by Lady Xene Eirenikina By dark of night they gather, Northshield's own... Their bodies weary of mundane life, their hearts lift as the canvas unfolds... Encampments rise swiftly in lantern light and garbed figures fill the night. The jingle fills the night as the drum beat calls, gypsy toasts resound as coined hips turn 'round. The gentle rain washes cares away as night falls on Northshield's own. Morning breaks, bright yet gray... Rain falls down on Northshield's own. The camp rises with colors vivid... Fanciful garb, welcoming faces, racing children and playful dogs. Shires gather here, to Revel, to celebrate battles fought... Schattentor, Noiregarde, Coldedernhale... Border Downs Rain descends... but spirits rise! Good gentles venture forth in service to the dream... Wares are displayed... deals are made... Knowledge is shared and friends are gained. The day passes... a great feast is held... Good gentles make toasts and bardic is held. The gypsy camp revels with cheer, as dancers come forth and drums appear... Songs are offered, thanks are made... as night falls on the second day. Nature tries once more that Sunday morn... tents fail, but spirits, do not dampen. Campers awake, visits are made.... A lazy morning gives way to afternoon rays. Spirits surge forth! Clash of metal on field! Northshield wakes as the call is sent out! Fighters and archers to the field! The day is full and fighters cheer, as battles are fought and arrows appear! Another day falls, a second great feast! Awards are given and Huzzah fills the air... Good gentles settle into bardic once more... as stories and music are shared by all. The third day falls, as they quickly do, New friends and Old... Northshield's Own.