Ok. Getting back into this. Might take me a minute.
I didn't make a post on Friday, as the prophecy dictates, and for that I apologize,but I have my reasons. The reasons in question being that I was suddenly invited to embark on a journey I have not undertaken in some time: The Society for Creative Anarchronism, or SCA, specifically for the event Banner War.
This event was a little different for me for a number of reasons, the primary two being that: A.I apparently have nearly no skills when it comes to camping under precipitation*. And B: that Banner War received a visitation from one of my Media Idols at the previous years event(which he cataloged himself in his particular venue), so I was hoping that a repeat visitation would be in order. This was not the case, but it nonetheless illuminated my experiences in a subtly different way, and I found certain experiences that I had mirroring those, including the aftermath , which I will catalog at the end of this post, since the lines of thought are different enough to merit separation. But if you don't want to read that one later: I got deliriously sick as soon as I got home.
But right now I want to talk about my experiences in the SCA, in both a positive and a negative light, as especially through the lens of this year's Banner War. While making the drive down to the Masonic Park in Snohomish, two things were already pretty clear to me: This would be the most non-regional event I had been too since my first foray in 2012, which happened near Bremerton. And this would be the wettest. I now readily admit that my SCA experience has definitely been on easy mode. Rainy camping completely changes the paradigm for just about every aspect of camping. I had purchased and was prepared to make two full meals a day for two people. But with my minimal rain protection and equally bad lighting, maintaining a functional kitchen was basically impossible. I cooked once aside from morning coffee, and I'm pretty sure I risked seriously under-cooked food. Just about every other campsite had secured, or gained invitation to a campsite that had access to a covered structure that served both as meeting and leisure, as well as a kitchen setup.
There were a lot of cool things that I was allowed to partake in as well. I was a member of the spectating chorus for carbomb races, and even was allowed to challenge the Lord of Bacyn, head of one of my favorite houses, to a single race, which I proudly bested him in. My biggest moment, though, was when I got to play my autoharp and sing songs for the drunken afterparty, which was a step up for me in both SCA Barding and my mundane pursuit of performance. Until Saturday night, I had never performed my autoharp for more that 5 people. That night, I performed for well over 50**, which was a confidence boon i could not imagine until I felt it.
What this really drives home for me is that if I want to participate next year(which I do), it is very much time to invest more heavily in the SCA than I have been, both in money and in effort towards custom. At the very least, I need to register as a full member and petition to join a damn house.
Follow up:
So, I had an inkling I might be coming down with something just before I set out for Banner War, but after I had started preparation and set out, it had resolved itself to little more than a runny nose. But I have noticed in the past that this behavior is less of an immune-response than a kind of demonic pact: I am given leave of the majority of my symptoms until my desired event has concluded, but upon its conclusion, the severity returns, seemingly in proportion with the length it was held back for. I had no sooner unloaded and unpacked my gear after returning home, than I collapsed in a feverish delirium which did not cease for almost two days. Even while writing I still feel its lingering effects.
-Will
Editors Notes:
*You're almost 30 years old and you don't know how to camp in the rain. I don't think I can reasonably express that level of shame without violating some kind of law, even if it ends up being a natural one.
**50 drunk people. Don't let your head get too big, champ.
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