An assortment of light foods and beverages will be available at The Checquered Cork Tavern.
Please Note: The Hearth of Britannia is not providing three meals/day. The questing food available at the tavern is provided to facilitate role playing and atmosphere. It is only light snack food suitable for carrying while adventuring and enjoying while socializing over libations. Thou shouldst not expect to live on the tavern fare alone and thus need to bring thine own food to eat/share.
Saturday Evening Feast
Texas brisket, sausage, turkey, chicken, slaw, beans, potato salad, and bread, all catered by County Line BBQ.
Sunday Morning Breakfast
Assorted fruit and meat kolaches and pastries with coffee, catered by Kolache Factory.
Hast thou read and understood all of Decrees and Rules for the event?
(Character creation wilt not work on a mobile device!)
Then please take a moment to do so. The Decrees and Rules are located on the event main page.
If thou dost feel the need to rush through this, then this is not the event for thee.
Derp
The world hath been wearing thee down as of late...
...and so, waking this morning to a particularly beautiful day, thou dost decide to shrug off thy responsibilities and take a walk in the countryside in an attempt to escape for a while. An ancient willow tree by the stream doth look like the perfect place to start thy much needed relaxation.
As thou dost enter the shade of the ancient tree, thou couldst swear that hearest a voice upon the wind, nay, thou art sure of it! It is speaking to thee!
"Who dost thou want to be?" it asks. "Say thy name...nay shout it! Shout it into the wind!"
Shout thy name into the wind!
Sup.
The wind’s fucking talkin’ to you. You should probably lay off the damn shrooms. It’s asking you your name.
Shout your muhfuggin’ name back at the wind!
To thine amazement, thy name doth fly from thy mouth and into the air!
Thy name flits about playfully on the wind in front of thee. It dashes toward thee then away again, much like a dragonfly on patrol. Thou dost hear childish laughter in the breeze all around thee.
Thou art overwhelmed by an urge to reach out and touch thy name...
Yeah, you really need to lay off the shrooms.
Your name is floating in front of you. It seems like you could touch it.
As thou dost reach for thy name, it dances away, just out of thy grasp.
It floats merrily down the hill, away from thee and the willow, and toward the circle of stones in the valley.
"Follow me!" tickles thine ears as the wind gently urges thee forward. Despite the absurdity of the entire situation, thou art not at all worried. In fact, thou dost feel better than thou hast felt in many months. Goaded by the wind and the budding excitement in thy breast, thou feel pulled to saunter lightly down the hill, eager to know next what this day wilt bring.
"Follow me," the ether whispers to thee.
Apparently that's a pretty shitty name.
In fact, your name’s so embarrassed that it runs the fuck away from you.
"Get back here !" you yell, watching your dumb ass name fly down the hill toward the circle of stones. Who builds a cirlce of stones in a field anyway? Don't you know it's hard to mow around that shit?
"Fuck yoooooooou!" your name yells as it farts away from you.
Well, what are you waiting for? Go after it already!
Thy name awaits thee in the the circle.
Thou dost feel an energy in the air. Thy skin is tingling and the hairs on the back of thy neck art standing on end. Were it not a beautiful, clear day, thou wouldst be sure thou wert about to be struck by lightning! But 'tis not the weather causing this energy. An electric hum crescendos from the circle when suddenly...
...a wall of shimmering red light doth rise from the ground!
Thy name dances toward thee briefly before turning abruptly and disappearing into the wall of light.
The grass, the stones, and even thy body seem to resonate with the low hum coming from this...portal? A perfectly reasonable sense of trepidation finally grips thee but it is nothing compared to curiosity that vibrates in tandem with the buzzing red light.
"Go," the wind beckons thee and thou art immediately sure of what thou must do.
You picked a bad week to stop sniffing glue.
When you both reach the circle, a bright ass red light rises out of the ground like teenage morning wood. Too bad you forgot your sunglasses.
Your name fucks right off through the red boner of light. Your only option is to follow its bitch ass.
Thou dost enter the portal!
(Insert red wings joke here)
Thou dost emerge safely on the other side of the portal.
Thou knowest not where thou art. Thou art surrounded by forest and there is a brightly colored wagon across the clearing. Thy person seemst be intact, however, thou art wearing entirely different clothing! Thy jeans and t-shirt hath been replaced with but a simple tunic, belt, boots, and roughspun trousers.
Momentary panic grips thee, wondering how thou wilt get home without thy wallet when colourful movement catches thine eye. Thy name is floating lazily above thee.
Remembering what pulled thee here in the first place, thou dost wonder if perhaps thou canst catch it this time...
You plop out on the other side.
You instantly realize someone jacked your clothes. Your threads were replaced with some muhfuggin’ Game of Thrones lookin’ shit. In the distance, there's a Charlie the Unicorn lookin' candy wagon. Or may be it's Harry Potter, who knows, maybe you're in Ottery St. Clungepole.
“Hey bitch!” your stupid name yells at you. It’s floating over your head. You try to swat it.
Unsurprisingly, thy name flits away again.
It swoops gleefully across the clearing and dives into the open window of the wagon. With no reasonable alternative, thou dost follow thy name. However, instead of climbing through the window, thou dost decide to try knocking on the door instead.
You suck at swatting.
It flies away into the window of the ren faire ice cream truck. You stomp after it, wool pants makin' your ass itch.
You reach up to beat on the door.
"Enter!" calls a voice from within before thou canst even knock!
Apparently thou art expected. It seems thy destiny awaits within the wagon.
"I don't want any, fuck off!"
Someone yells from inside. You and your itchy ass are in no mood to be fucked with, so you go inside anyway.
Inside the wagon, thine eyes doth slowly adjust to the dim light.
Acrid smells permeate thy nostrils. At the far end of the wagon sits a mysterious and very beautiful woman who doth appear to be a gypsy. She is wearing a strange pendant, a cross with a loop at the top? Thy name is wriggling contentedly on the edge of the table in front of her.
"Welcome O Seeker!" the gypsy says warmly. She smiles and continues, "please, , sit down. The wind hath brought thee through the red moongate to me and whispered me thy name. I am Ylenah and I shalt set thee on the path.”
"Wilt thou sit a while and listen?" she asks.
You go inside. It smells funny.
You were half expecting to find some oompa loompas boofing each other in the pooper on the back of a unicorn or some shit but all there is is some chick in a belly dancing get up. Your name is sitting on the table in front of her, giving you the double deuce.
"God fucking damnit" she yells at you, "not another one!” She pulls out a flyswatter and flattens your name with a FUCKING SMACK! She picks up a corner of the now mangled name, smirks at it, then flings it at you. "Listen ," she says "your name is stupid, your face is stupid, and you smell like spicy sausage hoorse farts. Let’s just fucking get this over with."
"On page nineteen of the manual, what is the third word in the second paragraph?”
"Firstly, thou art now in Britannia. A world wholly different from thine own."
"Here magic is real and monsters exist," she begins. "Fear not, however, as thou wilt be in good company. Help wilt be given to any who mayest need it. Worry not about this for now, for we have more pressing matters at hand."
"The town of Minoc is just on the other side of the forest behind my wagon," she continues. "There thou wilt discover that the Minoxian Tinkers Festival is just getting started. At this festival, thou wilt encounter a host of characters from both this world and thine own."
"Thou wilt be able to craft along with talented tinkers as well as share thy skills with others if thou dost wish. Thou mayest also engage in copious rabblery with the disciples of a newly formed code of Virtues following the alternative Principles of Wine, Women, and Song."
"Wrong!" she yells.
"Ugh! I’ve got a date tonight and not with your scummy hoorse-farty ass so here's what you need to know."
"There's a shindig ahead called the Minoxian Tinkers Festival. If you're not a complete cockwomble, you should realize that there will be crafting you can do there. You can also bring your own crafts. Also, there's this dude, Mandrake, great guy, throwing lit parties about Wine, Women, and Song. Lastly, there's some black badges and some Blackthorn shit going down you'll be expected to deal with. Total James Bond level shit.
"All is not hearty rabblery, however,"
Ylenah warns, her tone suddenly more serious. "There hath been sightings of black badges amongst the patrons. This is cause for great concern as the last remnants of the Oppression wert thought to have been disbanded within months of ex-regent Blackthorn's exile. This is indeed disturbing news. There is reason to believe that this group may intend to sabotage the festival. To what end is unknown, but I doth fear the consequences may be dire."
"While thou art engaged in the festivities, be sure to keep thine eyes open for signs of trouble. There art other agents like thyself on the inside. Thy roles art important as thou mayest be the only hope for avoiding unspeakable disaster. I cannot speak on this further, for time draws short.
"I must needs know, art thou willing to continue forward, knowing that thou mayest be pulled into a conflict bigger than thou couldst possibly imagine?"
Buttsacks she talks a lot.
You hope she finishes soon. You feel a mighty shit a brewin'.
"Are you even fucking listening to me? You know what? Fuck this. Get out. Either go to the thing or go home. IDGAF. Just GTFO of my wagon."
Welcome to the Minoxian Tinkers Festival!
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