Calling all bards! (or people that listen to bards)

[Kiddo Seanchain]

I'm taking a class about fairytales this semester and the professor is both awesome and familiar with the SCA. So when our semester essay topic rolled around I got permission to do the following topic: oral storytelling tradition within the SCA or something similar to that. Exactly what I'll be discussing along those lines will be determined after research.

Anyways, I'd just like to hear about your personal experiences with bardic, either performing it or listening to it. Heck, it can even be Duncan the Monster stories, doesn't have to be anything along the myth/legend/fairytale lines.

I'd like to know stuff like where it was performed, when, what kind of stories were told, audience reaction, who comprised the audience (age, gender, etc), and how important this seems to be to the SCA as well as any prestige associated with being a bard.

I may privately message you asking permission to use you in the essay as a direct source or asking for more details. If you don't want this, say so when posting.

Thanks everyone!  

[Llelwyn]

Hm, well, the storytelling experience that most stands out in my mind took place on a late night around a fire at the Tourney of Ymir. That's a yearly event that occurs in mid-February. It's often very cold (appropriate for an event named after a frost giant), and it's the big yearly kingdom-level Viking event in my area. Everyone gets a chance to bring out their cold-weather garb, and those who want to can show off their beads, turtle brooches, and other Viking accoutrements.

In any case, we had all been singing, mostly sad period (or periodesque) songs... the winter weather seems to lend itself to that, and a lady says that she would like to tell a story appropriate to the event. The crowd mostly recognizes her, she has some reknown as a storyteller in the area, and everyone quiets down... by now the kiddies have gone to bed or gone home, and there's only about ten or so adults and myself (with me being the youngest person, about sixteen at the time) left... the rest are off on the wet part of the site drinking and drumming.

The lady stands up, folding her hands in front of her, and begins to tell a story about Loki, the Sly One, her voice gentle, rising and falling, growing more passionate as the story unfolds. She makes graceful gestures with her hands, showing how Loki cut off Sif's hair, for mischief's sake. Finally, Loki, his mouth having been sewn closed, vanishes from the scene, and the storyteller folds her hands back in front of her and bows her head.

We sit for a moment, stunned silent, and then a soft "Vivat" comes from the side of the circle and we break into applause. The lady takes a bow and sits back down, ready, again, to be part of the audience.

I don't remember the lady's name, though I recognize her when I see her at events, but her story... well, it will always stick with me.  

[[Atropa Belladonna]]

Being a bard myself (with a pedigree of bardic ancestors long enough to reach back to Scotland), I pick up on stories and songs very easily, as well as writing my own. I've shared several of my own songs on this forum, but I haven't shared any stories because I haven't written any. I tell stories sometimes, but they're not mine. However, when I tell the stories of others it's beacuse I feel that the stories should be heard by as many people as is humanly possible, and I credit the authors when I haven't taken too many hits to the head to remember their names. I will share my two favorites here:

Goldihat and the Three Peers
by Maister Iago ab Adam

Once upon a time there were three Peers: a Birdy Peer, a Shrubby
Peer, and a Chivy Peer.

One morning Shrubby Peer and Chivy Peer awoke to find that Birdy Peer
had stayed up all night preparing an elaborate breakfast of porridge.
They all sat down to eat.

"This porridge, which I stayed up all night preparing, is too hot,"
said the Birdy Peer.

"Porridge would not have been served at this temperature in period,"
said the Shrubby Peer.

"Ow," said the Chivy Peer.

"Well, no sense in wasting time while we wait for it to cool- let's
go out and tidy the forest," said the Birdy Peer.

"I do need to look for some rare herbs," said the Shrubby Peer.

"Pretty trees!" said the Chivy Peer.

So off they went.

Soon, a girl happened by, followed by her retinue. She was called
Goldihat, because of her beautiful gold plated headgear. She walked
in to the Peers' kitchen.

"Food tester, test this porridge," said Goldihat.

"This porridge is too hot, your worthiness."

"Food tester, test that porridge," said Goldihat.

"This porridge is too cold, your worthiness."

"Food tester, test this porridge," said Goldihat.

"This porridge is just right, your worthiness."

So Goldihat sat down and ate the whole bowl. Then she and her retinue
processed to the living room.

"Chair tester, test this spot on the floor where a chair would be if
Birdy Peer ever sat down," said Goldihat.

"This spot on the floor where a chair would be if Birdy Peer ever sat
down is too hard, your worthiness."

"Chair tester, test this elaborately hand carved chair piled high
with intricately embroidered pillows," said Goldihat.

"This elaborately hand carved chair piled high with intricately
embroidered pillows is too soft, your worthiness."

"Chair tester, test this La-Z-Boy," said Goldihat.

"This La-Z-Boy is just right, your worthiness."

So Goldihat sat down and reclined, and sat up and reclined, and
raised the footrest and lowered the footrest until *SPROING*. Then
she and her retinue processed to the bedroom.

"Bed tester, test this spot on the floor where a bed would be if
Birdy Peer ever slept," said Goldihat.

"This spot on the floor where a bed would be if Birdy Peer ever slept
is too hard, your worthiness."

"Bed tester, test this pile of leafy branches," said Goldihat.

"This pile of leafy branches is too soft, your worthiness."

"Bed tester, test this racing car bed," said Goldihat.

"This racing car bed is just right, your worthiness."

So Goldihat lay down on the bed, tucked her headgear under the
pillow, and fell fast asleep (because there is no other way to fall
asleep on a racing car bed).

Soon after, the Peers arrived home from their walk and went to finish
their breakfast.

"Someone has been eating my porridge, which I stayed up all night
preparing," said the Birdy Peer.

"Someone has been eating my porridge, and the used the wrong spoon!"
said the Shrubby Peer.

"Hungry!" said the Chivy Peer.

Then they went to the living room.

"Somebody has been sitting on the spot on the floor where a chair
would be if I ever sat down," said the Birdy Peer.

"Somebody has been getting their greasy fingers all over my
elaborately hand carved chair piled high with intricately embroidered
pillows," said the Shrubby Peer.

"Broken!" said the Chivy Peer.

Then the Peers proceded to the bedroom.

"Somebody has been sleeping on the spot on the floor where a bed
would be if I ever slept," said the Birdy Peer.

"Somebody has been resting on my laurels," said the Shrubby Peer.

"Woman!" said the Chivy Peer.

Just then, Goldihat awoke, sat up, and put on her headgear.

"Your worthiness!" said the Birdy Peer.

"Your worthiness!" said the Shrubby Peer.

"Shiny!" said the Chivy Peer.

So the Peers joined Goldihat's retinue, and they went around invading
houses all over the kingdom, and lived happily ever after.

The End


The First Miracle of St. Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith, Patron Saint of Heralds
by Master Korwyn [this is the part where I'd put in his last name if I could remember it sweatdrop --please note also that while Goldihat was taken directly from the original source, the First Miracle is my remembering of his remembering after having not told it for some time, so it may differ somewhat from the original]

Once upon a time there was a man named Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith, who was the b*****d son of a Venitian nobleman of no particular renown, and he spent his days wandering Italy performing random acts of heraldry.

One day he was on the ru--I mean, in between employers--when he met a man on the road who said his master was looking to fill a heralding job--and it payed. His purse quite empty, Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith agreed. So the man led him to his master, who explained his task.

Guilliano's new master explained that all the land around was part of the duchy of his cousin, and that the task set for him was to research exactly how many people held a stronger claim on the inheretance of said duchy than himself. This being a common task for a herald, he set to work right away without any further questions.

Late into the night Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith sat in the library, poring over books and scrolls. As his candles burned low, he decided to take a short break. He went down to the kitchen and took some bread, and some wine--and some more wine--and a little bit more wine... and a serving maid... and went back to the library. He studied all the next day, and as the sun set he triumphantly informed his master that there were four people who held a stronger claim than he.

His master thanked him for his good and timely work, and suggested that he go off into the kitchen and get something to eat. So Guilliano made his way to the kitchen, and found himself some bread and wine--and some more wine--and a little bit more wine... and a serving maid.

That night, a mysterious plague struck the land, killing exactly five people, and that morning there was a great clamouring around the manor as Guilliano's master was proclaimed next in line. Guilliano realized that he was involved in his master's coup, but the money was good, so he didn't say anything. Instead, he decided to go back to the library and do some more research.

In his books he discovered a disturbing prophecy: the fifteenth Duke of his master's line, at the moment that the coronet touched his brow, would be taken into heaven by the angel of death. Guilliano counted the former dukes on his fingers, and took off his boot and counted on some toes--and realized there had only been fourteen.

Frantically he searched further, to see if there was anything else. The sun went down and came up on the day of the coronation and Guilliano had found nothing. Then suddently he discovered a second prophecy--one which explains how to negate the first. He realized with a start that the coronation would be comencing any second. He took off at a flat run out of the library--he ran down halls and up stairs--he ran past the kitchens--he ran past the serving maid--he ran back to the serving maid, and said hello, and she said hello--and he ran on, until he reached the chamber where the coronation was taking place--just as the coronet was lowered onto the new Duke's brow.

Suddenly in the chamber there came a tall, dark figure, skeletal and fearsome, with a gleaming sicle. Thinking fast, Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith tore from the wall a shield bearing the likeness of a castle and cast it upon the floor at his master's feet, crying,

"Stand upon the shield and take off your gloves!"

And as the angel of death made his way toward the Duke, Guilliano took a second shield from the wall and held it up to his master.

"DEATH, YOU CANNOT TAKE MY MASTER!" He cried, "FOR SEE HOW HE STANDS UPON A PARAPET AND FACES A LION WITH HIS BARE HANDS!"

And Death looked upon Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith, and said, "you suck." And Death did not take the Duke, but returned to heaven alone.

Thus concludes the story of the first miracle of Guilliano Lorenzo de Medici-Smith, patron saint of heralds.

[edit=Goldihat is sometimes told at firesides, but most often it seems it is passed on via email and webgroups. It is accepted with delight (and groans) in almost all circles.

The story of Guilliano is one of a series of tales based on heraldic puns written by Master Korwyn. Generally speaking he is the only one who performs them, and it's been a while at that. When I heard this one it was at a baronial encampment at a ren faire, the camp comprised of men, women, and children of a very wide range of ages (the youngest being 2 and the oldest at... er... greybeard). The kids didn't get it, but it was beloved of the adults (with more groaning at the puns, but much laughter).  

[Snaebjorn]

Llelwyn

Hm, well, the storytelling experience that most stands out in my mind took place on a late night around a fire at the Tourney of Ymir. That's a yearly event that occurs in mid-February. It's often very cold (appropriate for an event named after a frost giant), and it's the big yearly kingdom-level Viking event in my area. Everyone gets a chance to bring out their cold-weather garb, and those who want to can show off their beads, turtle brooches, and other Viking accoutrements.

In any case, we had all been singing, mostly sad period (or periodesque) songs... the winter weather seems to lend itself to that, and a lady says that she would like to tell a story appropriate to the event. The crowd mostly recognizes her, she has some reknown as a storyteller in the area, and everyone quiets down... by now the kiddies have gone to bed or gone home, and there's only about ten or so adults and myself (with me being the youngest person, about sixteen at the time) left... the rest are off on the wet part of the site drinking and drumming.

The lady stands up, folding her hands in front of her, and begins to tell a story about Loki, the Sly One, her voice gentle, rising and falling, growing more passionate as the story unfolds. She makes graceful gestures with her hands, showing how Loki cut off Sif's hair, for mischief's sake. Finally, Loki, his mouth having been sewn closed, vanishes from the scene, and the storyteller folds her hands back in front of her and bows her head.

We sit for a moment, stunned silent, and then a soft "Vivat" comes from the side of the circle and we break into applause. The lady takes a bow and sits back down, ready, again, to be part of the audience.

I don't remember the lady's name, though I recognize her when I see her at events, but her story... well, it will always stick with me.

This woman wouldn't be just around 5 feet tall and an older woman would she? Wear's alot of amber? Because that sounds like a story by Mistress Morganna bro Morganwyg. She is the third or fourth bardic laurel ever made in the society and she specializes in Norse story telling. Fantastic woman and one of the premier storytellers of the Known World. Hails from Calontir though she is counted as a citizen of Northshield.  

[MorganOfCalafia]

"Beowulf" By The Black Bard

See Grendel. See Grendel eat. Eat, Grendel, eat. Grendel is eating a few Danish for breakfast. Grendel especially likes the ones with the yellow coating on top. This is good because there are so many of them.

Yummy!

See Hrothgar. He is sad. Sad, sad, sad. His warriors are leaving. They are sad because Grendel has eaten many of their friends. They do not want to play with Grendel anymore because Grendel is mean.

Hrothgar is also sad because his food is almost gone. Grendel eats the cows and pigs and horsies, too. Grendel is very hungry. Eat, Grendel, eat. Hrothgar is also sad because his wife will not stop complaining. Whine, wife, whine. Hrothgar has tried to stop listening to her for three days now.

Drink, Hrothgar, drink. Hrothgar is almost out of mead. Poor Hrothgar.

See Beowulf. He is big and strong and handsome. He has long Viking braids and pointy horns on his hat and a really big sword. Ooh, Beowulf, ooh! He is sailing to Denmark to visit Hrothgar.

Sail, Beowulf, sail. He does not know that Hrothgar is almost out of mead. Poor Beowulf.

Beowulf likes to sail. Beowulf likes to drink even more. Poor Beowulf. When he gets to Denmark, there is only enough mead left for one feast. Poor Beowulf. Poor Hrothgar. Poor warriors. Poor Grendel. Beowulf is very mad. Mad, mad, mad.

Beowulf vows to slay Grendel. Vow, Beowulf, vow. He promises to do many great feats. He swears to return with Grendel's head. Drink, Beowulf, drink.

Beowulf is lying very still. Is he waiting to surprise Grendel? No, he is not waiting to surprise Grendel. Is he meditating? No, he is not meditating. Is he practicing an Arcane magical ritual involving a lawn chair, six milk bottles and a tuning fork? No, he is unconscious. Won't he be surprised when he wakes up and they tell him about his promises?

Won't he be happy to know that he has a quest? Won't he feel grand when the warriors cheer him? No, Beowulf will not feel grand for awhile. He has a headache. Poor Beowulf. Please stop cheering warriors.

O see the castle. It is very quiet. Is it quiet because everyone is afraid of Grendel? No it is not quiet because everyone is afraid of Grendel. Is it quiet because everyone is afraid of Beowulf? Yet, it is because everyone is afraid of Beowulf. Beowulf has had a very bad headache for three days. Last night, Beowulf's head hurt so bad that he was very mad. Mad, mad, mad. Grendel came over to play and made too much noise. Beowulf was very upset. Beowulf was so upset that he ripped Grendel's arm off and hung it over the door. Poor Grendel. Poor warriors. Smile at Beowulf. Just do it quietly.

O see the feast hall. It is bright and cheery. There is food on the tables and mead in the horns and a great big arm over the door. See the feasters. They are singing and laughing and drinking. Are they happy that Grendel is dead? Yes, they are happy that Grendel is dead.

Are they happy that they can laugh and sing and play again? Yes, they are they happy that they can laugh and sing and play again. But most of all they are happy that there is more mead. Drink, Beowulf, drink.

O see Hrothgar. He is happy. Happy, happy, happy.

Is he happy that Grendel is dead? Is he happy that there is more mead? Yes, but he is mostly happy because his wife has stopped complaining. Smile, Hrothgar, smile.

O see Grendel's mother. She is sad. Sad, sad, sad. Is she sad because Grendel is gone? Is she sad because her other children never call? Is she sad because the Angels are losing again? Yes, she is sad because of all these things. But she is mostly sad because she won't get any more mother's day presents. This makes her mad. Mad, mad, mad.

She gets so mad that she decides to have some Danish for dessert. That is silly. Everyone knows that you are supposed to have Danish for breakfast.

Silly, silly, silly.

In fact it is so silly that we think that Grendel's mother may have had something besides food for dinner. We think that Grendel's mother may have been drinking. Just like Beowulf.

O see Beowulf. Now that there is mead again he is drinking some more. Drink, Beowulf, drink. When Grendel's mother comes to the feast, Beowulf has already drunk quite a bit. So has Grendel's mother. He thinks she is the most beautiful woman in the world and makes a pass at her. Pass, Beowulf, pass. She is caught off guard and says no. Tease, monster, tease. Beowulf tries again. She leaves and he goes home with her. Grendel's mother was never heard from again. Beowulf was very quiet about the whole situation.

Quiet, quiet, quiet.