egg-straordinary tastes who was so brave he always took the whisk! He was the Baron.
I was asked several years ago to compose and athem for Stonemarche. I have had very little faith in my own compositions. The kingdom is filled with very many talented composers and who am I to try to be amongst them? It was brought up again that we needed an anthem and I finally got the gumption to write one. It’s not perfect and it’s a little quirky but so is our Barony.
Below is the recording of it’s first performance and the lyrics are below.
In the snow capped mountains From far away lands Dwelled the folks in 3 towers Who wear white and green bands
We fence and loose arrows We sing and we dance See the gifts that we offer Our love’s not a chance
We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead
Rolling lands rich with sheep Cross the grass covered hills A gift from lochleven We tend to their wills
Cross the grass spanning lands And as they wander and roam Our children do gather And bring them all home
We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead
If you come from the outside If you dwell in our tillage All around us are welcome Inside our family’s village
Paint us up a bright chorus Join our Bards in their song We fight and we dance No activity’s wrong
We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead
We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead We’ve a motto in Stonemarche, There’s no famine we said, In Stonemarche, Stonemarche Our home, our hearth, our stead
Not a ton to report. These pieces aren’t super new to me outside of my own composition and the new lyrics to Miri. The day felt good and I’m not ashamed of my performances. They weren’t perfect but they were solid.
Through time’s vast veil of ash and smoke, A mystery burns, a tale unbroke. Greek Fire, the tempest, the sea’s fierce bane, A whisper of alchemy, lost in flame.
A weapon forged in secret’s keep, That made the mighty navies weep. A liquid blaze, unquenched, untamed, Its makers lost, its name unnamed.
Yet through the past, with steadfast gaze, You walk where history’s embers blaze. Octavia Veritas, seeker of the spark, You chase the fire through the dark.
In scroll and script, in lab and lore, You trace the past, unlock its core. With wisdom’s torch, you light the way, And bring the lost to modern day.
For knowledge burns as bright as war, But builds where ruin stood before. And so, we honor what you inspire— A scholar’s mind, a soul of fire.
I wrote this… I wrote all of this. Putting out songs of my own are terrifying. It took me until now to finally feel comfortable enough to publish this. This isn’t the best recording but that’s ok. Folks came in late, a spider was taken off me while performing BUT! people sang along. That is why I felt like posting this. I hope this song becomes an anthem for the Bards. This is about who sings for us when we are gone. Think a-la Hamilton, “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Their Stories”. Be brave. Sing your songs unashamedly.
Video taken by Jasmine Rochelle Goodspeed
I dreamt of a day when you sang a song The song was spun for me Instead of painting a warriors skills Bardic tales were their decree
I hoped for the day when lauds and praise For those who most enchant Not the stories and words of those who berserked Spoken out for those who can’t
Who will sing my song when I’m gone? Who will tell my story? Who’ll remember the days And sing of the praise Of the minstrel’s memory
If you would walk the streets at night Or at a meal or ale Hark! To those who weave the myths Sing for them a jaunt wassail
Know you the tales of great Arthur You have heard of Lancelot Epic deeds rhymed in memory fair But the bringers oft forgot
Chorus x2
The sun will rise and the moon will fall As time will wane and pass To the memory of those before We all should raise a glass
To the bringers of the melody When their bodies live no more A chorus sung to bring their name And conjure spirits to restore
Blank scrolls are hard. Do with this what you will.
In the shadowed embrace of this night of specters and enchantments, we, the honored Baron and Baroness of Iron Bog, do joyously recognize the luminous brilliance of [Recipient’s Name]. With artistry and grace that transcend the ordinary, your creation, [specific item or artwork], has enchanted our senses and captured the very essence of our eerie revelry.
Through the whispered tales woven into your work, your skills’ splendor shines like a beacon in the twilight. Your dedication to the craft and your ability to conjure beauty from the mists of time have earned you this distinction.
May your creative spirit continue to soar on the wings of inspiration.
Given this [day] at Ghosts, Ghouls and Goblins, AS 59 by their Excellencies Andre l’Epervier and Genevra d’Angouleme.
Úlfarr is another human who has been in my life for several years. He works hard and is an incredibly skilled story teller. When you see him in full blown Bard, it’s captivating. I’ve been lucky to also serve as a mentor to him for running events but also to see him grown in his own with service to the College of Performers as well as service to his Barony. When the scribe asked me to wordsmith this scroll, I was overjoyed. I hope he feels the same way.
Master of service and Skald we emplore, In the heart of Settmore Swamp’s embrace, Thy name resounds, esteemed evermore.
And never in adversity do we face
From northern climes and storied past, Thy voice like a beacon doth shine, Guiding the realm with tales steadfast, And lore that through ages entwines.
In halls where the minstrels’ voices blend, Thy contributions ring clear and bright, College of Performers, a chatelaine and friend, Thou art a beacon in the night.
With tireless hand and spirit bold, Thou hast nurtured as Seneschal through Settmore’s song, Fostering the craft with wisdom untold, Where bards and poets together throng.
Through stewarding gatherings, great and small, Thy service doth never wane or cease, For Settmore and the realm’s great hall, Thy deeds bring harmony and peace.
To each event and joyful fest, Thou bringest both cheer and grace, Uplifting all, thy gift expressed, In every heartfelt, joyous space.
Thus, we honor thee with verse, For thy service, so noble and grand, In Settmore and the East you traverse, Thy legacy in tale shall stand.
I always loving doing scrolls for friend’s. This was a very long time due scroll and I am glad that the scribe reached out to me to wordsmith. I have known Ceara since about a year after she and her spouse (at the time) moved to the East Kingdom from Drachenwald. We became close bardic friends. She is who I go to regarding fairy tails. She could give you 3 period versions of Cinderella if you asked her to. However, she has magic in the kitchen when she cooks so I wanted to combine both of those things. I do mix pronouns on purpose.
In the whimsical world of Ceara’s kitchen service, where spatulas dance and spoons sing, there lives a chef whose passion rivals that of any fairytale’s fervent hero. Imagine a kitchen where the aroma of fresh-baked bread mingles with the scent of adventure, where each dish tells a story as magical as any spell from a storybook. This culinary artist, with a heart as warm as a freshly brewed pot of tea, whisks up wonders and ladles out legends. With every chop of the knife and stir of the pot, they’re not just preparing meals—she is crafting enchanting experiences. The kitchen becomes a castle, the oven a dragon’s lair, and the ingredients, a treasure trove of fantastical flavors. Her love for fairytales is sprinkled into every dish, transforming humble ingredients into culinary enchantments. A sprinkle of this, a dash of that, and voilà—each made with love.
Will full bellies and full hearts, it is only right that we, Tindal and Emerson, Crown and Consort,do hereby induct Ceara inghean Eoin into the order of the Silver wheel,at Harper’s Retreat where she can continue to feed our Blue Tyger Kin in times of peace and times of war.
Calligraphy and Illumination by Robert dwe Makminne
Another boast I had the honor of writing and performing was for my dear friend, Fionnghualla. It can be difficult to capture of the all the amazingness that is a person who does service. Their service can be silent and long done. I have known Fionnghualla since almost the beginning of my SCA career. I wanted her boast to be special and stand out. I don’t like writing boasts that just list off the persons OPID. It’s not what that person deserves. They deserve to have a unique and special experience. I dug down into my old person RAM and dug up some schtick that I hadn’t thought about in 10 or more years. There is a pirate ship which is run by all women called “The Scorned Lady”. This had popped into my brain, I did a bit of digging and research and this is what was produced.
Ahoy!
Shake in your boots and make ready
Avast your idle conversations and turn a weather eye
The Scorned Lady, Scourge of the Sea has anchored
Servant to no one but the water itself
Now enters a most ferocious creature
Her personal banner waves and never were swans and a single rose so fearsome
Make way for the string that keeps the Barony of Stonemarche tied together
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 