Tales of Bjornsborg

A Tale of Her Ursine Excellency, Baroness Alexandra Tatiana Fedorova of Novgorod

by Brendan O Corraidhe (Circa AS XX):

She was watching a tourney from the shade of her pavilion one summer day (I was going to say "blazingly hot summer day", but that would have been redundant), sipping contentedly from an iced goblet that was beaded with condensation. Sir Simonn of Amber Isle came off the field, sweat pouring down his face.

Smiling, she held the goblet out to him. He gratefully took it from her hands, sighed, drank deeply.... and exploded into a fit of gasping and coughing that was *quite* alarming. He handed the cup back, rasping, "Th-th-that's NOT WATER!"

"No, dear, it's vodka," she smiled sweetly. "You should have asked!"

It might have been the same tourney; I was sharing her shade. I asked her what she was snacking on - it looked like soggy beef jerky. Still watching the field, she replied, "Steak Tartare." Then she turned and looked at me sternly. "And don't you DARE tell ANYONE that I eat raw meat!"

A Tale of Bjornsborg

by Cynric of Bedwyn

Gather ‘round, you sons and daughters of the bear, and I’ll recall the days when Heroes strode the halls of Bjornsborg like leaves scattering before a harvest wind. Then were we a seat of true renown, led by a warrior of might and cunning called John of Eagle’s House (in his native tongue, Jan w Orzeldom). Jan, who once sat the throne of the Sable Star but found ruling a kingdom too tame a life and so returned to lead his tribe, was a man of inestimable grace, wisdom, and puissance.

We were a noble ship with a noble captain at the helm, but ‘tis true that those with whom we came into contact oft times remarked that our behavior was not in keeping with the traditions of neighboring folk. This was as it should be, for we resembled them no more than a giant oak resembles a slender willow. Where others mewled, we roared. As others supped, so did we ravenously devour. While others delicately tippled, our horns were filled and emptied many times over. Naturally, this made us strong of voice and long of song, attributes which, while of great value to Heroes, are not always appreciated by those cut from lesser cloth. And so did our prowess at table and mead bench send Bjornsborg to follow its own and singular path, alone but never friendless.

Except, it must be said, for once a year. At that magical time, just as hoary Winter was at last loosening his icy grip on the land and the spirited hounds of summer could be heard baying over the distant hills, Bjornsborg hosted a glorious tournament in the manner of those in Jan’s homeland of Silesia. It is said some fey spirit inhabited the woods and fields where this tournament took place each Spring, for none who entered its boundaries departed unchanged.

Warriors strove far beyond their accustomed strength, skalds and minstrels with marvelously woven words enfolded the rapt souls of those who wandered near their fires, artisans produced works that surpassed those of the great masters; indeed, the very air seemed enchanted. The hillsides were dotted of an evening with vermilion mists, as though all the myriad hearth fires of Fäerie smoldered thereon.

Some who graced these lands with their presence are no longer to be found in the halls and war fields of Ansteorra, having taken up residence in Valhalla on Odin’s right hand, but if you watch with the mind's eye you may yet glimpse the shades of they who strode as giants in those heady days.

Throughout these two score years and three, the Land of the Bear has seen no lack of upheavals, yet we’ve met all challenges cast our way. Cattle raids, boar hunts, noble quests, barbarian invasions, Sarmatian visitations, Viking invasions, encounters with magical isles, flaming villages, rock farmers, Highland hooligans, and many’s the grand tournament have been witnessed in these borders. Some are born to be Heroes, others have Heroism thrust upon them...but all Heroes, all Lions, heed the call of Bjornsborg sooner or later.

An Old Tale of Bjornsborg, by Jan w Orzeldom

A court was held in Bjornsborg in the “period” structure of the granary of the San Jose Mission. This was before the national park service took possession of the property, and with a lot of diplomacy, use was granted. The Duchess Natasha affair and the Courts of “Grayraven” were in the past and Gweneth Sanquebar was baroness. She ruled with no baron. However, a stranger to these lands had her close confidence. Some say that he, Torgetai Blackwolf MSCA, had won her affections with the gentle and courtly practices of the Mongols.

This may be so, for this gathering was billed as a Mongolian Court. Fire was not permitted in the fireplace, but the flame of candles was not banned. Elaborate cushions were deployed, but no chairs were used in the hall. Corwin Distarte translated what people said into a gibberish that was claimed to be “Court Mongolian.” Later Vargskol Halfblood and Dragomir the Cossack continued the dreaded “Punnic Wars.” I fled to the courtyard.
Here I spoke with Mistress Willow de Wisp. I must make an aside here. Anybody I’m likely to mention probably went on to considerably grander titles, but peers were a scarce commodity at that time. Willow very much a standout person. We talked about the war between the Ardh Duin and the Clan Cadal, she being the chieftain of the latter group.

I inquired if it was safe for her to be this far south unaccompanied by her sturdy clansmen. There was no danger at all, she declared, and introduced me to her invisible escort. I do not recall the name, I probably couldn’t spell it anyway, not being of the Celtic persuasion. Her guardian was more than eight feet tall, with a tendency to pout. We continued the conversation, with Mistress Willow grandly playing the role of a fierce war leader.

At this point up trotted Ilyana, a newcomer to the society. She offered me a share of her drink, and I introduced her to a “Peer of the Realm.” After a very brief “wow moment” Ilyana’s big smile returned and she reached up and gave a gentle tug on one the Chieftain’s braid cases. Sweetly saying, “Ding! Ding!” she vanished into the clusters of people. The persona bubble having burst, Willow paused and said “Well, so much for feared war leader right now.” Then she gave a very genuine and friendly laugh and the evening continued.

Mistress Willow had and still has great command of almost any social setting. She can go from glorious bombast to genuine concern in an instant.

More Tales

• Of the Overraskelse Hunt and the Wounding of Ivarr
• A Chronicle of Elfsea Defender - featuring many folk from Bjornsborg