Gulf Wars, Day 1 (Monday, March 14th)

We woke up remarkably well-rested after our first night of sleeping in a tent in quite some time. Breakfast was waiting for us and we took our time eating and getting used to the rythyms of camp life. But, before long, restlessness began to pull at us, so we donned our travelling clothes and set out to see the sights. We had shopping on our minds and plenty of funds to make it a happy experience, so we made a beeline for Merchant's Row. We had all morning to seek out treasures and trinkets, since the only fighting planned for the day was in the afternoon. We naturally ended up seeing dozens of people we knew. Stopping and talking took nearly as much of our morning as looking through the merchants' wares. We did make a point of stopping by one of our favorite vendors right off the bat, though. Darkwood Armories always ends up with a disporportionate share of our Gulf Wars budget and this year was no different. As soon as we walked in their tent, I saw it. A beautifully wrought main gauche dagger with curved quillions and an elegant pierced-plate guard. I simply had to have it. Ysabel found a similiarly gorgeous small sword that she couldn't pass up. So, new blades proudly in hand (along with two new pair of gloves that I desperately needed) we proceeded with the rest of our shopping spree. Many and wonderful were the other items we procured that morning, with even more on the "maybe" list for later. It was getting a bit late by the time we got back to camp, so we stashed our booty and ate a quick lunch before heading back out. We were camping in a more distant area than in previous years, so we'd invested in a small cart to haul our fighting gear to the field. Once we were loaded up, I got to play mule. So, heave ho and off we go! Ysabel was helping to run the first real rapier activity of the war, the Verona Street Brawl and, as such, I felt a bit obligated to fight in it. It was a melee scenario based upon the rivalry between the Capulets and the Montagues. The key wasn't to just kill the other side, but to score political "points" by making the other side look responsible for the slaughter. Baron Maximillian of the Midrealm was playing the part of the Governer of Verona. Once the aftermath of the brawls were discovered, we had a lot of fun trying to convince him of how we were merely victims of the other side's base treachery. The scenario played out very well and I had a lot of fun fighting and bs'ing my way out of being arrested by the Governer's men. Once it was over, I loaded everything up and waited for Ysabel to finish her "official duties". It was then that we were informed that a bad storm system was on its way and it would be a good idea to find shelter. Ysabel, however, had other plans. She had intended to take another cadet on the field after the scenario was over, a promising young man named Michael. We called all the high level fighters together and presented him with his cadet scarf under a sky that was rapidly darkening with storm clouds. Afterwards, I mentioned that perhaps we really should be getting back to camp, what with the weather and all, but Ysabel's sense of duty is stronger than steel sometimes. She still had a few things left to attend to before she could go. She told me to take the cart and Michael and start back for camp, she would catch up later. Fair enough, says I, with a nervous look at the brooding heavens. Sure enough, we were only halfway back when the storm struck. Its wrath was terrible to behold and we were instantly soaked. More importantly, so was all our gear. Steel blades do not appreciate being wet down like that. No, not at all. Michael and I had to split up to get to our respective camps and I promptly took a wrong turn. It was several long, wet, cold minutes before I realized my mistake and turned around. By the time I got back to camp, my mood had soured. There was no sign of Ysabel, which added worry to my list of negatives. I got our gear into the tent and wiped it all down with an old shirt as best I could. It was then that I noticed the next little detail that would plague us that night. The tent leaked. Badly. Right over our bed. The blankets, the pillows, my pajamas, the matress, all soaked. By the time Ysabel got back, I was in such a foul mood that all we could do was snap at each other as we tried to figure out how to deal with the mess. Fortunately, we didn't have to worry about dinner, since the good people we were camping with had arranged the evening meals for us for the entire war. Warm food helped, but was hardly enough to off-set the miserable evening. We spent a cold, wet night sleeping on a damp bed and being constantly dripped on. I swear, that tent is getting weather-proofed within an inch of its life before next year. To its credit, however, it didn't collapse on us under the meteorological assault that continued throughout the night. Others on site weren't so lucky. Fortunately, the next morning dawned quiet and clear. But that, dear reader, is another post.