the epic of sherwood

[Autouloucous]

A devil of a scorcher this day. And my rock selling hath been less than prodigious.  I have to sit fathoms from my fire just to keep from feeling sickly, and thus no one can see plainly that i've a load of lovely baked rocks for sale. 
Never the less, I've had a bit of fortune when a merchant rummbled by not half an hourglass since.  Says I: "sir, i can see you could use a warm rock on your way up the hill.  I offer you one for whatever it may be worth to you, sir." 
"Mr. Rock monger, i should adore a fine stone as one of those that you offer, but i bear a great enough burthen with these manuscripts." Said the gentleman, as he fanned himself with handful of parchment sheets.
Many a humble fellow, out of politeness, hath refused my perfectly roasted stones and pebbles before. "Ah, good sir," said I, "you shall have to carry it no great distance, for it is customary for my customaries to discard the full weight of them when they grow cold."
The fellow began laughing then, and said that on a day like today he should never be done with it, for the sun would keep it from growing cold.  "What are you doing selling hot rocks in the summertime anyway, mister...mister..."
"Andover, if you please. sir"
"Hand over what?"
"Andover." and I held my hand out for to shake hello."Andover."
"I'll be hanged if I hand anything over to you.  You haven't got any manners if you are begging, and you don't scare me a bit if it is a threat." the fellow said, becoming loud, and rather sanguine. " 'Hand Over' INDEED!" he shouted, and began to box me about the ears with his papers over and over and over.  I felt so much as though I were back at court that I became home sick.  I could have given him a great kiss on his cheek for that.  But I only gave him a great hug to be not so familiar with a gentleman.  He froze stiff, acting ever so peculiar.  But he pulled forth his purse and asked to buy all the warm rocks I recomended he carry.  Well, with business being slow, I asked him for a very small sum to take my three favorites. He took them hastily, as i had detained him so long, and insisted on paying me double my estimate.  He sped off with such a spring in his heels, well, it speaks to how they really do warm you up, my rocks do... And so does being friendly... and it pays!   

     

[rengypsy]

Oh the forest has been hot--unseasonably hot for the shires of middle England.  The leaves on many a tree droop in the heat and from absence of water. Is it displeasure of mankind by the gods of nature, or the God of the Old Testament?  

Or signs foreboding of worse times to come?  

Has our Lord and King, Richard,  run a foul of his good fortune in the Holy Lands?  

The old crone seldom appears around the campfire at night.  She lays in bed for days at time...moaning and grumbling in guttural sounds only her children can interpret...and they say very little to us.

No dance.  Few songs strummed on lyre or beat out on drum.

Surviving the heat.  Praying for some relief to come soon.

Not even the Sheriff's men are riding out this way of late.

But the building of the Forest fortress walls continue.  And, an occasional cloud reminds us that even this shall pass.  

Soon, very soon, these woods will be the site of festivities, music, theatre, good food and ale.  Not even the oppression of the summer heat will challenge the future celebration within these grounds.

[Shayhan ElaShayde]

 the following is an excerpt from the Diary of Shayhan ElaShayde. From August 8th; In the Year of Our Lord 1188.
...That nights moon was so bright! I have never seen it so! Almost garish.  She cast shadows like pools on the soft, blue pallet that was the forests floor. The music was all around. Drums from the darkness of the Forest; chanting. Will' o' The Wisps abounded; Faeries here & there... and, a Centaur? There twas still the remnant of heat from the day, but there twas also a breeze. I could feel the sticks, rocks, and other debris through the thin leather soles of me boots. It had gotten too hot to wear all the clothes, and possibly the Sylphs song helped, so only the kilt, me boots & sword remained. One could feel the Fire in the Ether. Retiscent when first ask, fearing I may never make it back, but then realizing that being lost in the older parts of the forest is what I was supposed to do.
  And then we where all in a circle holding hands; the chanting had bayed us so. Thirty to forty of us in all, scantilly clad, dancing and singing and howling under Luna, full & radiant! Accompanied only in her majesty by the goddess Venus; together, their radiance blotted out all other radiance on the stage that was that nights sky. And I soon forgot the more civilized parts of me...and then, I think, a Minotaur rushed forth from the Forest; and we all ran in all directions, as if kernals of fire escaping to the wind...
And then just six or eight of us, all men, on smaller stages throughout the Forest; acting in prose and singing. And a beautiful women lying on her back twas there; swinging chains with orbs of fire over her, defying that which pulls everything else down to Mother Earth; as if i'twer magic.  And I sang until the dim bulb crowed, and Demeter only knows what else...
  We awoke only hours later to find all was well. I cooked beans for our parties breakfast. With black coffee & orange peel ale (which was very refreshing) did we eat them, and sausages! And we did laugh at our fortune and sing again!
And that cold, wonderful waterfall in the forest with me wife, Calypso. I shant ever forget her visit. She comes and goes like rain. Wherever she goes, there be water. Sometimes, it just springs forth from the Earth, as if to say "Pardon me, Faire Lady of the Waves. Forgive Us for this dry, parched Earth that cracks your blue feet. Water be scant now, but for visiting royalty such as you, we shall make it gurgle forth, as if to make a path..."
  And then again we men took another journey to smoke and sound philosophical (because tis what we Men do!); and Autoloucus showed us his secret find. His murder house, and I was mesmerized. Untouched for a century or more...twas but one room; dilapidated, in the middle of the forest. No road led to or fro. Inside sat a couch. A chest. A sink. With a plate in it. Curtains on rods, rotted mostly away. Twas the Mad Hermits Olde Home said Autoloucus; Worshipper of Boccob. As if the last murder happened, and he just walked away...and we found it untouched a thousand years later.
So I stole a souvenir; I hope the hermit doesnt miss it upon his return; A perfect walking stick; a slender metal rod, rusted for beauty and to give it the perfect texture, topped on BOTH ends with a perfect little shining silver ball; on one side, so that it doesnt get stuck in the earth. On the other, so as to be soft on the Masters hand (me!). The perfect handle it has; I believe someone once must have mistook it for a curtain rod...
Outside the house, the thickest Pine I have ever laid my eyes on sat. It was particularly peculiar, not only because of its girth, but also because its limbs where very low; too low,so low in fact that we believed something unnatural, something.. perhaps horrible, must have happened in its making. And soon Erroneous (a Druid, of sorts) confirmed this and discerned its oddity; it had drank up blood as opposed to water in its growth. How many years had the Hermit been here? The branchs began so low that one could grab them and climb up. And they where prolific; so one could climb up far...and one of us did...a new fellow. Until we noticed the Old Tree seeming to try and cradle him. At first it appeared to only move...naturally; as if in the breeze. But then I realized that at that particular moment there was no breeze. Quickly the new man was down from its clutches. And, needless to say, we where soon away! Very interesting fellow, this new one. Reminded me of a Djinn Strongman. I am shine with names though...
Oh yes, and ofcoarse by this time I had acquired a ridiculously floppy olde wizards hat, and a pair of spectacles...magical in nature me thinks; which blocked out the sun! Sherwood be full of such treasures. These, when added to kilt & knee high leather boots, made for quite a sight! I believe I scared off more than one faerie! Good! Little bastards!
...So then we where on again, and once again, had been lured too far into Olde Sherwood. This time to find a dried up lake bed...I could tell because of the bowl like topography (a word I have created to refer to the general shape of a land) and the really odd plants that stood some six to eight feet tall. They where different; not from here. And I soon realized why we had strayed again; The spirits of the olde dead ponds inhabitants...Nymphs me thinks. They walked between the giant stalks. Their songs still made lustfull men do ignominous things. But I wanted one of those giant flowers! They where protected by a wall of thorns that only Erroneous and I where brave enough to conquer. I wanted one of those otherworldly stalks! They had tiny little flowers on the ends of red and yellow; they looked as though tiny little Orchids; like the female sex. And I wanted to bring one back for Calypso...for she adores such treasures, and all the women...hearing them chant in my head, "Hail the Conquering Heroes! For they hath travelled deep into the haunted areas of Olde Sherwood! And yet hath returned from the Dark World baring Botanical Oddities and Other Wonders as of yet unknown to Men....". We made it out, bloody around the knees, but alive. I then realized how ignorant it had been to do such a thing for a flower...but how many more anserine things had been done in the name of Love? Surely there was atleast one...
And a thousand more things did we do! That Festival twas but a couple of fortnights, but to us there it lasted much longer (damn faeries!), and Im not convinced we all made it back... but I am tired now, and so, shall write no more tonight...
...the thought of that moon though... My God! God Damn! How doth one write it to convey the audacity of the thing?! It was SO BRIGHT! So I am going to have a whiskey & me pipe out on the safety of me Manor grounds, and hope this nights moon tis a quarter what that nights was...

[rengypsy]

april 12, 1189

the faire is over.  some still linger.  mostly gypsy families like my own.  it was more than i expected.  we arrived months ago.  whispers along the roads had told of this place.  we had nothing pressing. nothing demanding of our presence (in truth, when is anything really pressing for Roma folk?)...so, we headed to sherwood to see what all the talk was about.  this forest, a sanctuary for travelers, a place protected by the likes of a lesser lord at odds with the sheriff and even the prince.  but, a former archer in king richard's crussades. 

something in his life had surely changed him.  letting in his family bands of poor farmers, peasants, and vagabonds . . .

when we arrrived, we expected it all to hype--lies, maybe even a trap.  but, we were quite surprised.  the forest was beautiful.  the people welcomed us with open arms.  the structure within the wood was casual.  and the feel of family was everywhere.


children played. young couples strolled along the water and rested under shade of trees. minstrils pentertained.  drums beat strong and loud in the evening around the campfires.

fay danced amidst the shadows and in the dawn of morning.

more gypsies than i had seen together in one place.  cautious at first, then as time passed, the waagons opened up.  the seers took to telling futures, reading palms, throwing bones and the like.  small gardens.  artisanry abounded.

even nobles walked the same circles as roma and peasants.  strange indeed.

a magic persisted throughout the faire.

me and mine will return.