A report on the status of the Principality (it's fun, I promise)
I've been feeling kind of silly lately so below the cut is the unofficial quarterly report I submitted to the KS at the end of the quarter just gone.
A Report on the Status of the Principality
September 2, AS XLVI
As green leaves turn to rusty gold
And blue skies bruise to grey,
I write to you, O Seneschal,
Of the quarter gone away.
The ship that is Oertha
Is perilous and swift.
Crewed by fearsome seamen
She rarely goes adrift.
At coronet, a new captain found
And new crew taken on
Too numerous to list them here
Their skill’s sine qua non.
To the baronies please turn your gaze
Three jewels set in a crown
Their skill and terrible beauty
Have brought this ship renown.
Eskalya seeks new leaders,
Judicious, bold, and wise,
To guide her noble journey
Beneath our starry skies.
Of Winter’s Gate, I write you next,
First bastion against the snows,
Prudently now, they set their lines
‘Gainst all that winter throws.
The third jewel is Selviergard
From whence our captain came
Though the baron was called away
This has not damped their flame.
To the shires now, I ask you look
Like the stars upon our crest
They shine against a cobalt sky
Twin beacons for the West.
Upon the Rock does Pavlok sit
And stare down the fearsome gale
With convivial tables and rapier wit
They laugh at wind and hail.
Pavlok’s southern sister Earngyld
Amongst the emerald isles
A new steersman soon will lead her
Through foggy, spruce-lined aisles.
The canton and the colleges
Are the last you must attend
These little ships in a barony’s lee,
Seek sheltered from the wind.
The greyhound sloop of Guinefort
Still slumbers in the sun.
New students though can be her lure
And set her free to run.
St. Boniface still lights his lamp
And lifts his crook and miter,
Calling students with his light,
To make their own lamps brighter.
With sadness, I turn last
To a sea dog gone away
To exhaustion and to atrophy
Has Ynys Taltraeth fallen prey.
The ship that is Oertha
Is perilous and swift.
Crewed by fearsome seamen
She rarely goes adrift.
And though we turn to winter
And prepare to face its might
Our silvern lupine figurehead
Will lead us through the night.