Tag: Puns

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Bardic Around the Fire, Part Deux

It’s that time again, kids! Or well, adults! Might be best to leave the kids at home for this one!

Back by popular demand, Bardic Around the Fire Part Deux was held at Kythe and Sine’s, on another nice, balmy late June/early July evening (things tend to run together when too much fun is had around a fire with good friends, good food, and some good booze). Much like the previous year, there were both new and familiar faces. IT seemed like people knew what to expect, so there was very little for me to manage. There did seem to be a lot more plebeians this time, who were ready to request their favorite song or story, but not quite ready to step onto the stage themselves.

 

Food was a drop more sparse in variety this time, but the alcohol made up for it, and flowed quite nicely. The only children we seemed to have this time were not really young in age, just in heart. This time we even had Battlecat Zeus in attendance, all hail his purrfectness! I swear, if people weren’t performing, they were petting this damn cat. The night roared on, much like the fire, but I had to leave at a reasonable hour, because some of us had work the next morning *grumble grumble* But I would definitely call this another success.

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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.

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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

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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