Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2014-10-17

Draw nigh! Focus faces

For this tale is needed!

Singers gale of greatness

Glories won by bold sons

Sing now, daughter's song for

Splendor knows no gender.

Laud this Honored Lady

Let our calls fill mead halls

Scrawlings this ink-slinger

Shines align others walls

Service given sweetly

Star and Crane gained justly

Scottish flower flourished

Finding honors flowing

Bjornsborg's greatest gathered

Great Bear she was blazoned

Dearest love devoted

Decades four and more wife

Husband keeps her heart

Held as sweetest danegeld

Freya's gift she gave her

Great the fate for three cubs

Lords and Ladies born to

Loving caring mother

Stand you tall and strong so

She can see you smiling

Hold now hands with horns up

High to sky and cheer her!

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2014-10-18

Silver Lion, skalds sing

Songs both loud and proud for

Man called Master, axe-bill,

Mead-Slayer! Deed-Shouter!

Wisdom wielded swordwise

Weak and meek are safe kept.

Dream he defends dauntless

Daring we to glory!

Crownless kings, his kith, are

Kin in warmest presence.

We know this Norseman as

Name-giver! Fame-Teller!

Rouse soft voice to roar now

Roar for oarman Ivar!

Let Valhalla hear us

Honor favored friend now!

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2015-02-01

The clarion call is

Coaxed strongly to song-words

Melody flows freely

Finding ears awaiting

Our banter abates

Even the sun listens

Night's-watch wanes for thane to

Wield blade in his sword dance

Honored friend's word-fame now

Faithfully shared boldly

This beloved bards name is

Don Brian O'hUilliam

Thunder cheers for thane skald

So Thor, this roar, envies

Echo o'er the Bifrost

So Aesir notice here

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2015-03-28

Calontir sheds tears fresh

Talons in wood's bane lost

Freya's cloak-kin flying

Feathers shadow Hel's road

Blood song sung days before

Brought Calontir honor

But her hearts laid low by

Light of fire's darkness

Cinnamon, red-reaver

R'an, the noble ripple-wing

Winter's ivory allure

Artemis hunts Hel's Hall

Weeps the Sable Star for

Soar no more these falcons

This skald's tongue now silent

Sorrow has reaped his words.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2015-07-13

Horn I raise is heavy

Heart is also weighted

Sad and joyful stories

Songs to hero now passed

Fortune seemed to favor

Friend that lived so fiercely

Pennsic Point is plaintive

Pouring mournful mead toasts

Peerless without Peerage

Present ever in recall

Countess' father, friend and

Farer, no more travels

Hearken Aesir! Hear us

Herald his arrival

Voices shouting “Vivat

Valhalla's Oxhandler!”

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2015-10-16

People speak of spirits

Spinning tales of legend

Warrior brave from Bear Lands

Brought song of Battleskald

He spoke wise, the words of

War Counsel to his king

Sigmund's glories spoken

Song of Reavers echoes

Stories stand time's test with

Tales told of Dragon's Gold

Bragi favored bold skald

and Brought him to Valhalla

There he heralds heroes

Honored friends yet to come

Revel and remember

Ragnar the Lion-Skald

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2015-10-17

Dawn broke in the Bear Lands
Bringing the gods themselves
Groups in the grass there
Gathered to heed the call

Freya's resplendent form
Fueled courage in the men
The brave took up their blades
The blood song to be sung

Feyr himself took the field
Fighting amongst the mortals
Storm-god looked on in spelndor

Staking claim to heroes

Odin was elusive
Instead his raven's sent
From their noble Fort they

Flew to join us this day

The Jotnär came yelling
Yielded to the younglings
Glory over giants

Gained great fame for the cubs

The skulls of the slain were
Spangled by great artists
The finest of them filled
The full length of Hel's Hall

Then did Loki's luck find
Latch upon both my eyes
By hex or curse laid low
Left afternoon untold

By Madylyne's magic
My eyes gained sight again
In time to see the scene
Stephen Crowley revered

Remembering Ragnar
And raising Crowley's fame
Gifts of the great skald were
Given to him this day

Vast the feast that came forth
Feeding all abundant
Vanquished hunger and voice
Victory in silence

Baron and Baroness
Brought honors to their folk
We joined in the wonder
With words both new and old

The Great Horn then hefted
Horns and cups all now filled
Stories of the Lion Skald
Spun through the starry night

All claimed by drink or day
Destined to fade away
We slept and when we woke
We were still left dreaming

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-02-02

Hearken close and hear of

Heroes’ stories soaring.

Ellisif finds Fáolán;

Forming bonds by orm’s bites.

Fenrir’s stalking sons pad
Slyly by in Rán's hall.

Westward bore the beasts and

Brought the dawning autumn.

For Sif’s hair and hoarfrost

Have the havoc reavers

- Strong and brave bringing

Blood eels for the shield flood -

Set sail o’er the seal plains

Sword song and word fame craved.

Felling Aegir’s ale head

Elli’s courage swelled much.

Fat the crow then flew with

Feathers o’er the heather,

While the windswept whale road

Whisked away the fray sweat.

Dreadful warning words did

Wind southward by mouthfuls,

Filling conroicht Fáolán’s

Fiery eyes with ire dark.

Cearbhall’s wind fish whirling

Wildly styled the Boiling

Serpents near Blackstairs and

Summoned Fáolán’s steel fangs.

The crow feeders cawed and

Clamored damning north men!

Ranging for An Ruirtech

Rovers covered much earth.

Finally meeting fighters

From the eastern sea, the

Ire-fueled men of Eirinn,

Eager for spear tears of

Band of White and Boneless,

Bellowed vows, beat bodhráns,

Hefted shields and shafts so

Sharp, were sharks in frenzy.

The cold storm of swords was

Savage. Fáolán’s steel had

Hewn many foes.  Howling

He fed the war corbies.

Ell the steel-eye all but

Equaled - for the corbies -

His fare and best feasting.

- Fearless the spear maiden -

Raised swords, face to face they
Fought blow for blow tireless

Till ring givers granted

Gore marked the war shearing.

Ellisif found Fáolán

Fully matched her passion

In blade dance and bed rolls

Blessed him with handfasting.

Weeper of gold welcomed

Wedding with a bed seed

Sprouting white crowned son in

Summer warm and stormy.

Father kenned him Fionn but

Flame eye kenned his fame. With

Honeyed waves the wanderer

Wet his lips with sip-fulls.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-04-10

The Beast of Mann bore the

Burden well for kingdom

My Jarl kens the crown way

Kinsmen’s triumphs honored.

In peace and war, prince and

Peerless king his fame grew.

Great are my Jarl’s glories

Garnered for the star land.

Those deeds fail and falter

Faced with grander titles.

We measure this man with

Meaning as a husband,

Father, steadfast friend, and

Faithful to his maker.

By his heart and his hands

He lifts us all higher.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-05-30

Freyja’s season saw the

Sea wolves stalking over

Death of the nine daughters

Daring men to greatness

Cold the storm of spears did

Sweep across Gleann Abhann

Fierce were the steel fangs of

Fire-eyed Haldr Thorsson

Belt-son of Duke Seth was

Savage as a blizzard

Freezing hearts of foes less

Fearless on the death field

Mighty the crow meal was

Made by sword song ringing

Let Rising Stone revel

Raising horns for hero

Style: Sonnet
Written On: 2017-07-29

Oh hope, I beg of thee to bring me peace

To still rough sea and right my wayward course

Bring solace forth till stinging woes surcease

And sing of love till dark despair’s divorce

That you could make a long enduring bliss

Would see my heart to lift in pure delight

Alas, your joy is but a fleeting kiss

To forfeit soon in bitter cold of night

Oh, damn this blade with deadly poisoned edge

Alluring calls as lover sweet doth ply

If oath of loyalty would I but pledge

Forswearing hope and here my life deny

Its promise made to soothe this wretched pain

Embrace then sleep and ne’er to wake again.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-09-28

Gather close my kith and

Kin for tales regaling

Deeds of the great Dietrich

-Dauntless the stag braggart!-

Many felled - the falcon’s
Foes - with wings unseasoned.
When feathers unfurled he
Flew like few before him.

Glory stained the green hills
Growing warlord’s luster
Till ring-giver gave him
Golden eagle’s cloaking.

Spirits soared with splendid
Spurs, belt, and plain chainings.
Time has shown his titles
Truly weren’t his measure.

His worth better won by
Words of praise and wisdom.

His faith was the fire that
Fueled his love and passion.

His sword and his service

Surpassed only by his
Devotion to dearest
Darling wife and Savior.

His legacy leaves us
Longing for more stories.

Tell your tales, wild, true, or

Tall! Drink deep to Dietrich!

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-11-23

Many are the men who

Make their name in battle,

Giants crowned by cleaving

Calves led to their slaughter.

Rare the winter warrior

With heart beyond stature.

So, the giant-slayer

Soared as Sable Falcon.

His entry well earned to

Ansteorra’s Eagles.

Sharp, the talon, showed his

Shield protects his homeland.

White-hand’s belt-son brought a

Bounty of service to

Any in need. Earnest

Effort toiled in gladness.

With deeds mounting daily

Duke asked his horsemen if

Their Riddari ring was

Ready for this soldier.

At the crow-feast, Crown then

Claimed his chain was well earned!

Belt and spurs then bound the

Brave son of the Black Star!

Longer grows his legend

Learning the blade dance of

Alfheim’s slender serpents

Soared to be Queen’s Champion!

His ebony aegis

Earned in greatest measure

Valkyries saw his victories and

Valhöll awaits this hero

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2017-12-19

Blood starling of Steppes, the

Stormborn of Hrist’s blizzard,

Plumed often in pitch and

Powder inspires many.

Steel talons have torn the

Triskel-sons that dared to

Stalk the fields and strike the

Star of jet he keeps well.

Drums he beats and drinks for

Dreamers brewed most strongly,

Rouse voices to revel

Reaching late to night’s end

Seek the battle-swan and

Set your brow orbs skyward

High over the oaks his

Ebon wings are soaring.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2019-03-11

Many are the men who
Make music in the world
But rare is the bard who
Breathes for the love of it.

Style: Prose
Written On: 2014-09-20

Throughout Ansteorra and the Known World there are names spoken with whispered reverence.  Queens and kings, knights, dons, pelicans, laurels, lions and legends. Men and women that embody the dream; whose valor and prowess on the field of battle, extraordinary works of arts and science, or heroic deeds of  sacrifice and service have etched forever their legacy in our storied history. A name, a single name, bearing such significance that its mention can fan the embers of a waning dream or kindle the fire of a new one.

Riccardo, Rowan, Ragnar, Pendaran, Iago, Ivarr, and you.  Each and every one of you has within you a greatness awaiting release.  Believe and accept that you are incredible! Let the flame of your dream ignite in those around you so that together our light will shine as a beacon to those still lost in the darkness!  Embrace your excellence and let your name be spoken with whispered reverence.

Style: Prose
Written On: 2015-05-04

The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Known World
Chapter 713 Pages 237,326 - 237,328

The Known World - Some Information to Help You Live In It.

1.  Area - None

The Known World itself implies that there is an Unknown World beyond that which is known.  Knowing there is an unknown we can know that there is no way for us to know how much of the unknown we actually don't know.  From this basic premise, we can surmise the size of the Unknown World to be infinite.  The finite size of the Known World divided by the infinite size of the Unknown World is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average size of the Known World can be said to be zero.

2.  Population - None

The Society of the Known World is anachronistic, even within itself, wherein, a 14th century Teutonic knight may share a dinner table with a 9th century Danish viking and a 16th century Ottoman tailor.  In order for the viking to travel forward in time, the tailor to the travel backwards and the tailor to both simultaneously time must be an amorphous thing with no clear beginning or end.  This quantum superposition creates a sort of Schrodinger's Society within the Known World box wherein there exist both an infinite number of personas and none at all.  Since you cannot fit an infinite number of personas into an area that doesn't exist, the population of the Known World must be zero and any people that you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.

3.  Heraldry - None

The function of heraldry is to identify an individual and since there are no individuals to identify heraldry must also be the product of a deranged imagination.

4.  Fighting - Infinite

Given that the king of every kingdom got that way by beating his opponents about the head and shoulders with a sword would necessitate that there is quite an awful lot of this going about.  And, since some kings believe that the Society exists solely for fighting we must assume they are correct, because they're the king, and we cannot contradict them.

5.  Service - None

Service is the act of helping or doing work for someone, and since we have proven the population of the Known World to be non-existent, service itself must also not exist because there is no one for which to do it.

6.  Art - None

Given that Laurels are considered experts on art and it is widely believed that the Laurels cannot wholly agree on anything, including what art is we must therefore assume that since it cannot be agreed upon by the experts nor documented as fact art must also not exist

7.  Documentation - None

THBPBPTHPT!

8.  Sex - None

Well, in fact, there is an awfully lot of this going about largely due to the total lack of heraldry, service, art, or anything else to keep the non-existent people of the Known World occupied when they're not fighting.

This primer has barely scratched the surface of the information regarding the Known World.   For more information see the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Known World Chapters 3, 5, 11, 17, 22 - 38 inclusive, and in fact most of the rest of the guide (or contact your local bard for the audio version).

Style: Prose
Written On: 2015-10-31

A trotter is the foot of a pig, it was also fitting name for a squat little boy with a head too round for his body.  He lived on a pig farm and was the son of a butcher, who was the son of a butcher who was the son of the butcher that started the pig farm.  He could hear the stinging jeers of the other children in the village as they danced and played while he hoofed his way up the hill to his father's shop.

“Trot away piggy!”

“We'll invite you when we go play in the mud!”

“What a boar!”

They never did...  invite him to play that is.  He smelled of pig, day and night as if he too slept in the slop and filth.  It permeated the pores of his pink flesh; he couldn't tell, but the other children wouldn't let him forget.

His breeches bore the badge of the butcher, as did his shoes.  The apron helped, but the faint coppery stench and crusted brown streaks of blood stayed with him every day when he went home.

At work, his father would never take a risk with the choicest cuts, those needed a master's hand and Trotter was just an apprentice.  He was made to work with the cheeks and jowls, intestines, and of course, the trotters (no part of the pig was wasted in this shop).

It was Trotters job to slaughter the pig in the back and bring it through for his father.  He would pretend it was Seamus, the biggest kid in the village and the loudest with his barbs.  Some days it was Michael, who quietly egged on the other kids. But mostly, it was Claire and the look of revulsion she never thought to be kind enough to conceal when he passed.

A methodical and vicarious affair.  The squeals. The squirming. The squeals.  The thrashing against the bindings. The squeals.  The knowing look of fear in Claire's... in the pig's eyes.

As the children grew older, the loathing in their voices and the malicious mistreatment of the maligned young man magnified.  Jeers turned to shoves, words became fists, revulsion was a stick used to jab him as he tried to pick himself off the ground.

The squeals weren't enough.  The pigs were herded, locked in a chute, and bound before butchering.  Trotter needed more, something that would require work, something to occupy the places in his mind that dwelt on painful reminders in his flesh.  No one missed the strays, save his father, but he was glad to see the whining little beggars gone from the proximity of his shop.

A bagged cat could be taken away and given the proper attention it deserved; as could a small dog.  But, it wasn't long before the streets were clear and Trotter was left with the lingering lilt of loathing laughter in his little pink ears.

That year, Trotter received the greatest gift he'd ever been given for his birthday.  It was a damp Saturday in October and his father had given him leave to gather hazelnuts, for his mother, from a grove outside the village.  These moments of solitude were normally filled with the echoing silence that continued to scream the curses of his peers. But not today. Today, the scream was much different.  Today, it was a sobbing voice, deep, yet pitched awkwardly through puberty and pain. Trotter inched carefully closer, lest this be another ruse to lure him to a ruthless beating.  

He'd fallen prey to that one before, Claire laying on the ground, clutching an ankle, asking for help and soon as Trotter was close enough to reach out his hand, she slapped it away and the little huns descended upon him as if he were the gates of Rome.

Oh, but this time, it was no ruse.  Trotter could see the blood and bone protruding from Seamus's injured leg.  His horse had thrown him, and he'd taken the fall all wrong. Trotter, emptied the gathered hazelnuts from his cloth sack and began to fold it along its length.  He inched closer, cautious, reluctant, frightened and exhilarated. He knelt beside Seamus, cloth sack readied in his hands and looked deeply in the battered boy's brindled brown eyes.  He saw a genuine thankfulness there, which made their shift to uncomprehending panic like sweetest clover honey when he used the sack to gag him. He struggled and fought, but every time Seamus's superior strength pried at Trotter's hands and the cloth, Trotter's foot kicked at his exposed bone.  He succumbed to the abyss of unconsciousness after the third kick.

Trotter spent the entire afternoon with Seamus, an apprentice was becoming a master that day; a true test of his skill, he began with the trotters.  Teeth were tossed to chatter in the creek, hair flitted away in the breeze and the pigs ate well that night.

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2016-01-15

Bear witness and behold

The Beast of Mann comes forth

To reap the field of foes

And follow Creppin’s crown

Svarta Dreki’s sword son
Swept across the kingdom
Here the talon holder
Hews the unfit forest

Awe at the Golden Eagle’s
Unparalleled swiftness
Loud, echoes his sword song
Sung like the Storm God’s call

The Spinner’s Merkismann
Made Creppin’s Stallari
And quick his steel serpents
Strike down the unworthy

Pretenders, Impostors
Pity them their fate, for
Riddari Drysdale stands
Defiant of their claims

Style: Prose
Written On: 2016-07-08

The ground beneath our feet is firm, like the resolve of Riddari Drysdale. He is the dancer to the sword song, the feeder of ravens, the herald of the blizzard of Hrist, and the name on the tongue of the norns as the bringer of the long sleep to all foes this day.

Gathered here on this noble hill are many who deem themselves worthy of the crown of Ansteorra and would see themselves as successor to our glorious and exalted ring-giver, Gabriel. Riddari Drysdale comes before your impressive majesty this day to prove he has the courage of the One-Handed, the strength of the Anvil-Striker, the fortitude of the Frozen-Storm, and the prowess of the All-Father. He will honor you, his king, with blood and victory.

Style: Old Norse Translation
Written On: 2017-07-08

Hann er riddari.  Hann er stallari. Hann er hring-brjótr.  Hann er góðan drengr. Hon er bogmaðr. Hon er skapari.  Hon er fagr rós. Hon er góðan skǫrungr. Þera stórverka eru kunnum.  Konungr ok Kona vitnið yðar skaparfar, Jason ok Margherita.

Style: Prose
Written On: 2017-09-26

From the wellspring of Simon and Tessa by the hands of Tivar Moondragon was the gift of the slender blade brought forth to the Society.  Here in the Barony of Bryn Gwlad, the cradle of rapier combat throughout the Known World, comes forth His Excellency, freshly rested from the rigors of baronial fiefdom to stand before the Crown of the Stable Star.  The precision of his blade has earned him the Queen’s Rapier of Ansteorra, the Sable Talon, Vanessa II’s Queen’s Blade of Honor, a Sable Thistle for Italian Rapier, and companionship to the Order of the White Scarf of Ansteorra.  He has earned the Sable Crane of Ansteorra and has been welcomed into the Order of the Dreigiau Bryn for his selfless service. If we as a Society are to grow, it is not enough to do - we must also teach and Baron Ceallach has excelled in this area, harnessing talent both young and old to a keen edge and they in turn carry on that legacy. This man speaks with a soft voice, for his deeds in combat and in service to his Kingdom and his Barony speak volumes for him.  Your Majesties, your excellencies, members of the populace, I present to you Baron Ceallach mac Domhnailll!

Style: Mixed
Written On: 2017-10-06

Hail the King!  Hail the Queen!

Hail the Lords and Ladies!

Hail the Gods!  Hail the Goddesses!

Hail the Honored Sable Star!

Look upon this day with favored eyes

And good fortune for all that witness.

Listen closely Lords and

Ladies to recounts of

Virtues of the völva,

Vigdis the seiðr-spinner!

Well she kens the wool-ways

Weaving brilliant patterns

No cords from any creature

Could she not turn spiral

Ware to any warrior

Wanting easy spoils for

Ash is bent to bring the

Bow-mother’s hail of reeds!

Mother of two talented

Talon-storms, Jurgen and Hilda,

Now does Danr’s wife near

Knowing love surrounds her

Twice belted to bay-wreathed,

Beatrix and The Spinner
Vigdis held her Vigil and
Vaunted wisdom garnered

Bonded by the Bifrost

Band the Thistle-bearer

Comes to answer crown and

Covey of the wreath-guard

Style: Old Norse Translation
Written On: 2017-11-14

Konungur ok Dróttning, ek kominn heim Einstjarnum.

Heyrið mín orð:

Einstjarna eiga mín sverð hlífa þeim vanmáttiga ok bera réttindi dróttinns.

Einstjarna eiga mín skǫld hlífa hennar rǫndi frá víkingar

Einstjarna eiga mín óð gefa góðráðr sem ᚦurfið

Einstjarna eiga mín líf.

Einstjarna eiga mín hjarta.

Ek heiti Riddari Vilhjalmr ᚦursasprengir ok ek er trúmennska

Style: Old Norse Translation
Written On: 2018-01-08

Konungr ok dróttning hlýð orðum mínum um dýr tignarstóls Mananans, kappi mánaskugga.  Hǫggormrinn kemr til þess at verja tignarstólinn fyrir falskonungum. Fagra Rós herðir dóminn hans með náð sinni ok styrkir ráð hans. Valdar Einstjarnas, vitnið yðar skaparfar Jason ok Margherita.

Style: Mixed
Written On: 2018-04-09

Heill dagrinn!

Heill várinn ok upphafsnyr!

Heilir Blakkstjarnu synir ok daetr!

Hǫggormrinn kemr til þess at krefja tignarstól hans!

Hail the day

Hail the spring and new beginnings

Hail the sons and daughters of the Black Star

The Striking Serpent has come to claim his throne!

The wind sings his song to

Swell our mast-cloths vastly

The land spreads his splendor

Sprouting fame for stout men

The fire burns to bear his

Banner soaring forward

The waves ken his wonder

Weighing fray-lord’s measure

Headless the crown hangs on

Hallowed seats of sable

Ebon throne sits empty

Oathbound wait to challenge

My Jarl’s right to rule as

Rightful king here today

Wait no longer warriors

Witness Jason’s answer

Style: Old Norse Translation
Written On: 2018-07-04

Heill Konungur! Heill Dróttning!

Heill Blástjarnas synir ok daetr!

Hlýð yðar höfuðskálds orð!

Micolay ok Uliana eru virðuligar

Þeir eru vitar ok réttlátar

Sverð hanns fyllir gilinn með blóð ór synir frá Óðinns horn

Fegrð hannar gerir Baldr afbryða

Dróttnings mínn, vitnið yðar skaparfar

Micolay ok Uliana!

Style: dróttkvœtt
Written On: 2018-09-01

Bear witness and behold

Before you come the siblings

Kazimierz and Katheryn

Called the eagle and bat!

United in oath to

Ansteorra’s Crown, to

Elfsea, and the honored

Earth of Dragonsfire Tor

Comets do they carry

Cupped in each hand brightly

Shine upon the shield that

Shelters chosen family

The sword-father’s service

Sings that he is worthy

Found true he is trusted

Tending the Nautilus Throne

The horde-feeder’s heart’s a

Hymn unto her virtues

Found true she is trusted

Tending Nautilus Throne

Honored, both as equals

Invested here today

Bound to serve the Sable

Star of Ansteorra