The Trials of a SCAdian.

A flash of steel. Extreme heat. A glimpse of the enemy's lines. A large expanse of grass. To the left and right, allies in the shield wall. The front line. Behind me the rest of the army. Suddenly, the order rings forth, repeated first from the commanders and finally the army.

Advance.

Approaching the enemy, thousands of marching footsteps. Yet silence reins. A heartbeat. Two. Then the next order rings out, loud and clear.

CHARGE!!!

With a hearty war cry, I rush forward, careful to stay in the line. I watch as the short distance between the shield walls close at a rapid pace. I can see the enemy's designs. I can feel as the thunderous footsteps of six thousand armored people run at eachother. Suddenly, I can see their eyes. I stop, putting all my momentum into a crouch, before springing up into their wall. I see someone go flying, not prepared for the blow. I don't stop. I can't. I make sure to block the polearm going for my head, responding with a blow to the man in front of me. Down he goes. He won't survive. I watch as an enemy on my left starts an attack I would have no hope of blocking, until a polearm from behind me kills him. I continue the fight, savagely cutting through the forces of the enemy, until I feel a heavy slam on my helmet. I fall to the ground instantly, my body curling up. There are no respawns. I'm dead.

No more than twenty minutes later, the battle finishes, the Middle Kingdom having won. I got up from my position on the ground, stretching my sore limbs.

"Hey, nice blow there." The man I first took down said, "You got me by surprise."

"Thanks." I replied, moving to go to my own side. I didn't know who he was. Hell, I barely knew who's on my side. I walked back slowly, surveying the sights before me. On the hill to my left, the wooden castle stands, a patch of grass behind it proudly displaying the roman numerals of this year's Pennsic war.

In front of me, a line of pavilions has been erected, the largest belonging to the King of the Mid Realm. I move over to one of the pavilions set up for the houseless fighters.

You see, I'm one of those people who lives in a rural area, with no one around me even vaguely interested in the SCA. I'm too far away to really join a household, and I see no point in making my own. So I just kinda hang on the fringes, going to the parties and having fun, while not actually being too big a part of it.

Anyway, upon reaching the pavilion, I snag an open jug of Gatorade from a haybale, sticking the tube through my helmet's faceguard and eagerly sucking the life-giving nectar. As I do so, I gaze at the sea of tents over the road, still slightly awed at the sheer amount of people here. At the last headcount on the Pennsic Independent, there were over ten thousand campers alone.

"Hey Angus!" Someone shouted. I looked over and saw my buddy Fisher walking over, his blackened-steel armor clanking as he did so. "Nice job on that one Eastern. He had to have gone into the third rank."

"Thanks man!" I reply, "Also, thanks for the save. If your polearm hadn't've nailed that guy, I would've been down long before."

"That's what I'm here for." Fisher replied, "Anyway, the next battle's about to begin. Let's get out there before the frontline is filled."

"Alright man!"

This time I was more in the center of the line, as opposed to the left flank. Fisher stood behind me, while I had some guy with a black and yellow tabard on, with some kind of face on it, and to my right was a guy with a black and white one. I think the guy on my right was from Darkyard, he certainly had the right era of armor. The guy on my left I didn't know about.

I charged into battle, this time taking down at least a dozen people before I got hit by three polearms simultaneously. Once again I was on the ground, waiting for the battle to finish. Gods I miss respawns.

That night I partied hard, to the point of getting talked into a kegstand. I remember having quite a few beers beforehand, and a few shots of whiskey. Needless to say, it got a bit blurrier after that. I have flashes of memory, talking to a hot girl, running into a tree, falling into a ditch, twice. Things like that.

Finally, probably around midnight, I made my excuses and wandered to my campsite, taking the small road into the forest. I was camped slightly farther than most people do, but I liked my privacy.

Anyway, I finally crawled into bed, the world spinning around me.

The next morning brought with it nature's revenge for alcohol. A hangover. Not the best thing to have right before going onto a battlefield.

I blearily looked around my tent, seeing the tub of garb I had, as well as the small table and  my food and drink coolers. My sixty pound longbow was hanging on a special stand I had made for it, the two quivers I had denoting the differing arrow types. In my larger black-leather quiver, I had two dozen practice arrows, which I was planning to use for my warpoint on the range. The other quiver I got last pennsic, it was brown leather, and it contained two-dozen specialty arrows. More specifically, they were broadheads, designed for both hunting and killing. I had taken a class last Pennsic on how to fire them. Hell, I had even used them to take down a small buck one time. That was fun.

My handmade sword was leaning against the bow stand, it's three foot blade hidden by a black leather scabbard. I had a small collection of knives on a table near them, everything from hunting and skinning to dining knives. All-in-All an impressive collection.

My armor bag sat in a corner, pieces of armor spread around it. There was a nice red gambeson, pauldrons still attached to the shoulders, surrounded by my solid front and back chestplate and my gorget. My under tunic and arming belt lay on the otherside of the large A-Frame, next to my legguards. They had the kneecaps that bent with me, built with overlapping, curved pieces of steel riveted together. I also had a steel thigh-piece attached to each one, with a flap that covered the side of my thigh. My calves were covered with pieces of curved leather. My armgaurds were of a similar design, though my righthand one had a piece of steel that encompassed my forearm as well as one on my upper arm, while my off-hand one was leather and an elbow-cap. I had a pair of full gauntlets, and a helmet with a grated facegaurd. I preferred this design as it allowed me to breathe better.

My Cleftlands tabard and large kite shield sat in another corner laying down, my rattan sword not far from it.

I groaned, before pulling out an instant breakfast from the cooler and throwing my tent wide open. I walked over to my small easy-up that served as my kitchen and dining room, firing up the campstove I had.

Putting the frozen food into a skillet, I walked back into my tent and grabbed a bottle of orange juice, practically chugging it. After that I felt much better, though my headache still remained. Taking one last look around the tent,  I walked back out to finish cooking my meal.

Once breakfast was out of the way, I quickly armed up, making sure everything was tight and secure. On a whim, I put on my helmet, though I wasn't exactly sure why I did so before getting to the battlefield. I shrugged, picking up my shield and sword, and walking out of my camp. I turned onto the path and began walking absently, thinking of how today would be. This time it was a siege battle, and the Mid Realm were defending first.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, I realized that the forest had yet to end. That got me to pay attention, sending a quick look at my surroundings. The trees seemed a lot more ominous now then they did at my campsite. I looked at my feet and saw I was still on a small dirt path. I should've been on the road by now. Casting a searching glance, I saw light a small ways ahead on the path. Thinking I might have taken a wrong turn, I shrugged, following the path into the light.

What I saw made me stop for a second. There was a short meadow between me and what looked like a medieval town.

"Aw no way!" I said out loud, "Why isn't this camp in the Independent! It's amazing! The detail, the architecture, the pink dog running at me."

Wait. What? I looked up again, seeing a relatively large dog-like thing that was, of all colors, bright pink. It was barreling towards me, making a cacophony of weird sounds that almost reminded me of language. It was moving fast enough that I braced myself, putting my shield up just in time for it to ram into me. My booted feet slid backwards on the grass under me from the sheer force.

I was too well trained to attack, but damn, this thing was strong. I took a look over my shield and saw it moving it's jaws at a mile a minute, seeming to be trying to talk to me. All I heard was a strange, lilting sound, something I've never heard a dog, or for that matter, a horse-like thing (I got a better look at it), make.

Then it jumped for my face, to which my immediate reaction was to swing. I would come to regret that decision.