My gay ass Edling doesn’t like hunting, my Penteulu keeps raiding my neighbors, my Bard can’t remember the works of Talieisin and my Penhebogydd got his eye scratched out by my favorite hawk. I HATE being a Tywysog

Three anonymous fencers demonstrate their skill, in an English-held town in Wales, AD 1408.

Some practice with knotwork, plus an old drawing of an oc, Helga the Brave

Doodling again. Trying to get proportions right, and to write in a somewhat-convincing Middle English

Weird is Wōden’s slayer, watchful but eyeless

I’m practicing every single night being more comfortable holding my sword against my back by lying in bed. The extra weight in the blade gained by holding it upwards makes me look like a fucking idiot who doesn’t know how to lift a 2 pound lump of metal

Fortunately I don’t mind that too much rn

Who up thrusting their Pequod

A knight young of years, Sir Henry of Hollyoak, remembered his family and its warrior past.

A memory of a fight - one for his country’s freedom and the love of his life. He fights in a jousting helmet and thick jousting armor. A fool’s errand.

Three Mummers hang up above. What are they saying?

Let never a man a-wooing wend that lacketh thinges three:
- Oaken hearte
-Store of gold
-Full of charity

Rhyming is so uncreative. Like yeah, that just sounds like the last thing you said

Hmm I wonder what happened with those winged hussar guys. Seems pretty interesting

Sabaton:

Ooooh, so they arrived? And turned the tide? Cool beans, thanks Sabaton

Viking Age work