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 SoonThere are some souls in this world that can be saved. The Heretic’s is not one of them. Everywhere you turn, he is there, whispering in your ear, urging you to stray from the path of righteousness.
Drink another, he whispers.
Definitely bring up that one time you made a racist comment, he giggles.
Stand right underneath this window, he says, smiling. You won’t get hit by a falling piano.
For those who dare speak with him, remember: the most devious kinds of blasphemy often sound like the words of God.
If you’re looking for a line of fairy dust or a giggle, look no further: the Jester has arrived. Often dubbed “The Master of Cheer and Entertainment,” come see him when your spirits are low and sorrow weighs heavy upon your shoulders. At his best, he’ll have you in tears from laughing. At the very least, he’ll probably fart.
The most beautiful and benevolent ruler in the land, Sky Queen Coco rules those who wish to follow her, and is only okay at planning. But while many may believe Sky Queen Coco’s kindness and care have given her such a devoted following, altruism is no true basis for a leader who demands the undying fealty of her knights. If you want to meet the real man you’ll be following into battle, one must only fill her belly with the strongest of meads, play her a whimsical jig on a fiddle, and join her in a night of true debauchery with the innermost members of her court. Only then, drinking to chants of “the big…..the bad…..HIPPOOO”, will Sky Queen Coco finally reveal her true identity: Tucker the Hippo. As soon as her crown turns backwards, Tucker gains 300lbs and can drink mead by the barrel. And once you meet Tucker, you’ll never think twice about swearing allegiance to the Sky Queen.
Is that a siren in the distance? No, it’s simply the screeching neigh of Matt’s horse as he comes to arrest you for public indecency. Is that the sound of a troll under the bridge? No, it’s just Matt grunting as he practices the ancient art of jiu jitsu so he can take you down when you don’t drink your tiny beer. If you get caught, we recommend a dramatic speech and an offer to buy the man a drink. Corruption usually does the trick.
The smartest person at the tavern and somehow always the last one to leave it. Ask her about ancient history, magical scrolls, or how to drink the most knights under the table without ever losing her place in her book. Smart, studious, and your worst nightmare at happy hour.
The Pickle Man. An old wives tale. He crawls from bowls of cold soup to steal the dreams of wasteful children. And in retribution for their wastefulness, he gives them something very, very tiny…
In need of a beautiful gown or medieval fashion advice? Look no further. Ella will ensure that even the most ineligible bachelors and crusty peasants are presentable for this year's festival. Whether she is tailoring a royal gown, adding feathers and fluff to a hat, or screaming, “That color washes thee out!” Ella is the savior we all need when it comes to our medieval style choices.
Claire keeps the ale flowing, the tea hot, and the idiots from setting the tavern on fire. She can carry eight mugs, dodge a flying stool, and insult a man without spilling a drop. Everyone loves Claire. Everyone fears Claire. If thou needs a “pick me up”, follow the smoke till you find her smoking pipe. She will undoubtedly be at the end of the pipe, passing it to nearby wanders.
She rules the local swamp with an iron fist and a tiny, frog-sized crown. Her days are spent expanding her bog empire, demanding shiny tribute, and ignoring the unlawful commands of kings, gods, and zoning authorities. Ribbet. That’s the last thing you hear before you die.
Hark and look high…no, higher! It’s Duncan! An aspiring knight, he is our human watchtower and supreme ruler of top-shelf retrieval. Ask him "How’s the weather up there?" at your own peril. He’ll merely hit you with a sly grin and report on the strangely shaped pimple atop your head that only his celestial vantage point can see. Yet, for all his height, his soul harbors a deep humiliation: he is utterly, hopelessly trash at Mario Kart. A tragic flaw he blames entirely on his noble heritage. He spent too much of his youth asking his mother where the meatloaf was. In retrospect, he should have been asking her for life advice. Approach him for high favors, high fives, and dirty deeds done dirt cheap.
An ice-devouring sex tornado spawned in the hellfires of Boxford Massachusetts, this master sorcerer has the answer to the question scholars have been asking for generations: what will the temperature be in Los Angeles tomorrow? Trained by the sons of Odin themselves to one day battle the demon armies of Ragnarok, in his spare time he has taken to wagering gold coins on his predictions in the village square, a habit the local magistrates have grown suspicious of but can never quite prove. So if you’re looking for that big break, just remember, 60% of the time he’s right every time. They’ve done studies, you know.
The life of the party, the cause of the party, and frequently the reason the party is asked to leave. She dances on tables and can turn any quiet evening into a parade involving tambourines and stolen mugs. Nobody knows where she got the rabbit hiding in her hat, and honestly nobody wants to ask.
He has muscles. He has muscles on his muscles. He has muscles on his eyeballs. And he famously is one of the lucky few to make it into the Salty Spitoon. Nick is known for lifting horses, bending iron bars, and catching the occasional flying clown (again, Monica, really?). If you think you can outdrink him, you’re wrong. All that alcohol just goes straight to those aforementioned muscles. It only makes him stronger.
Escaping from a life of quiet obscurity, he found his beginnings as the Time Keeper in BC’s underground KY Wrestling scene. It was there that he first learned the oldest truth in the Seven Kingdoms: whoever controls the information controls the room. From that humble beginning grew a network unmatched in all the land; a web of spies, confidants, and loose-lipped acquaintances who bring him every secret worth knowing before the sun sets. No engagement goes unannounced, no breakup unwhispered, no scandal too small to reach his ear first. The small council may have Varys, but the Ren faire has Niraj, and frankly, we think we got the better deal.
STAMPEEEEDEEE. That’s right. You just got absolutely demolished by a gaggle of barnyard animals who answer to no one but Old Man Liv. She resides at the top of the hill surrounded by her goats, pigs, and cows, and rumor is she’s of bovine descent herself. You’ll likely find her in the market showing off a few of her prized pigs or asking you to pull one of her magical animal tarot cards so she can tell you just where you would fit in with her herd. Oftentimes you can’t tell if she is talking to herself or the animals, but one thing I know for certain is that everyone’s jealous that she gets fresh milk straight from the teet everyday. Who’s teet? That’s for her to know and you to figure out.
A long beard. A big gray hat. A low, gravelly voice. These are just a few of the phrases that common folk have used to describe Phoebe. Her magic usually works, although it may produce smoke, toads, or one deeply confused goose. She is banned from three libraries, two taverns, and one entire village festival, and she plans to be banned from two by the end of this weekend.
A foolish drunk, a questionable philosopher, and a man with many important thoughts about the King’s overreach into the daily affairs of the common folk. He spends his evenings yelling things like, “Perhaps the moon is merely the sun’s tavern lantern!” before falling into a shrub. His ideas make no sense sober, but after four ales, he sounds like a genius.
When your parents used to warn you about scary, powerful witches who could summon storms and speak with spirits, they were talking about Zia. She brews potions in the woods, curses rude men for sport, and arrives at every party with mysterious bottles that nobody should drink (everyone drinks them anyway). Usually dressed head to toe in black, she wanders the streets with her equally mysterious cat, who always seems to be leading her to one star hair salons....suspicious
Once a powerful witch in her own right, Zara attempted to curse her sister with eternal bad hair days. Unfortunately, Zara was never much for reading and prepared the wrong incantation. Instead of cursing her sister, the spell rebounded, turning Zara into a furry little cat instead. Some say she still retains the mind of the witch she once was. Others say she's just a cat. Regardless... that damned cat will absolutely scratch you.
Many say his knack for social bravado stems from a troubled childhood being raised in the deep woodlands of upstate New York…if you call being a 9 year old kid with a 35 year old girlfriend troubled. He opened his first Tavern, “Jeremy’s Mead House” (Awwww Jeremey ;) IYKYK) while attending University at Notre Dame and never looked back. And now? His inn welcomes every weary soul who crosses his threshold which, frankly, is everyone, as the man has never once met a stranger or forgotten a face in his life. One word of caution for travelers: enter from the east road only, as the innkeeper himself has famously never mastered a left turn, and the western path remains, to this day, uncharted territory.
Good luck finding this woman, either in the group chat or at the faire: she’s likely dancing with the tiny folk of the world or casting enchantments in an effort to read the stars. Many seek her divine wisdom, but few are lucky enough to receive it. Have a question about your love life? Your career? Your capacity to consume mead? Look no further: the Astrologer (and the stars) awaits your inquiry.
Molly has the finest voice in the kingdom and knows every song ever sung. She can turn any minor event into a dramatic ballad. Wherever Molly goes, strangers link arms, mugs rise into the air, and the evening turns into one enormous, slightly off-key singalong.
She roams the kingdom in search of hidden taverns, scenic castles, questionable roadside inns, and the realm’s most photogenic mutton legs. She never eats before getting a portrait, always knows the best sunset spot, and somehow manages to turn getting lost in the woods into the most whimsical photoshoot you’ve ever seen.
Hailing from the great realm of Kissmyanthia, his courage and skill on the spikeball field know no equal. Though some claim he turned to the dark side when he pledged himself to the Dark Lord Zuckerberg and was subsequently spotted slaying Yuenglings at a case race during Order 66, the Wizengamot ultimately found these claims erroneous on both counts. And in case anyone was curious, he is the very single, very successful, very disease free gentleman doing handstands out on the lists ;)
A knight sired by knights. A knight who can trace his lineage back beyond the great Sir Blumpkin. I first met him atop a mountain near Jerusalem, praying to God, asking His forgiveness for the merciless slaughter he'd rained upon his enemies on the field of ultimate frisbee. Next, he amazed me further still in Italy when he saved a fatherless beauty from the would-be ravishings of her dreadful Turkish uncle. In college, he spent a year honing his skills in the mouse-infested pits of Chiswick, only to emerge as the greatest beer chugging champion of all time. Also he’s apparently going to law school now. And so, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you, the Seeker of Serenity, the Protector of Italian Virginity, the Enforcer of our Lord God, the one, the only, SIR RYAN WHITE!
Who had nearly fought the Dragon of Agnor, who had nearly stood up to the vicious Chicken of Bristol and who had personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill. Songs are sung of his valor in retreat, for no knight in the realm could flee a skirmish with such grace, speed, or frequency. And yet, when the mead flows and the fire crackles, it is always Sir Bobby's tale the bards beg to tell again.
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.
Nothing warms the heart like a merry tune and a good ale. Make sure you check out the Renaissance Faire Playlist and add your favorite village tunes. May the soundtrack of our weekend be the happy strums of a medieval lute.
