Every story begins somewhere, and lost in the misty past of Bordermarch one began which would later grow to give us many tales for evening fires. Some seventeen years ago on a blistering hot 4th of July weekend three newcomers to the SCA rode west in their hideous-green Great Van-god to fight together in their first tournament. After wild revelling Friday night, only one hour of sleep and a trifling six hour ride to the Barbarian Tourney at a working ranch near Bjornsburg, they knew they were in perfect physical condition for the deadly combat to come later that day. A quick stop at a roadside park to let Jeffery the Barbarian try on his new helmet and armor for the first time (the first time he had ever worn ANY helmet or armor, and picked up a weapon at the same time for that matter) and they continued their trek. With a suspicious eye on Jeffery's mace, Germanicus wondered aloud if it would pass inspection because of the shear size of the thing. "Idunno" was Thorkills' thoughtful response; "Needs more duct tape" was the Barbarian's. "Why's my helmet so big?" Jeffery asked with a scowl, then formed an evil grin when Germanicus lied "Makes you look bigger," rather than tell the Barbarian the truth; it was a screw-up.
After they arrived at the tournament site they quickly pitched their camp, no where near another human being. They rapidly armored up (which wasn't hard to do since they were wearing a helmet, gorget, shield, shoes and a pair of shorts. Period.) and strolled over to see the others forming up for the first melee. The lovely Tessa of the Gardens, recognizing the strangers as being unfortunately from Bordermarch, bravely and prudently approached them along with eight or nine bodyguards. "Would you wear my favor in battle, my lords?" she demurely asked the three. "Hey Thorkill, wuzza favor?" Germanicus whispered entirely too loud. "Idunno" was Thorkels' reply. "Can you eat it? I'm hungry." was the Barbarian's. "It's only these simple tokens I have made for each of you. You merely tie it on some part of your armor" Tessa patiently explained. "Lady, we're barely wearing any clothes, much less armor" the Barbarian shot back, to the horror of the lady's entourage. Tessa, graciously conceding defeat, spun and tossed the three favors back over one shoulder as she marched away, entourage in tow. Not knowing what else to do, Germanicus crammed his inside his helmet, Thorkill promptly, and typically, lost his, and the Barbarian stuffed his in the only possible safe place he could think of; his jock.
Sir Simonn of Amber, the founder of Bordermarch, appproached and inquired if Thorkill and Germanicus had "properly trained" Jeffery, since he had never seen the Barbarian at a fighter practice. Thinking back to the stop at the roadside park that morning, Germanicus and Thorkill did the only thing they could possibly do; they lied through their teeth. "Oh yeah, no problem." "We've been workin' with him every night." "He's even wearin' a cup, man." ("Hey Thorkill, what's that fancy ribbon hangin' down outta his shorts?" "Idunno.")
The first melee was announced; the belted fighters would hold a narrow pass against the other 9 warriors. The pass was between two stout pillars, the width just right for three of the kingdom's finest knights; Sir Simonn of Amber in on the left, Sir Randal the Giant in the center, and a third knight unknown to me on the right. The towering Hogan of the Shifting Sands was elected to lead the attack and called his army together to plan their assault. As the group met, Germanicus and the other two stood to one side. "What are they doin', Thorkill?" Germanicus asked; "Idunno" was the (expected) response. "Jeffery, go see what they're doin'." Barbarian wandered over for a few minutes, listened with a puzzled look, and then wandered back. "They're makin' a plan," he explained. "Wha' for, there's only 3 of 'em!" Germanicus exclaimed, his normally under-control temper starting to rise. "Let's go kill'em, OK?" "Think we'll get in trouble?" "Idunno." "I wanna knock one of 'em down!" "Germanicus, try swinging your sword this time." "I gotta go to the bathroom." "Me too." And that was the turning point, as the three spun and charged right into the somewhat surprized knights. And in mere seconds, three of the kingdom's finest knights quickly showed the upstarts what real battlefield carnage can be.
Windmilling his huge broadsword in a figure-eight, since he didn't know what else to do with it, Germanicus lopped off Randal's sword-arm and left leg with the same stroke. As the Giant crumpled, the next stroke took his life, as did the next three or four. With consumate precision and delicate finesse, Thorkill's charge blew the doors off of the knight on the right flank, sending him staggering backward to lean against the pillar. Leaving his opponent stunned but alive, Thorkill spun to the left to rush to the Barbarian's aid, but with the first glance he knew it was too late to help his friend. Jeffery was desperately swinging his huge mace at Sir Simon's head, while holding a kneeling Simonn trapped between the Barbarian's massive braced legs. "THUNK!" "I'm dead!" "THUNK!!" "I'm Dead!!" "THUNK!!!" "I'M DEAD!!!" were the terrible sounds heard, both coming from the brave knights' helmet as the Barbarian drove him in the ground like a tent stake.
A shout of "Hey! They're already attacking!" came from the huddled mass still planning their plan, and then they rushed into battle to swarm over the valiant third knight, who expired under what looked like one of those big spinning brushes in a car wash. It was over in seconds with the defenders of the pass looking VERY dead on the ground, the three strangers missing and the other fighters and populace wondering exactly what had just happened. A search party later found Germanicus, Thorkill and the Barbarian happily demolishing a watermelon, their camp and each other.
After the Great Watermelon Brawl had ended and the dust had settled over the collapsed and mangled tent, the filthy three realized their worst nightmare; there was no place to go swimming to wash off the dirt and watermelon seeds other than the muddy cow pond nearby. Their hard eyes all locked, and in a single heartbeat, without a word being spoken, the decision was made. They mounted up moments later in the Great Van-god and rode west. As they faded from view into the shrinking, blood-red sun one nobleman quietly asked Sir Simonn who the strangers were, and where they were going. Little did Sir Simonn of Amber know that day how he would learn to dread that terrible question over the next decade, and how many times he would have to try to explain "them." For who could have guessed that the three dust- and watermelon seed-covered renegades would one year later lead forth the Crystal Skull. Of such, legends are made.
Germanicus