A wandering minstrel I -
A thing of shreds and patches.

- Sir William S. Gilbert, The Mikado, I

But if thou wilt be constant then,
And faithful of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.

- Marquis of Montrose, My dear and only Love


Darkly rich tapestries adorn the walls, their intricate, colorful threading weaving tales of battles past. The delicate scent of lavender from the straw and scented herbs covering the earthen floor, mixes and mingles with the herbal brew boiling within the fireplace.
The pewter pottery placed upon the long table of the hall sparkles brightly, catching and casting off a warm glow from the fireplace. And as far as the eye can see, lay rows upon rows of covered parchment -- bearing the history of the time . . . Almost hidden amongst the stacks of parchment, sits the minstrel, her quill flying, scratching out her observations of the day.
She pauses from her writings, long enough to smile warmly, and bid you enter. She says, "I bid thee welcome, trav'ler. Thou art welcome to enter, and rest for a spell -- or travel about my realm freely. I leave the choice to thee . . ."


If 'tis Camelot and the Holy Grail thou seeks, I bid thee touch ~ here ~ and ye shall be whisked to the Land of Dreams, fair Camelot. (Links disabled due to Camelot Dreams site being expired.)
Site Approved image Camelot Dreams Staff
First Week


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