Many are the months since I last took up the pen, and longer still since I wandered the halls of this shire, much to my dismay. Worry not, good folk- I hath not forsaken thee, nor shall I e'er do as such. Yet the labours of a squire have no end, and the Higher Schoole doth occupy most of my time.

Another year, another faire come and gone- 'twas a glorious occasion. A celebration of all that is lost and wonderous and sad, a bachannal revel, a world, far more "real" than anything else- aye, faire was all of these. My labours as a squire continued as I served His Grace, the Lord Peck of Abercrombie. Likewise, I served as both court poet and troubador-in-training and Master of Squires. Such titles, though honors they be, were paid for in full in sweat. My learnings under him I shall post anon, for such material could fill volumes. I recieved, with much suprise on mine behalf, the award for Best In Mayor's Court and one of the Best of AZ awards.... and I am allowing myself some pride on these matters. Too much virtue can be a vice, is it not so? And none have yet accused me of being too virtuous.

This year mark'd also the beginning of my newfound quest for the love of the lady whom I fancy. The lass to whom I be betroth'd- aye, the account of out meeting at court and my description of her could likewise fill volumes. Suffice to say, she is beautiful both in face, form, and spirit. Such qualities be rare indeed, and mark me well- for I hath a very discerning taste. To look into milady's eyes; this be mine only paradise.

Sir William, captain of His Majesty's guard, did observe me upon the lanes and in the court of my master and put forth a request that I should join him as a knight in the service of the king. My master accepted! So it is that a dream, once-distant, looms ahead. I am to finish my service and be knighted in a year's time. Then I shall take the oarth, the spurs, the chain- I tremble with anticipation and apprehension at the very thought!

God's blood, but fortune's wheel doth turn, and Lady Luck, fickle mistress that she be, smileth upon me. In a year's time, I am to be both wedded and knighted, two glorious honors, two lifelong quests, two grievous responsibilities. Yet such is the nature of adulthood, methinks.

And I am boy no longer. Sweet-bittersweet be my lot.

Your Servant,

Squire Reynald of York

(This poem was directly inspired by the writings of the Lady Redhawk, if ye must know.)

The wood with echoes doth abound,
Of the somber pipe, the sylvan sound,
The beat of the bodran, the shrill of the pipe,
The frenzied dance of the endless night.

Listen!

And far ahead, by yonder tree,
My lady fair doth wait for me.

And I shall take her by the hand,
And lead her to the wooded strand,
Where we shall tarry, her and I,
And gaze into the brilliant sky.

The night was for the dreamer made,
I walk in darkness, unafraid,
For though an idle dream may never come to pass,
I savor it while youth’s fond whims may last.

Amors sanz crieme et sans peor
Est feus sanz flame et sanz chalor,
Jorz sanz soloil, bresche sanz miel,
Estez sans flor, iverz sanz giel,
Ciaus sanz lune, livres sanz letre.

The message hath been deliver’d- the courier hath been sent. I await her reply eagerly, and with a great measure of trepidation. Will she look upon me, and with her eyes, lay bare all of my faults and errors? Will she deem me ill worthy to serve as her companion and lover? Was there a word ill spoken or a kiss ill placed on my behalf? Do I move to hastily, or too slow? Is it my doubt, unceasingly questioning? Doth it dissuade her? Does she think of me even as I toss upon my pallet, thinking of her?

Tut! I put to pen my fears, and they melt as do putty. Yet my mind restlessly turns... the hour is late, and my masters have taken to their bedchambers early this eve. Mayhap a night of sleep will put to rest my anxious heart. Good night, fair even, noble champions, and rest well. Mayhap the morrow will hold sweeter things.

I did come across the following in my reading, and find one of Shakespere's more moving and heartfelt sonnets. (Romancers, be warn'd: you had best be skilled in recitation, or the lady to whom you are reciting may take it upon herself to slap you before the poem's conclusion)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

    God gi' go-den to ye all, denzinens of cyberspace! I am new to this realm, and shall do my best to adapt to the bizzare rules that govern it. About myself? I am a squire to (in order) His Grace the Duke Drago, His Highness Prince James, and His Most Noble Mayor-ness the Lord Mayor. I serve many functions within the court- Impudent Upstart (first class), Harasser of Noblewomen, Court Poet, Servingman to the Lord Mayor, and Town Crier. Though I am, insooth, a jack-of-all-trades, my true wish is to become a knight in service of His Majesty, King Henry. And to find a lady love for whom I might dedicate my victories. (In that order.) Chivalry and tales of ancient gallantry never fair to inspire me! (Although the closest I have come to gallantry in the past fortnight was filling my master's cup several times o'er.) I am a natural admirer of beauty, (Not to be confused with a womanizer), and am never the last to drop a compliment here and there. Ah, me, hark! I am rambling like a fishwife!

    I shall leave thee with a bit of poetry from Sir Lewis of Carol, and a fyne warning to ye all:

'Twas brillig and the slithy toves didst gire and gimble in the wabe,

All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome-raths outgrabe,

Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch,

Beware the Jubjub Bird and shun the Frumious Bandersnatch!