Tag: Mistress

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The Maiden of the Gardens

Through solitude’s blooming orchid garden,
A graceful and elegant maiden does stride,
Enters our lady, Camille Desjardins,
Lavender waves across an amethyst tide.

The flowers herald her arrival,
Blossom with each step serene,
As if her presence Spring’s revival,
All in her grace stay evergreen.

Careful she gazes upon their beauty,
with every floret’s form observed,
For she accepts her kingdom’s duty,
to see them on a scroll preserved.

Her brushstrokes capture and acclaim,
the trappings of renown and glory,
To skill and service she does bring fame,
And to great battle, and claimed quarry.

Upon her parchment she infuses,
Life into the artistry she weaves,
She is the favored of the muses,
Her inspiration the lakes and leaves.

She captures the beauty of color and light,
Immortalizing honors with ink and quill,
To bring glory to those who do right,
Her patient hands bear unwavering skill.

This art alone could be life’s labor,
Yet her talent flows without such bounds,
Her voice, her stitch, her nimble saber,
The quality of which astounds.

Her voice can soothe a heart of fire,
Granting peace and granting reason,
As a lark’s call disperses ire,
that sounds upon the warming season.

Her mastery of fiber weaving,
Shows clearly within her stitch,
The way she blends fiber receiving,
awe from those it does enrich.
And none would dare to test her mettle,
As this gentle flower does adorn,
Herself with not just purple petal,
But with our kingdom’s golden thorn.

A woman finely celebrated,
In talents stitched and inked and floral,
Does rightly need be elevated,
Into the Order of the Laurel.

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Birka 2015

It’s time for Birkacon! This Viking’s favorite holiday, where she gets to shop until she drops, and then maybe sit in two to four hours of court and recover from shopping.

The shopping portion of our event went from the time I arrived, about 10, until 3, with a break to eat. I think. I hope I ate… Anyway, Aneleda had advised that there would be my second favorite things, singing and rounds, outside the fighter pits, at fighter-o’clock. I eagerly was early to her class, which was not formally in the site booklet. We sang for an hour, and then Aneleda took me to my first Vigil. I didn’t know who this person was, or what to say, but I clung to Aneleda like a frightened child holding fast to her mother’s skirt. Her son was a few years removed from this age, so I’m sure she was fairly used to it.

Then we sat down in the hall together, I don’t even remember what floor we were on, all I remember was we were fairly removed from the rest of the event, and it was quiet. I had been looking to start my bardic journey, but was in desperate need of guidance, and she knew that. My knight, Sir Marcus, had been scheming behind my back, to make this next event happen.

Aneleda, in her dulcet tones, asked if I would be her student for the next year and a day. Star-struck, I agreed, barely having a voice to confirm, barely having air to push through my vocal cords. I quickly told her a story I found extremely embarrassing because it featured her, and the only reason I did so was because I wanted to make sure this relationship was still kosher.

With her sparkling, warm eyes, and a curled tendril framing her face, she blessed this relationship with a smile. I was now ready to be the best bardic student I could be.