[Northkeep] For your entertainment (long)--a tale from Pensic

[Hugh & Belinda Niewoehner]

 From Damon's squire brother (Count Fernando):


Over the centuries, armies have raged across the world fighting over 
nothing more  than small pieces of land. Land has traded hands after 
complex treaty  negotiations. Land has been bought and traded for 
exorbitant and sometimes  negligible amounts.  But until last  Thursday, 
at the fortieth Pennsic War, I suspect land had never changed hands  due 
to a game of badminton contested by the champions of two realms.


That's the tale I'm going to share, but first you need the back-story.

(okay, you may not need it, but you're going to get it anyway.)

One  of the fun things that happened at  Pennsic was that Northshield 
appeared to be in the midst of a massive campaign of expansion.  Their 
Majeties Morgan and Lusche had declared that Northshield was claiming 
every bit of land on which a Northshield foot trod.  Further, they were 
claiming all sorts of items and people by the simple  expedient of 
labeling them with a Northshield badge. Stacks of Post-it Notes  (each 
marked with a griffin) distributed to their populace, made this easier,  
and many a Calontiri found such a note stuck to their coolers, their 
chairs,  their pavilions, and sometimes their persons. Even Mount 
Eislinn, the large hill  overlooking the battlefield, was claimed by a 
super-sized version of one of  these Post-its (made up of a very large 
square of fabric with a griffin painted  on it.)

On  Tuesday evening we were sitting around the Royal Pavilion, singing 
and minding  our own business, when a collection of Northshielders, 
including Their Stellar  Majesties, stopped by for a visit. When they 
headed out, for some reason they  stopped at the edge of our courtyard 
and stood there talking and before too long  they sat down and were 
quietly chatting. A significant amount of time passed, and finally His 
Majesty Anton, perhaps worried about His land given the Northshield 
expansion we had already witnessed, asked me to go out and inquire about 
taxes for the use of His courtyard.

Being a good servant of the Crown, I set off to talk to the Royal 
squatters. I approached the group, and carefully explained to them that 
His Majesty Calontir had sent me over to inquire as to when Calontir 
could expect the taxes for the use of the land upon which they sat.  I 
explained that of course His Majesty understood the taxes were not quite 
due, but he was concerned that The Northshield Crown might have 
difficulty affording the tax  while dealing with all Their other was 
expenses (after all 500,000 custom  Post-it Notes could be very 
expensive.)  With virtually no pause for thought, They calmly informed 
me that the land upon which they sat had been claimed by Northshield.

Rather than engage in a complex legal argument (since  Lyriel was not 
yet on site), or engage in combat with forces allied beside us in  the 
battles to come over a ten foot circle of land, I chose to simply inform 
the squatters that while that might (or might not) be true, I was 
somehow certain  that the tolls to and from road to their enclave would 
certainly be quite steep.


We all laughed, and after making sure they did not need any drinks or 
chairs, I wandered back to my cider in  Royal Pavilion, quickly 
forgetting all about the incident.

But  those sneaky Northshielders did not forget. The next afternoon as I 
returned  from the food court, I heard that a contingent of 
Northshielders Had visited our encampment to formalize their claim. 
There, on the edge of the courtyard, right where the squatters had been 
sitting, just a few feet from the road, was a ten foot circle of black 
and gold rope bedecked with a series of black pennons marked with the 
Northshield compass star. And in the middle of the circle was  staked a 
sign, which read something to this effect:

.    By order of the Stellar Crown

.    This land is the property of the Kingdom of Northshield!

Set just outside the circle were three double Wonder Bars and a bottle 
of Boone's  Farm Fuzzy Navel - which I must assume was payment for the 
toll to get through the Calontir courtyard to the new Northshield enclave.

To ensure the safety of the rest of our precious Pennsic land, a circle 
of scutums soon ringed the enclave. A toll road was carefully marked out 
with red safety flags leading to the main road, and a tollbooth complete 
with gate and collection table was emplaced. Finally a sign was hung, 
which read:

.    By order of the Calon Crown:

.    TOLL ROAD

.    Tolls may be paid in:

.         Bacon

.         Cheese curds

.         Bacon

.         Non "S" Beer

.         Bacon

..    Note: Brett Favre jerseys  can no longer be accepted.

Over the course of the next 24  hours, more fun was had with the 
Northshield enclave. Various tolls were left at the toll table coins, a 
can of Bud Light (someone clearly failed to understand  what Non "S" 
Beer was), and even a pig (presumably so we could make our own  bacon. 
And when the Northshield party amoeba came by,  various scutums,  the 
toll table, the pig, and even the toll sign found themselves marked with 
the  seemingly ever-present griffin Post-its.

That brings us up to the Calontir  party that took place on Thursday 
night.  Partway through the party, I discovered  that His Highness 
Northshield and a group of His people had made their way into the 
scutum-ringed enclave.  When I enquired about the toll, he casually 
reached into his pouch and scattered coin on the ground outside their 
precious ten foot circle. Though coin was not included on the toll list, 
I realized that cash can  always be traded for bacon, so I gathered the 
coins and added them to the collection on the toll table.

Now, I was not quite sure if we were responsible for their hospitality, 
seeing as the Northshielders were not  really guests in our camp but 
standing in a circle of their own land. But just in case, and seeing as 
we are nothing if not hospitable,  I went to the bar to fetch drinks for 
His party.

Of course, I knew the perfect drink. They had showed us just the day  
before what they valued, so I hurried back with a bottle of Boone's Farm 
Fuzzy Navel. After a bit of conversation, I left them enjoying the drink 
in their somewhat crowded circle in the midst of the party.

Over the course of the evening, a  sort of badminton was being played as 
a part of the entertainment. But this was not just any badminton, it was 
Calontir, Angry Bird, Badminton. Countess Magda  (sometimes known as 
Countess Manners after informing us quite clearly that it  was 
"badminton, not badmitton) had felted wool shuttlecocks in the shape of  
Angry Birds (if you are not familiar with Angry Birds just Google it), 
while  Ishmala, Rebecca, and Hildebrandt (assisted by a collection of 
perhaps somewhat less than helpful assistants), created rackets that 
would put Wilson to shame  (or is that the other way around.) With 
OAFish rules inspired in part by the hoity-toity nature of the game 
(pinkies must always be held extended on both the  racket and drink 
hand), and in part by hockey (who knew you could get sent to the penalty 
box in badminton), much fun had been had in games with up to four  
challengers on a side.

Then, late in the evening I was called back to the badminton court. His 
Highness Northshield had come forth from  his enclave and was demanding 
a special match to determine the Known World  Badminton Champions. 
Behind him stood two men, and judging by the late period garb of the 
closest I thought he must be a ringer. Based on his stance, and the 
casual way he held his racket, I could almost smell the years of 
badminton  experience oozing off of him. Was this one of the infamous 
Northshield Badminton Babies, forced to play badminton sixteen hours a 
day from the time he was two years old? This would be a challenge!

Then His Highness Vladimir upped the ante.  This would not just be a 
battle for a title. He wished to wager on the game. The stakes he 
offered? Ownership of the ten-foot circle of land they had already 
claimed.  Well, I thought to myself, they already  claimed it, what do I 
have to lose. Then I realized that just perhaps, His Majesty, who had 
already left site, might not be so willing to concede their initial 
claim to the land.  Thinking quickly, I decided that since I was the one 
who first come up with the toll, I could reasonable offer His Highness a 
relaxation of those tolls. As our part of  the bet, I offered two years 
with no tolls, but His Highness was a hard bargainer.  It had to be 
retroactive to include the tolls they had already paid  that war.  After 
pointing out that his party had already drunk the Boone's Farm  Fuzzy 
Navel, I agreed, and prepared to seek out a pair of badminton champions  
for our side.

But before I could find the sort of refined men who might serve as 
serious badminton challengers for the men Northshield had come with, a 
pair of Huscarl's stepped forward and grabbed the rackets. As Magnus and 
Jack gave the rackets a few practice swings, more reminiscent of sword 
blows on a battlefield than delicate lawn party games, I shuddered and 
wondered if His Majesty would make me pay for the lost tolls out  of my 
own pocket.

But, then I recalled that this  was not "normal" badminton. This was 
Angry Bird badminton, played with rackets  and shuttlecocks that , to 
put it mildly, did not always fly true. What's more, it was OAFish 
badminton. Perhaps a pair of somewhat intoxicated Huscarl's might not be 
the worst choice.  After all, Kingdom Law makes it clear that Huscarl's 
are  to be authorized with "all weapons."  Didn't badminton rackets count?

The rules for this game were simple. Each champion was to begin with a 
mug (or  crystal goblet in the case of the Northshield ringer) filled 
with beer. Each  time a point was scored against their side both members 
would take a drink. If  anyone sloshed any of their drink out of their 
mug, they would also have to take a penalty drink. The Badminton 
Champions of the Known World would be the ones with any beer left in 
their mugs.

As each realms champions took to the field, I watched Magnus and Jack 
half stagger  to their places, and I worried again. Then His Highness 
did something that I was  sure was against Hoyle's rules. He looked at 
his men with a decidedly serious  eye, and informed them that if they 
lost, they would be joining the Tuchux come morning. Surely, such a 
threat/ inspiration surely could not be legal, but Countess Manners 
could not be found in time to check. So, it was time to dig deep into 
the OAF bucket. I stepped onto the field in front of the Northshield  
champions, held up my mug and said, "To the Kingdom of Northshield". and 
drank deeply. After a moment the Northshield Champions realized they 
should join me in the toast. A quick toast to Their Stellar Majesties, 
followed by one to Her Highness Northshield, and another to His 
Highness, put the Northshield champions down by four drinks. But by now 
His Highness had caught on, and looking at  Magnus and Jack said, "You 
won't drink to me?" I'd like to say our champions drank grudgingly at 
this point, but who are we kidding.  Two Huscarl's had just been forced 
to watch two other guys get to drink four times, as they stood there 
thirsty.  I think their manly drinks made up for the four careful toasts 
of the Northshield champions.

Then the great game was on.  Serve and volley - the small wool bird flew 
through the air. Amazingly Jack and Magnus  held their own. Perhaps it 
was Jack's late period garb, or experience as a  tailor to the 
hoity-toity, that made his racket seem to have a life of its own.  With 
pinky extended he sent the angry bird across the Falcon Tabard net time 
and  again. Meanwhile, Magnus, with all the finesse of a fireman driving 
his axe  through a door (yet with pinky extended) leapt to cover his own 
side of the  court. Drive and smash, hack and parry.  Wait. Strike that 
- wrong story.  Drive and smash, volley and return - the bird flew from 
racket to racket,  across the net of fate driven by the power of the 
fireman turned Huscarl.  Amazingly the points started to rack up in 
favor of the two Huscarl's, and the  mugs of the Northern foe... wait, 
wrong story again.. and the mugs of the Northern champions drew down to 
the halfway point.

Then disaster struck. The Northshield champion did something tricky with 
his racket  and the bird shot over the net in a spiraling twist. Magnus 
saw the bird heading  for the side of the field. With the same sort of 
judgment that allows a man to  know exactly where a greatsword is about 
to smash into his body, he realized the  bird was going to land just 
inside the edge of the field. I could almost hear  the monologue within 
his head, "This shall not be! This is my King's court and no foreign 
bird will land here while I have breath in my body to defend it."  Then 
he dove for the edge of the field.

Imagine this in slow motion: Magnus horizontal to the  ground, racket 
reaching out from one pinkie extended hand, while the beer mug in  his 
other hand (which also had its pinkie extended begins to tip. In what 
seems to take many minutes we watch Magnus slowly descend to the earth 
with a slowly reverberating shattering crash. In painfully slow motion 
he reaches for the bird, but we'll never know if he reached it in time, 
for all eyes are glued to the beer mug in his other hand as it tips ever 
closer to the horizontal, the  precious fluid beginning to pour towards 
the ground. Disaster. The hopes of a  Kingdom are pouring out of Magnus' 
mug. As his body slowly rebounds from the  earth, we all know it's over. 
No man could save the beer.  Calontir would lose  the field in shame and 
humiliation, not even having lost by drinking their beer but by spilling it.

But this was not just a man this was a Huscarl. Some might tell you that 
Magnus  did the impossible in that minute, inspired by the Crown and 
Kingdom for which he stood as champion. In later years I'm sure the 
story will have him yelling,  "For Isabeau and Morgan," as he flew 
through the air. But I was there, and I saw  the look on his face. A 
look that said only one thing, "My beeeer!" Fast as lightning he dropped 
the racket, and with his pinky still extended, his hand interrupted the 
flow of beer. Cupping three fingers, his hand shot back up the column of 
falling beer, shoving the precious liquid back into the mug and capping 
it as he finally came to rest on the ground. The Crowd went wild!

Utter disaster had been avoided, but the beer Magnus had lost hurt his 
team sore. Worse, he still had a penalty drink to take. Seeing as all 
that action movie stuff is hard work, Magnus needed a deep pull from his 
mug, and Jack was not just going to stand around and watch his brother 
drink alone that's just anti-social. When Jack and Magnus had finished 
drinking, and  the remaining beer balanced out between the two mugs, 
less than a half mug remained. The lead was lost, and the tide had turned.


Northshield took control of the court. Nothing our brave  Huscarl's did 
seemed to work. Jack's racket seemed slowed, and Magnus had only the 
power of a Man at Arms (and a small one at that). The leaping and 
pirouetting Northshielders were everywhere as they scored point upon 
point upon  our champions.

The Calontiri's beer diminished till they had only the tiniest of sips 
left. For a moment, I thought it might be time to call for a round of 
Cruiscin Lan, which would force both sides to drain their beers and 
result in a tie. Then I saw the look in Jack and Magnus' eyes. It was a 
look that said, "We  can do this. We can crawl from the depths of 
humiliation, serve our Crown and  Kingdom, and draw a victory from the 
jaws of defeat." Or perhaps it was just a look that said, "Lets crush 
them quick so I can fill my mug and get back to drinking like a man." 
Either way, something seemed to change in them.

Serve, return, volley, smash - a point to Calontir and the Northshield 
mugs drew closer to empty. Serve, return, volley, spike - and they too 
were down to within one sip. A quick check by the refs and it was 
clear... it was game point! I wish I could tell you the final serve 
resulted in an epic struggle in which courage, strength determination, 
and true grit brought forth  he champions, but this was not the case. 
Northshield served, and Jack's racket  dropped the angry bird at their feet.

Victory to Calontir!  All hail Master Jack and Baron Magnus,  Badminton 
Champions of the Known World. Huscarl's who "fought" to defend the 
King's land.

Never let it be said that a pair of semi-drunken Huscarl's  do not 
belong among the hoity-toity.

As for Northshield... His Highness was last seen leaving camp with the 
rope that had once marked the Northshield enclave, saying to his 
retainers, "I better go find some more land, before His Majesty wakes up 
and learns I lost his land on a bad bet."

And  His badminton champions? I'm not so sure, but I sure thought one of 
the Tuchux I  walked past the next day looked awful familiar.

Fernando

PS.

This  is a true story. Well, it's mostly true.  At least the parts I did 
not have to make up because I forgot the  details. But, besides it's all 
true.