[Ansteorra] High Praise and Word Fame

[D. Vandever]

I, HL Annes, writing on behalf of Zelda, humble begger, do great the Great
Populace of Ansteorra,

At the glorious Crown Tourney held this weekend by the Barony of The
Stargate, Zelda did beg among the populace for help in the payment of her
taxes to our Mighty Kingdom. Generous and gracious, many of the assembled
heard her plea for alms and opened their purses to aid her.  She is most
grateful for all your help and for your aide.  She tells me that Their
Majesties were pleased with her payment of taxes and have applied it to the
building of our most Wonderous Gate to be erected for our Gulf Wars
encampment.  Zelda is most happy that her humble beggings have played some
small part in helping Our Kingdom shine forth in this endevor.

Zelda asks that I write further of something which happened in the evening.
Many had left the gathering for the day had turned cold and windy, with much
rain falling upon the mighty and the poor alike.  Therein the great Hall did
Zelda see a most wonderful sight.  Master Tenby had gathered those of like
mind and talent to present a reading of the Death of Beowulf.  Aiding in
this came Master Cedric the Fiddler and Master Cynric, late from Bjornsborg,
having traveled far and fast in foul weather to aide Master Tenby in this
presentation.  There was one lady, beautiful and awesome in that beauty, who
also came with harp in hand to play during the presentation.  Alas, poor
Zelda is distraught for the Lady's name comes not to her mind and she begs
the Lady's forgiveness for her music was pleasant and well-plucked and did
aide greatly in weaving the magic which unfolded.

In a corner of the great Hall, against a banner of a Dragon most awful and
fierce, with torchlight flickering and guttering in the wet evening breeze,
did Master Cynric stand, torch and spear to hand, dressed with shining helm
and mail-shirt. Silent he did stand, a looming prescence, a figure from the
past made real by imagination and circumstance.  Sweetly played the Harper
Lady, an aire of great antiquity, such as would have pleased those we care
to emulate on such a dour and rainfilled evening. In came Master Tenby and
Master Cedric, dressed as is their wont, in clothing suitable to their
stations and their parts.  They did turn and speak to the assembled who had
remained to see this most wonderful presentation, first Master Cedric, with
words in his mouth straight from those who would have so said so many, many
centuries ago, then Master Tenby did translate these ancient words into
speech that we could understand this day. And so, back and forth, turn and
turn again, did Master Cedric speak to us the ancient tale as would have
been told by those who lived it, and Master Tenby gave us the understanding
of the words so spoken. As the tale of this mighty king unfolded to his
death, the assembled listen, silent, fascinated by this display of talent
and tale. Zelda asks me to write that seldom in all her time in our Society,
has she been swept away so thoroughly into the past we all desire to
recreate.  The smoke from the kitchen hearth, the words, the look of those
presenting, the music, the cold. the torch light and the assembled all wove
a most convincing moment of frozen time, and Zelda relates that for those 30
minutes, she was indeed what she portrayed that day, an ignorant begger of
the past, listening with open-mouthed wonder at the mighty deeds of those so
far above her. She weeps abit, thinking of all those driven by need, the
rain, their desire for bed or the cold, all those who left the great Hall
before Master Tenby and his helpers could weave this magic tapestry with
words from the past.  For they missed something most wonderous and rare,
that moment when our playing at the past became real.  Zelda wishes all to
know the mighty skill of words and sight which she saw that night and to
praise those who gave her this rare, rich and precious gift, and to thank
them for such a treasure.  She counts herself rich from the sight and memory
of that reading of the Death of Beowulf

By my hand,

HL Annes Clotilde von Bamburg
Dear God,  Help me to be the person
my dog thinks I am.  Amen