The Challenge Commences

Eald Englisc Gefoudt Dael, 2026

Hello, everyone! In today’s newsletter, I am joined by author C.E. Larke from Lady of the Larke, to celebrate the third anniversary of a grand tradition: Eald Englisc Gefoudt Daeg, or Old English Duel Day.

Photo by Casper Johansson on Unsplash

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Elisabeth: Greetings, fair Lady of the Larke! I trust thou art well this day?

Lady Larke: Ah, mine old friend and sometimes enemy! I am well, and I trust that thou art also in good health?

Elisabeth: Verily, the tides of favor hath swept in for me, albeit the weariness and the need of PSL,EH cometh alongside them.

[Scribe’s Note: PSL,EH is a little known abbreviation for Pumpkin Spice Lattes, Extra Hot. Reference to such courtesy of The Lost Tales of Sir Galahad, published by The Rabbit Room]

Lady Larke: Thy plight of fatigue and weariness is one well understood by me, and I wouldst give thee PSL,EH, but for fear of their being thrown at me.

Elisabeth: Then one must hope our mutual fatigue shalt not detain us from a well fought duel this day.

I shalt begin with the point in matter, being this the anniversary not only of our original skirmish, yea, also of one particular article wherein such secrets werest revealed to the General Publick. Hath thou much to speak to this doughty revelation?

Lady Larke: ‘Tis truly the anniversary? I can unnethe recall a time when thine article (laden with falsehoods, though full of much joviality and merriment nonetheless) had not been written. What say I to this revelation? I say that the claims that thou quoth art still false, and I am most verily not Immortal, but though there was much incorrect information presented unto the Publick, the time is still a fond memory, for scarcely have I had such fun as I had in those months that we spoke solely in this antiquated dialect.

Elisabeth: Ah, so thou art still ensnaded within the confines of denial. ‘Tis expected, I suppose, of one who has kept your secrets for such a passing fair period of time.

[Scribe’s Note: The Scribe must pause to plug in her anachronistic device the duel is being recorded upon, and shalt return momentarily.]

[Scribe’s Note: The Scribe hath returned, with charging cord for said anachronistic device, and the duel may hereby resume]

Lady Larke: I hath no great secrets, though for a reason not understood to me, many are convinced otherwise. Thine opinions of me are wayward, I fear, reveling in imagined and fanciful mystery where there is none.

Elisabeth: Ah, but mystery encompasses thee, my dear Lady of the Larke. ‘Tis the very reason so many of the General Publick are eager for more Truth, spoken verily and forsooth, concerning thy Immortal heritage.

[Scribe’s Note: See again The Lost Tales of Sir Galahad, namely “Sir Galahad and the Bowthorpe Oak” by Lady Andrea Yenne, for full understanding of the truth spoken verily and forsooth.]

Lady Larke: If mystery encompasseth me, ‘tis no doing of mine own. And I would be wary to speak on behalf of the entirety of the General Publick. Assuredly, they desire more Truth, spoken with many a certes and oy, but I am but a small corner of the Realm of Substack, and if I had an Immortal heritage, surely I would not allow such a debate as this to take place so publicly, where there could be grave danger of Mordreds–or dare I say, even a Nimrod?-- learning of such a secret. Nay, were I truly Immortal, I wouldst be far more careful.

Elisabeth: Verily, caution art well appreciated, yet thou seemest to hath stumbled in thy wariness, for well intended individuals, akin and alike to the aforementioned Nimrod, hath taken such Truths and maketh them known publicly.

Lady Larke: ‘Twas not a stumble in wariness, when thou tookest mine own words out of their intended context and used them in an attack against me.

Elisabeth: Nay, no words were taken, only an interpretation of misplaced mysteries concerning thy birthday, into which put thou only dug thyself deeper.

Lady Larke: May I assume that was meant to say ‘which pit?’ If so, mayhap I did, for I hath been known to talk myself into a pit. But ‘twas not without malicious activity on the other end, either, for thy case would be hardly as convincing if the General Publick had been exposed to all of the arguments that we partook in, within the bounds of our first dueling grounds.

Elisabeth: Confounded autocorrect, thou art of the fairies.

Verily, the General Publick kept close an eye of sneakery on our exchanged words. Yea, even one esteemed Momerator observed from the shadows. Thou her opinion on the matter remains unbeknownst.

Lady Larke: Ah yes, and so the Order of the Intro Spies, the esteemed Spy Society, was birthed. And yet, a great many of those people hath not spoken on this issue. Thou, on the other hand, demonstrated great ability in sneakery and gathering information that I dist not even intend to give thee, and so hast proved thyself a formidable enemy–perhaps even, a professional spy?

Elisabeth: *muttereth to herself and much squinting as she attempts to parse out the words which laieth between the lines*

Lady Larke: Hast thou already run short of antiquated language?

Elisabeth: I care not for the insinuation in thy words, fair Lady. Suspicion is quite unbecoming upon thee.

Nay, yet my internal guide, the venerable Brian [Scribe’s Note: Brian, the name attributed to the mysterious, incomprehensible entity known as the Writer’s Brain], hath declared himself on indefinite sabbatical.

Lady Larke: And yet must I not be suspicious when one taketh such a position against me, though it be unfounded?

And condolences for the absence of Brian, for I fear that thou art relying solely on the influence of the attime malevolent Braincell Bob.

Elisabeth: Nay, thy suspicions art only a sign of thy hidden fear, for I hath touched close upon a dear secret. ‘Tis only natural that thou wouldst attempt to passeth the accusations back onto mine own person.

Ah, Bob, confound him and his forefathers.

Lady Larke: If thou art attempting to play mind games with me, it shall not succeed. What should I have to fear from falsehood? ‘Tis thee who feeleth that she must pass accusations, in order to hide her own secrets, in hopes that they shalt be lost in the sea of “secrets” concerning myself, mere rumors that thou hast spread.

Elisabeth: Ah, thine attempt to turn even this new argument against me shall avail naught. Verily we couldst circle in such manners until the end of days, yet neither shall be moved.

Yet even rumor and legend bears a whisper of truth, do they not? Shalt I equivocate upon our terminology of Immortal and broach into a new pursuit of persuasion?

Lady Larke: Verily, we couldst duel in such a way as oft and as constant as the planets move around the Earth (for we at least pretend to be medieval today), with little avail.

Perhaps, and I recall well the divers definitions of Immortality. Oft hath I used them even in my own writing.

Elisabeth: Verily, for thou well knowest the ways of Immortals and the wide expanse the word itself covers. Thine own knowledge rivals my own, for I hath long since forsaken such studies in pursuit of other matters.

Lady Larke: I shalt admit great knowledge of such matters, but as one on the outside studying them, yea, even as their inventor, not as one of such people myself.

Elisabeth: I doubt thy reasons highly, for an outsider wouldst nay fully comprehend the secrets and depths of the Immortals.

Yet, as one great scribe hath articulated, “Thou hast never met a mere mortal.”

Perhaps he too, well versed in way of lore, was of thine own company?

Lady Larke: I fear to argue against such a great scribe of old as thou quoth, and yet, I ween that he spake of a differing definition of immortal. Never hath I claimed to fully comprehend the secrets of Immortals, for I know not where such knowledge comes from as I write it. ‘Tis most surprising at times.

Elisabeth: Perhaps thine Immortal Light aideth in such inspiration and revelations even as thou writeth.

[Scribe’s Note: As this riveting duel already reacheth past a thousand words, perhaps the battle ought to reach its finale and leave judgment to the General Publick?]

Elisabeth: Alas, I must soon take my departure.

Well, that beith timely.

Lady Larke: If I didst indeed have Immortal Fire, I would agree. But alas, I hath it not.

Timely, forsooth! I shalt allow thee to take thy leave, and we shalt give the Scribe (distinct from the Messenger, and certainly not I myself in disguise) bidding to send the results of this grand duel into the Publick.

Elisabeth: My many thanks to thee, fair Lady of the Larke. This wast a passing fair time, and I Promise we shalt meet once more, though, I hopest, with such language as is more comprehensive to our modern tongues.

Lady Larke: If thou thinkest to win at the last by usage of the Deplorable Word (which hath not been outlawed this year), thou art mistaken. For I give thee a Promise of mine own: we shalt meet again, and perhaps even then, one day, victory shalt be decided.

But I hope not for many years, for it would be a passing shame to forgo this grand tradition.

I bid thee farewell.

Elisabeth: Fare thee well, and may the sparkles bear thee to where the sun and stars sing together.

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