Welcome to the Cauldron, Craig Stone (@robolollycop) and Jonny Cooper (@jonnycooper)!

In My Head: I wish there were more regional conferences in medieval studies. That was fun!

In the Cup: Maxwell House French Roast. Don’t judge; it was on sale.

Currently Playing: Mumford and Sons, Sigh No More

Daily Run: 3 miles

On the Desk: Merrin Born drafting and a book review

On the DVR: Downton Abbey, Season 3, Episode 3

On the Nightstand: Hile-Bassett, Parenting and Professing: Balancing Family Work With An Academic Career; Spoke, Harrison & Haggerson, Stories of the Academy; Bracken, Allen & Dean, The Balancing Act: Gendered Perspectives in Faculty Roles and Work Lives. (I discovered the LB 2330s section of the library, y’all! Who knew there was something useful and relevant beyond PN, PR, or PS???)

Papers Graded: The next batch comes in tomorrow. Eeeeeep.

BPal of the Day: Shub Niggareth. I smell like a cinnamon latte. Yummmmmm.

Okay, Cauldronites, having spent the rest of this weekend at the North Carolina Colloquium for Graduate Medieval and Early Modern Studies, I am good and fired up and energized with lots and lots of wonderful ideas and thinking, and I also have about two hundred emails to browse through, so I have to keep this short. Luckily, it’s Sunday so I can do so — you get Six Sentences from the current working draft.

in this scene, Merrin and Hardyng have just spoken with Ygdrassil, who has revealed the next step of the quest to them. As they leave, the Great Eagle that nestles in Ygdrassil’s uppermost branches lifts into the air to fly to Odin and report their presence in Asgard. Hardyng demonstrates for the first time the quick thinking and prowess not of an FBI agent, but of a legendary hero.


“Look to the eagle! It will betray our presence!” I cry aloud, but Hardyng has already seen the great bird and lunging forward, he heaves the sword into the air with the full weight of his body behind the throw. With chilling precision the blade buries itself to the hilt within the eagle’s chest and the creature plummets to the ground in a flurry of feathers, its death cry cut short as it falls. I watch in amazement as Hardyng walks to the body and extracts the sword as though he has done this a thousand times. He wipes the blade back and front against the eagle’s still chest to clean it, leaving a wide streak of blood across the golden feathers, and straightens to look at me.

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