March Coronet
Seems like I'm one of the few people who had a good time at Coronet this past weekend.
My tent stayed 98% dry (getting some seam leaks on my 8? 9? year old Panther), I slept very warm (yay sheepskins!), I had good clean fights and got to see some warm fuzzy moments. Yeah, it was cold, but the fire was warm. I wasn't lonely at all and I only had to escape the drumming once (there's just something about those big doumbeks that hurts).
Friday, I was the last of the group on-site.
The rest of Glyn Dwfn had a great set-up already in place, with the Baron's firepit already putting out some serious heat. I was taken aback, frankly, at how my car got... well, swarmed is really the only word for it. People just barrelled up and started hauling stuff. I've...never really had that happen before.
I mean, usually, I camp alone or with Cat and Raffe. So set up is a long, patterned process that I do myself. I beg a little assistance with the tent poles, but it's only 5 minutes of somebody's time. Having help with set-up is... unnerving? Odd? I'm so used to being the one helping, not being helped, that I don't actually have an idea of what other people can do to help. Got my stuff up within a half-hour, I think, including the bed set-up. And nobody laughed about my bear :) (well, to my face, anyway).
Saturday, the tournaments
My first round was against my shire mate, Offa. My knight pulled me aside, after I was out of the tourney and said, "You know, you can't go into a tournament against your student thinking about them being your student." And I blithely assured him that he wasn't my student... except, maybe, he is, kind of? Not anything official or formal. *shrug* I dunno. But I know that I went into that fight without my tourney head on. And, you know, it's really annoying -- in the challenge round, no less! -- to end up the last one picked and then to end up fighting someone I fight every week. I pouted. I admit it -- I totally pouted. Next, I have to smack the heck outta Rhys, the butt, for leaving me in that situation. Offa legged me, I legged him, he got a ticky side shot in, then a good one. I felt very frustrated with myself. I should know better than to socialize when I'm at a tournament. It just yanks my energy off my center.
My second round was against William Geoffrey. You know, Geoff is one of the people who taught me to fight, so maybe it was the other way around, for this round. Internally, I felt very... well, the best word I can find for it is serene. Almost... detached. The leg shot made contact before I even realized it was being thrown and Geoff was down. Looking back, I can remember his eyes, how startled they were. At the time, though, it wasn't an important data point. I was in before I could think about how, a thrust went over my shoulder and his point was useless. He tried to throw some onside bodies and legs, but I hovered too close, shield practically on his swordhilt, and waited for that arm to come out. Finally, I got him with an onside to the head, following up with a wrap to the back of the head. Not sure which one was good, but he was done. It was a good clean fight.
My third fight was also a good, clean fight. I enjoy fighting Brian (of Ledbury); he pushes me. Not just because he's a lefty (I face Thorfinn twice a week, lefties are not outside my experience). But Brian moves differently. He's more... tripod-based, in his movement. The wide stance, the pivot at the waist, the back and forth flex, a bit like Octa does, or Olin does. Brian pushes my levels, but he's not pulling anything underhanded when we fight. It's a straight-up skill-to-skill match -- the kind that makes you frown in the middle of it, and grin like a maniac afterwards. I almost got him, too. If I'd planted that off-side helm shot, instead of it being glancy? Yeah. Brian doesn't underestimate me, or condescend to me, which makes that "almost" pretty sweet.
After that loss, I was out, so I was free to think of the other thing I'd had planned for the weekend.
One of my shire mates, Baron Eirik Hardradi, is fighting brain cancer. And one of the Summits folks, Grimmar (who I saw up at OHSU), is fighting leukemia. The Baron doesn't need financial assistance, Grimmar does; both need to know people are pulling for them, supporting them, cheering them on.
So -- two great causes that work well together. And deeply require an Evil Plan (tm).
People in Glyn Dwfn had been idly talking about creating "Baron Tokens" to wear at Coronet. But with all the sewing and repairing and making that was going on, it was pretty easy to see that tokens were going on the bottom of the stack. However, the daughter of one of the folks in Glyn Dwfn has an industrial embroidery machine. I have Photoshop and can make programmable images lickety-split. Ha! Synergy!
The Thursday before Coronet, the first rush batch of 30 tokens arrived at my front door, courtesy of the US Postal Service. Caoilte's daughter, Loretta ("Redda"), had built them to spec, as many as she could, in the short time we had to put them together. She waived the patterning fee and only asked enough to cover materials and postage.
The Baron Eirik Support Favour:
For a $5.00 donation to Grimmar's Fund, anyone could get a Baron Eirik Support Favour. They were designed to be long enough to tie around the arm, or to a belt, or a leg or a hat, or wherever people wanted to wear them. So supporters could wear them wherever, and however, they felt comfortable.
But the core of the Evil Plan(tm) was The Photo.
The biggest surprise was Princess Liesel's decision to purchase favours for each of her guards -- Baron Eirik is on her royal guard, so she bought one for each of his brother guardsmen to wear. So she is front and center.
Now, sure, some of the people in this picture are from Glyn Dwfn. But not all. There are people from Myrtleholt, Southmarch, Briaroak, Adiantum, Terra Pomaria and Tymberhavene. There are people who know Baron Eirik as "that nice guy who helped them last year." There are people who "fought him a couple of times -- he's fun." There were arguments over who would get the last favour. There were people coming up to Glyn Dwfn folks later, asking if there were any favours left.
The photo was to have that tangible thing, that... touchstone... that says, "Hey. Here we are. Thinking about you. Go kick some *ss. We know you can."Yeah. *nod of satisfaction* Yeah.
Saturday, the evening
This was the first time I'd camped with a home shire since the first event I'd camped with (what was then) Cavernsgate. It was illuminating. The couples quarrelled with each other exclusively; by that, I mean that the men quarrelled exclusively with their romantic partners and vice versa. And it was interesting to see who could "go with the flow" and who "had to have" certain things certain ways and who really couldn't care less.
I was invited to dine over at the Rampant Squirrel encampment. One of my coworkers (aka DrummingJamie) is a member of that household, so I know them a bit. I like the people I know in there. The food was nice (despite the accidental ingestion of coffee-laced munchie bars) and I did enjoy the bardic stuff there.
Oh. Right.
I'm turning into my knight.
Yes, I spent about 45 minutes telling stories. Finnegan stories, early Summits stories, no sh*t there I was stories, I know this isn't true but isn't it fun anyway stories...Story flowed into story and people were having so much fun that it wasn't until I was walking back across site that I realized I had Pulled An Ambrose.
And later... uhm. Hrm.
There I was, snugged comfortably in my chair (the Red Chair of Butt-Holding +5), in my wool cloak, my fuzzy faux-Norse "An Tirian" hat pulled down over my eyes, enjoying the blazing fire... and someone who's face was familiar but whose name always escaped me, plopped down in one of the other chairs and chatted amiably with the group. Somebody addressed me and she sat bolt upright in her chair and asked, "Vesta? Are you The Vesta? I've read so much about you."
I buried my face in my hands. I have now become an Institution.
gah.
We had an influx of other visitors that evening, some polite, some embarrassingly intoxicated (no, I'm sorry, I'm not licking that... or thank you for the compliment on my "b**bies") almost all of whom came by to see me. I buried my face in my hands again. I could only laugh helplessly: "I'm sorry, people know me...."
Sunday, the pack up
Went fairly well. And was 98% un-eventful. Best way to end an event.
Keterlin thinks I ended up with a mild case of hypothermia. I think I got a cold, with fever. That was pretty much the excitement for Sunday.
So that was Coronet.
My tent stayed 98% dry (getting some seam leaks on my 8? 9? year old Panther), I slept very warm (yay sheepskins!), I had good clean fights and got to see some warm fuzzy moments. Yeah, it was cold, but the fire was warm. I wasn't lonely at all and I only had to escape the drumming once (there's just something about those big doumbeks that hurts).
Friday, I was the last of the group on-site.
The rest of Glyn Dwfn had a great set-up already in place, with the Baron's firepit already putting out some serious heat. I was taken aback, frankly, at how my car got... well, swarmed is really the only word for it. People just barrelled up and started hauling stuff. I've...never really had that happen before.
I mean, usually, I camp alone or with Cat and Raffe. So set up is a long, patterned process that I do myself. I beg a little assistance with the tent poles, but it's only 5 minutes of somebody's time. Having help with set-up is... unnerving? Odd? I'm so used to being the one helping, not being helped, that I don't actually have an idea of what other people can do to help. Got my stuff up within a half-hour, I think, including the bed set-up. And nobody laughed about my bear :) (well, to my face, anyway).
Saturday, the tournaments
My first round was against my shire mate, Offa. My knight pulled me aside, after I was out of the tourney and said, "You know, you can't go into a tournament against your student thinking about them being your student." And I blithely assured him that he wasn't my student... except, maybe, he is, kind of? Not anything official or formal. *shrug* I dunno. But I know that I went into that fight without my tourney head on. And, you know, it's really annoying -- in the challenge round, no less! -- to end up the last one picked and then to end up fighting someone I fight every week. I pouted. I admit it -- I totally pouted. Next, I have to smack the heck outta Rhys, the butt, for leaving me in that situation. Offa legged me, I legged him, he got a ticky side shot in, then a good one. I felt very frustrated with myself. I should know better than to socialize when I'm at a tournament. It just yanks my energy off my center.
My second round was against William Geoffrey. You know, Geoff is one of the people who taught me to fight, so maybe it was the other way around, for this round. Internally, I felt very... well, the best word I can find for it is serene. Almost... detached. The leg shot made contact before I even realized it was being thrown and Geoff was down. Looking back, I can remember his eyes, how startled they were. At the time, though, it wasn't an important data point. I was in before I could think about how, a thrust went over my shoulder and his point was useless. He tried to throw some onside bodies and legs, but I hovered too close, shield practically on his swordhilt, and waited for that arm to come out. Finally, I got him with an onside to the head, following up with a wrap to the back of the head. Not sure which one was good, but he was done. It was a good clean fight.
My third fight was also a good, clean fight. I enjoy fighting Brian (of Ledbury); he pushes me. Not just because he's a lefty (I face Thorfinn twice a week, lefties are not outside my experience). But Brian moves differently. He's more... tripod-based, in his movement. The wide stance, the pivot at the waist, the back and forth flex, a bit like Octa does, or Olin does. Brian pushes my levels, but he's not pulling anything underhanded when we fight. It's a straight-up skill-to-skill match -- the kind that makes you frown in the middle of it, and grin like a maniac afterwards. I almost got him, too. If I'd planted that off-side helm shot, instead of it being glancy? Yeah. Brian doesn't underestimate me, or condescend to me, which makes that "almost" pretty sweet.
After that loss, I was out, so I was free to think of the other thing I'd had planned for the weekend.
One of my shire mates, Baron Eirik Hardradi, is fighting brain cancer. And one of the Summits folks, Grimmar (who I saw up at OHSU), is fighting leukemia. The Baron doesn't need financial assistance, Grimmar does; both need to know people are pulling for them, supporting them, cheering them on.
So -- two great causes that work well together. And deeply require an Evil Plan (tm).
People in Glyn Dwfn had been idly talking about creating "Baron Tokens" to wear at Coronet. But with all the sewing and repairing and making that was going on, it was pretty easy to see that tokens were going on the bottom of the stack. However, the daughter of one of the folks in Glyn Dwfn has an industrial embroidery machine. I have Photoshop and can make programmable images lickety-split. Ha! Synergy!
The Thursday before Coronet, the first rush batch of 30 tokens arrived at my front door, courtesy of the US Postal Service. Caoilte's daughter, Loretta ("Redda"), had built them to spec, as many as she could, in the short time we had to put them together. She waived the patterning fee and only asked enough to cover materials and postage.
The Baron Eirik Support Favour:
For a $5.00 donation to Grimmar's Fund, anyone could get a Baron Eirik Support Favour. They were designed to be long enough to tie around the arm, or to a belt, or a leg or a hat, or wherever people wanted to wear them. So supporters could wear them wherever, and however, they felt comfortable.
But the core of the Evil Plan(tm) was The Photo.
The biggest surprise was Princess Liesel's decision to purchase favours for each of her guards -- Baron Eirik is on her royal guard, so she bought one for each of his brother guardsmen to wear. So she is front and center.
Now, sure, some of the people in this picture are from Glyn Dwfn. But not all. There are people from Myrtleholt, Southmarch, Briaroak, Adiantum, Terra Pomaria and Tymberhavene. There are people who know Baron Eirik as "that nice guy who helped them last year." There are people who "fought him a couple of times -- he's fun." There were arguments over who would get the last favour. There were people coming up to Glyn Dwfn folks later, asking if there were any favours left.
The photo was to have that tangible thing, that... touchstone... that says, "Hey. Here we are. Thinking about you. Go kick some *ss. We know you can."Yeah. *nod of satisfaction* Yeah.
Saturday, the evening
This was the first time I'd camped with a home shire since the first event I'd camped with (what was then) Cavernsgate. It was illuminating. The couples quarrelled with each other exclusively; by that, I mean that the men quarrelled exclusively with their romantic partners and vice versa. And it was interesting to see who could "go with the flow" and who "had to have" certain things certain ways and who really couldn't care less.
I was invited to dine over at the Rampant Squirrel encampment. One of my coworkers (aka DrummingJamie) is a member of that household, so I know them a bit. I like the people I know in there. The food was nice (despite the accidental ingestion of coffee-laced munchie bars) and I did enjoy the bardic stuff there.
Oh. Right.
I'm turning into my knight.
Yes, I spent about 45 minutes telling stories. Finnegan stories, early Summits stories, no sh*t there I was stories, I know this isn't true but isn't it fun anyway stories...Story flowed into story and people were having so much fun that it wasn't until I was walking back across site that I realized I had Pulled An Ambrose.
And later... uhm. Hrm.
There I was, snugged comfortably in my chair (the Red Chair of Butt-Holding +5), in my wool cloak, my fuzzy faux-Norse "An Tirian" hat pulled down over my eyes, enjoying the blazing fire... and someone who's face was familiar but whose name always escaped me, plopped down in one of the other chairs and chatted amiably with the group. Somebody addressed me and she sat bolt upright in her chair and asked, "Vesta? Are you The Vesta? I've read so much about you."
I buried my face in my hands. I have now become an Institution.
gah.
We had an influx of other visitors that evening, some polite, some embarrassingly intoxicated (no, I'm sorry, I'm not licking that... or thank you for the compliment on my "b**bies") almost all of whom came by to see me. I buried my face in my hands again. I could only laugh helplessly: "I'm sorry, people know me...."
Sunday, the pack up
Went fairly well. And was 98% un-eventful. Best way to end an event.
Keterlin thinks I ended up with a mild case of hypothermia. I think I got a cold, with fever. That was pretty much the excitement for Sunday.
So that was Coronet.