I am a dwarf and I'm digging a hole....
Weary travelers... join us on our long-running tradition of kingdom dancing, indecent ale guzzling, and questionable levels of enthusiasm for men in tights. Huzzah.
Where it all began — the founding faire. Nobody knew what they were doing. Everybody had the time of their lives.
Chapter One
Swapped fiddle dancing for archery and foul-mouth tunes. Discovered that mead hits different in the heat of a 30-foot bonfire.
Chapter Two
The next kingdom awaits. Route being plotted, tankards being polished, ambitions dangerously high.
Coming SoonCharges into every faire like it's a tournament final — first in line for the joust, first to challenge a stranger to an arm-wrestle, first to regret the fourth turkey leg. Wears the fanciest cloak and somehow always loses it by 3pm.
Knows every tavern song by the second chorus, whether or not he knows the words. Self-appointed hype man of the group and unofficial historian of every faire trip — hence this very website.
Finds the best shop in every marketplace within the first ten minutes. Master of the flower crown, keeper of the group's snacks, and the only one who actually reads the festival map before wandering off.
Don your most festive garments and prepare your body for blasphemous merriment. "Huzzah" is an acceptable substitute for nearly every English word.
If thou loses a game, of which there will be many, thou must fetch ale for those in earnest need. Thou whilst remain a cup bearer until the next game has decided a new loser.
There are many magical incantations in this world, though non more powerful than the Tiny Beer. Thou whilst not ask questions. Thou whilst not complain. Thou whilst take it like a champ and graciously declare for another.
Join in the festivities and join in the song.
