Burdock Of Elm (Burdock Galatine)

Group: Crows of Albion
Barony: Chelmsford
County: Warwick
Duchy: York
Race: Elf

Burdock fell during the final assault against Morgana Le Fae


Cap’n Magdellon Ironhoof

Shortly after his death, Marcellus said that Burdock was one of his first and foremost. So as I write this obituary, what can I say other than this? Despite my respect for the late Marcellus, all I can say is that he was simply wrong. To the Harts, he will be known as the High Bard of Albion and the Baron of Rufford, a brave man and a Captain in his Majesty’s Navy.

To the Crows, he was a Captain – leader of the Lindisfarne Battalion, a benefactor and a friend. He joined our organisation, one cold starry night in Babylon, after we had lost another of our order – we discussed Albion, the Crows, the ancestors and the world. It’s fitting that on the night he fell, we discussed the same things once more.

I couldn’t have asked for a closer, more supportive captain. In losing Burdock, the Crows lose a man whose words could weave tales of woe and happiness. A man who could lead with courage and with dignity and yet be as crude and camp as any sailor – he was for all intents and purposes, a voice of reason and support in these dark times. Yes he made mistakes and we fell out, but he made sacrifices to ensure victory, dealt with things beyond the void with courage and paid his due when the ancestors asked. For that I can ask no more of any Crow for he is the epitome of what we stand for.

He rests now at the side of the Jester of the Court, and I know that even now, he’ll be singing songs of cabin boys and crows, long into the eternal night… <

Merlon Barliansson, Captain of the York Battalion, Crows of Albion

Burdock Galatine, previous High Bard of Albion, Baron of Rufford and Captain of the Lindisfarne Battalion, was a man of many words, most of which managed to bring a laugh to those around him even in the direst of situations.

I personally met him late into 1109, and we got on very quickly, both of us having a similar vein of humour, and it is a friendship which, while short lived, I am glad to have had.

His skills in speech, story, debate and song have kept many Crows and many Harts awake long into the night, until the fire had died down and the alcohol ran dry, and I dare say many of us will have blurred memories of singing dirty songs alongside him until dawn. His pattern rests alongside our shared Ancestor, and I envy Puck for it.

I fear I will no longer be able to sit round a campfire and share a dirty joke or story without turning and expecting to see him sat next to me.