I hadn’t planned to join the Sable Hawks when I
first got invited to camp with them at Great Western War. I just asked
who I could borrow a tent from, and they were the ones who answered. But
they were a very hospitable group of people, so I decided to undergo the initiation. This involves a) chugging a fluid of
choice from a deceptively capacitous skull mug and b) telling a story
to all assembled. This is an easy thing if you’re a fighter and/or a
party animal, but I’m an artisan and a professional shy person. I was
worried I’d have to reach back to Boy Scouts for something, but I had a
fortuitous adventure at war. And it mostly involves crafting, so it goes
on the blog. Thus, in the grand tradition, more or less how I told it
that night…
NO SHIT
THERE I WAS
NAKED
...in the shower five months or so before GWW, where all the bestworst
ideas happen. I’ve been in the SCA since 2015 or so, but I’ve been in
isolated areas with not much budget, so I’ve been largely unknown. Since
having a decent job in a populous city, I’ve been working to expand my
wordfame. But even then, I’m up in Oertha, and the only time I can prove that people in mainland West hear about me, is when someone moves away. So I want to go big,
and business card the King and/or Queen of the West, whichever I can get
an audience with. As an artisan, the way I do that is with
largesse.
For those uninitiated, largesse is the stuff that the nobility
hands out to people for whatever reasons they choose - awards for
service, prizes, payment, or what have you. It’s usually small items
that can be packed for travel easily and made in some kind of bulk. And
that all comes from donations from the populace - whoever is inclined to
make something sends it into the system, and where it goes after that,
nobody knows until it happens.
Now, I haven’t quite got a handle on what I can mass produce,
because my specialty is tedious things few other people are bothered to
do. Ulfhildr, I’ve watched churn out multiple nalbound hats in one
sitting. She’s an absolute largesse machine. Me, not so much. But I’ve
experimented with Hedeby frame bags before, they involve a bunch of different
things I know how to do, and they’re easy to transport. Pretty good for
largesse. And for a good number… 12 should be impressive.
So I get to work. I buy a scroll saw and cut some 30 oaken handles.
I give myself an RSI hand sanding those handles. I card weave a band
for loops to connect the frames to the bags. It goes a third as far as I
want it to and takes too long, so I try rigid heddle for the first
time. I’m unhappy with the thread density on my heddle, so I squeeze it
down and make inkle. That’s still not enough loops, so I print two tighter
heddles and weave twill. For months, my spare time at work is spent
weaving or hand-assembling bags, and my evenings and weekends are spent
sanding, machine sewing components, or fingerloop braiding the bag
straps.
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| The bags in question. I could have sworn I got a photo of them with the straps on, but I guess I didn't. |
And while I’m doing this, I’m planning well in advance how I’m
going to introduce myself, because dangit I need a script if I’m going
into a social interaction cold. While doing this, I independently arrive
at what’s probably one of the society’s oldest and corniest jokes, and I
decide I’m going to commit to the bit.
Fast forward to Thursday night. There’s a party at West camp, and I
bring along my royal purple bag with a gold hippogriff stamped on
it, full of a dozen Hedeby bags, the product of months of work, and a
secret other thing. I don’t see either royalty that night, but that’s
just as well. It was dark and loud, nobody would have seen anything.
The next day, a new friend (names redacted to protect the innocent) goes over to West camp from the Sables,
so I grab my purple bag with a gold hippogriff stamped on it and tag
along. Today, success. The queen is out under an awning, and she has a
friend/retinue with her. So I start my spiel, stumbling a
little bit on the transition.
“Hello, I’m Arnthor Hestofthi, you don’t know me yet, but I come
from the far off lands of Oertha. I’ve been told it’s custom to gift the
royalty with a Large S…”
And I reach into my large bag of other, smaller bags, and I pull
out a sheet of cardstock, on which I have printed the largest
calligraphic letter S I could fit on the page.
And all three people present *lose their freaking minds* laughing.
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| Artist's recreation of the Large S |
Nothing else I said matters for this story. I also handed over a
scratch-made frame bag and its eleven brothers, but the star of the show
was the windows default font single letter I had printed off in under
five minutes.
I departed camp on foot after that, and as I rounded the last
corner to turn off to the Sable Hawks camp, an SUV passes me. It’s
occupant gets out at the neighboring camp, and a familiar voice yells
out, “He brought largesse!” I look up; it’s the Queen's retinue, holding up the S,
for which she had gone to find a matte.
So let that be a lesson: if you’re going to put your heart and soul
into something, save your best material for another time, lest you
accidentally upstage yourself with your throwaway gag.