I Kid Thee Not: ‘The Bells of St. Trivium' by Viscount Yannick of Normandy, OP

A long time ago, in an Abbey far, far away….

A noble Prince and Princess took their retinue and set out on their travels from the North Lands to their seat on their beloved Dragon Isles. Their journey was long and arduous, and oft made on the wrong side of the bridleway amid much shouting and rancour. They did eventually pause, seeking succour in the Abbaye de Marche-les-Dames, to rest their horses and to recover their capacities before continuing their journey home.

They were met with the most wonderful generosity and warmth by their hosts in the Shire of Trivium. The Abbaye de Marche-les-Dames showing signs of great age, was still a most impressive and beautiful building. A very fitting place to take Royal refuge.

The warm hospitality of the people of Trivium was enjoyed in full measure by the whole retinue. A certain Princess, was encouraged to indulge in a wine ‘tasting’ come the evening. The Ladies of the Rose being of great service to the Princess, did proceed to get her totally Hammered and ne’er a one did retire to bed until the birds were loud in their morning voice.

The Prince being a more elderly sort, had himself retired to bed at a reasonable 2am, His inner Kilmister being vastly ashamed. The Prince was therefore up quite early to take his morning constitutional. A steady stroll around the grounds and gardens in the warm morning sun, with only birdsong for company. The peace and tranquillity was intoxicating.

The good Prince had walked a half a mile or so when the Abbey bells started to ring...

Dissonant, Random, Continuous bells. They were loud, even from that great distance. Any tune they once played, any harmony they once possessed, long since lost to the mists of time. The cracks and fault-lines in the bell castings giving great distortion to the tones. The bass notes were remarkably impressive, they could be felt deep within the soul rather than just simply heard.

Seeing this as a good sign that the kitchen staff ought now be busy warming their pans; The prince set off back to the Abbey on the hunt for bacon.

Upon arriving back at they Royal Suite some twenty minutes hence, with the bells still in their full dissonant flow; the Prince discovered that the bell tower was in fact, right outside the Royal Dormitory window. The open window that wouldn't close. The Prince was amused to find the royal retinue with their heads under pillows crying a muffled “Noooo...” and a Princess looking slightly less than regal, with mad orange hair. A vision in Moomin Jammies standing in the ancient doorway, one hand holding onto her head, the other pointing an accusing finger at him. The vision ranting “Make it Stop!, Make it Stop!”, “You did this to me...!”

Not having a head full of angry demons, The Prince looked smugly amused.

The bells rang for a full hour, The Prince was Very much entertained.

There was no bacon.

Based on true events.

Names have been omitted to protect the guilty.

You know who you are!

Deeds of Stealth and Cunning: The Story of the Raglan Doole AS 51, as told by Lord Yannick of Normandy (who was there and did suffer)

'Doooole!' they cried! 'Doooole!' For shires did muster their finest archers to compete on the Raglan Doole.

The year was AS. 51, at Raglan Ffaire. This is the story of the Evil Baroness, Her Dread Excellency Ari Mala and her insatiable desire to win the Doole, and of poor Yannick; who did suffer greatly.

It began just days into the Ffaire when Master Archer Lord Mícheál of Dun in Mara mysteriously, accidentally, brutally chopped off his bow hand with an axe while making breakfast. No-one suspected foul play.

Barely one day later, Master Archer Lord Yannick of Normandy narrowly survived a Cards and Gin related assassination attempt by the Evil Baroness. Her plan to prevent him shooting for his home shire of Pont Alarch was thwarted by the Ladies of the shire, who administered coffee in great quantities. His life saved, the Ladies of the shire did nonetheless gather and glare at him in silence for being so foolish as to fall for such a simple ploy; and lo... Yannick did suffer.

Now shunned by Pont Alarch for his foolish behaviour, Yannick was cast aside. Lord Mícheál with his single remaining hand was pressed into service by Lady Alana, who was seemingly immune to his miserable pleading for mercy.

Her Dread Excellency decided it was time for Plan B!, “if you can't kill 'em, join 'em up!”.

The day of the Doole, the Evil Baroness cast a spell on an unsuspecting Lord Marx, her own team mate! Lord Marx mysteriously vanished in a cloud of green smoke, mere moments before the Doole began. Leaving behind nought but strange globules of green goo on the end of his arrows. The hapless Yannick wandered too close and was forced to shoot for the Evil Baroness under enchantment; the Ladies of Pont Alarch did glare, and so... Yannick did suffer.

Deeds of Stealth and Cunning: ‘A Rehearsall Both Straung and True' by Arianhwy, barwnes arslwyd

Being a tale of the second year of the Raglan Dooooooooooole, and told at the request of Viscount Yannick

And so, it came to pass, in the year of the reign of Yannick and Alana, that the cry of “Dooooole!” was once again heard in the land, and many doughty archers assembled upon the grounds of Raglan Castle to contest the prize and entertain those who chose to watch. There was much buzz: would the team of female master archers win this year? Would the other teams of master archers win? Or could the West Dragonshire team (this year called WD-40, for the shire and the age none of the team would see again), entirely comprised of non-master archers, defend its well-won title?

In the first year of the Doole, due to circumstances entirely beyond her control, Baroness Arianhwy (no, the other one) found herself in the excellent company of Edmund fitzJohn and Yannick of Normandy, as the three of them won the competition. Some of you are no doubt familiar with the scandalous and downright inaccurate tales of the machinations Arianhwy (the other one, I said) went to to ensure victory. If you haven’t heard the tale itself, you will no doubt have heard its refrain: And Yannick did suffer.

Upon the morning of the second doooole, Arianhwy found her fingers had exploded in blood and pus. Clearly, this was the work of some evil character trying to prevent her from defending her title! Yannick’s defection to sitting in the sun drinking gin and watching whilst wearing a pointy hat had already meant a change in the team: Dame Geneviève la flechière had gallantly stepped in to fill his place.