A Day in the Life of a Medieval Noble!

This is an assignment we had to do for school, write a diary on our assigned roles in medival society. I was a noble! :smiley:

Here it is;
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Tuesday, April the 12th, 1124. The Year of our Lord.

Dear Diary,

Thou is Lord Edward of Northwoodia and thy is twenty and seven years of age. Thy lives in the Shire of Northwoodia and resides in the manor of Philwood. 

That simpkin of a knight came again! He be trying to woe my wife to him, even though she be married to myself! Sir David…bah! He is not even worthy of the title of David the Serf! The shandy man came to my castle, hoping I was at the armoyer, for thither was a rumor about a battle, anon to be fought. Aye, I was there, looking into those prices. Zounds! So much, for a simple sword. While gone, my hated David came hither to the manor, in search for my dear Alicia. Sir David walks right in, and walks around like the knotty-pat owned the manor! I am in fine need of new Castle Guards, for they just let him right on in! Good help is so hard to find. Ha! The story afterwards be the best thy heard in awhile. Alicia, ‘tis not a wench. She noticed what that pellet of a knight was up to, and gave him quite a surprise! A quick shout, a bustle and out he be! Those Castle Guards are good for something!
Power be nice. 'Tis the time, 1124 where money and power speaks. I be speaking with the architect this noon, and I learned sometime splendid! Thy is purchasing a stone castle. I finally get rid of this horrid wooden thing. Suppose someone shoots a flaming arrow at it? Then I be in trouble! The architect was a knotty-patted man. He seemed so poor he could not rub two coins together, but he soon be a rich man, for I be paying richly. The construction of the manor will take a year or so, but serf’s looking for work will pounce like a pellet on food. How I cannot wait to stroll down the corridors of my new manor, knowing I be safe within those walls, no windows to climb from or into. My lady and me bedroom will be marvelous, many a better than this shandy one. This new castle will be one of the finest in the shire of Northwoodia, even than Lord Peter.
Soon after that simpkin architect departed, my coz came by for a visit. Over a small meal we spoke of happenings since we last encountered. The lad be a jester for our dear King and Queen. Michael had some interesting stories to be telling me. Michael is daring beyond my believing. He has a special thing for jokes, especially insulting to others. It be the night of Christmas and the king and queen were having a heavy boar for Christmas dinner. Michael received the courage to call the queen fat outright to her face, in the words of a riddle. Zounds! He must have been drunk or just plain not thinking. He is known for being a simpkin. It seems being a simpkin can be helpful, for Michael received a great laugh from the king and extra food. Michael boasts about getting an extra few coins, but I believe he is lying.
I be tired, and will be turning in.

	Sincerely,
		Lord Edward Royal

Thursday, April 24, 1124. The Year of our Lord

Dear Diary,
What a simpkin filled, shandy day! Upon the night before, I slept awful! My wench of a wife…can she twitch any more? The simpkin of a woman! I wonder what could have upset her so, for she had a horrible dream and muttered non-stop. Thy was angry, for when she awoke and could not remember! Mayhap she was having a dream of Sir David. ‘Twould give anyone a great scare.
Thy night was so horrid, thy slept much later then normal. Thy rolled out of bed and went to eat breakfast. Zounds! Thy was so tired, thy cannot recall what he had for breakfast!
After thy quick meal, I was found by my wife. There was a family thou were not happy with, for they would not pay their taxes. It was thee family of Simon Cow. Mr. Cow is a shandy man, with a horrid attitude. He upsets me so; I would love to span thy bow. My lady tells me that this sirrah is outside the door awaiting my presence. Thy was not pleased. Simon Cow walked inside my manor as arrogant as a man can be. Thou would think he be more mighty then thee serf he is.
“What is it, Mr. Cow?” I asked him.
Voice as deadly as the givre, Cow responded, “Thy taxes are knotty-pated." 'Tis much too expensive for my family. Simpkin! Thou honestly expect thy pay this? A man, serf or peasant, ‘Twould be mad to pay this!”
“Thou taxes remain as they were. ‘Twould be shandy of me to change them just for a shandy man as thou self.”
“Thou gave a shandy response. Thy will return.” be the response of Mr. Cow
“And of the taxes?” Of course thy is curious. ‘Tis money!
The knave just turned on his heel and strode away. The look on his face…scared me. Thither was something wrong.
Thee rest of thy day went by without large problems. Alicia was sputtering about cornettes. Thy simply sent a servant anon to help her. Thy had the duty of assisting a soldier with his panoply. ‘Twas a boring day.
Thy was tired, and ready for a good sleep, better then last. I had just finished my business and was walking down the corridor. Thy heard an odd sound, but did not ponder on it. ‘Tis true, until I heard a ‘snap’ and looked up. From high on the ceiling, the Rota had decided to fall. Thy dove out of the way, but did not clear the Rota. It fell, catching on thy ankle. Hearing my shout and the crash, half the manor came hither. Men lifted up the Rota and I rose. Nothing was hurt, other then my ego.
“Simon Cow came back. We had best hire more guards,” suggested Alicia.
“Nonsense! We have plenty, more then enough.”
In truth, thy is shaken. Thy be turning in for the night.

Sincerely,
Lord Edward

Sunday, May 8th, 1124. The Year of our Lord.

Dear Diary,

Thy was awake and prepared when the sun rose. Thy is on my way to hunt with thee Lord Peter. Thy shall pause my writing hither, as I must depart.

Zounds! Thou had the best of luck!
Peter and I departed soon after the sun rose. We were walking to thee forest, talking, and gossiping about the latest news. Have you heard that King Phillip is going to wage a war, over turkeys? Absurd! After a mile of walking, Peter and I reached thee forest. Did thy eyes deceive me, or was that a pig? Quickly we gave chase. 'Tis not a splendid smell, thee forest. All that reached thy nose was animal droppings, and the heat of the forest. Peter and I finally located the boar in a small cave, on the edge of the forest. Walking closer, Peter realized ‘twas a bad idea to sneak upon thee boar. Quick with his arrow, Peter shot the boar. The kill was anon.
A while later, on our departure, thy spotted another pig, smaller then the first. ‘Twas an easy kill. Near noon time we arrived back at the manor.
Alicia ran to me “Edward, thy has a message for thou. Thy king be requesting thou taxes.”
Thy sighed. “’Twill not do us well, though ‘tis no matter. If thy king demands, thy must give”.
Thy was not pleased Thou did not receive taxes from thou servants, and thee shandy serfs. Nay, nether is my castle helping. The expense…be more then thy wants. It had best be the best thou have ever set eyes upon!
Upon mid-afternoon, a traveling peddler came by thy manor. Those simpkins, always attempting to cheat a man of his money.
“Good day, fine lord. 'Tis it possible for my trinkets to interest thou? He spoke wisely, almost soothing. Thy could tell ‘tis were not a knave. Thy was watching a man very skilled in his trade.
“Nay, thy has no need for shandy trinkets such as what thou is selling,” thy replied back.
“Ah, but is it not Lord Edward? Thy be hearing Lady Alicia’s day of birth is approaching. Yon is what thy heard. ‘Twould be an awful event if thou Lord gives her naught,” was the peddlers response.
“’Tis all true, but surely thou has naught to please my Lady,” I spoke disbelievingly. Thy truly believed thy statement. Zounds! This rogue could not own an item worth thee price of thy shoe! If the man carried something nobles such as thyself would purchase, ‘twould be smart to appear as so.
After a short, dog-like laugh, the peddler opened the dirty pack he was holding. Gods Toes! The man was not lying! For, lying in his pack was jewelry of great value. Thy eyes were surely seeing illusions!
“Is thy Lord interested?” the man was still trying.
“Aye, thy is,” Thy was still amazed!
I selected a nice set of jewelry for Alicia. Thy hopes she is pleased! As the man strode away, thy remembered a rumor Peter had told thy. A dirty, rough, rogue had robbed the goldsmith of his creations. Had thy bought stolen property?
With more money spent then gained, I will turn in for the night.

Sincerely,
Lord Edward

Monday, May 9th, 1124. The Year of our Lord.

Dear Diary,

Thy awoke in the morn in time for the day. Rumors of a tourney reached thy ears, and thy is planning to enter and win!
Thy was quickly out of the manor, busy preparing for the tourney. Alicia was overjoyed at having control of everything while thy was away. Thy has never seen her so happy or excited! Gods breathe! Lord only knows what Alicia will do.
Thy first task was of armor. Thy current set be the oldest item thy has! ‘Twould be shandy of thy to wear; thy would be laughed out of the tourney, or badly injured. Even my skill cannot deflect every blow! Thy was headed towards the goldsmith. Only if thy had the finest armor, would thy be pleased. Thy gave a quick cough, for the smith was in a deep sleep in his chair. Thy tried again, louder. The smith started, and woke. Glancing up, he realized that an important man was standing in his dwelling. Standing shakily, he spoke.
“Ahem,” clearing his throat, “I am terribly sorry, fine lord. Thy ventures to guess that thou are the first to come for armor? Thy hears the tourney should prove to be a challenge.”
“Aye, thy is here for armor. If competition shall be great, then so shall be my equipment. Is thou willing to smith thy armor and sword?” I spoke in a manner of authority and pride.
“Thy creates nothing but the finest for lords such as thou. Thy would be honored,” responded the smith.
Excellent. Now thy has armor and sword being smelted, promised to be the best.

Sincerely,
Lord Edward

Thursday, May 12th, 1124. The Year of our Lord.

Dear Diary,

Thy is terribly sorry for not writing for days. Thy has been preparing for the tourney, planned to happen in the morn. I am awake, while the whole manor is asleep. Morn is but a few hours off, and I am in need of the sleep. For the past three days, thy has been training and practicing for the tourney. Rumors have reached the manor that the King’s best soldiers and knights will be attending, giving the successor greater glory. Gods breathe, how thy wishes thy wins.
Ah. Thy must have fallen asleep, for it is now morn. Thy needs to receive my sword and arm, for thy cannot attend without them. Thy shall write after the tourney.
Thy was out of thy manor early in the morn, on thy way to make up my armor and sword. Serfs and peasants were already hard at work in their fields. I reached the goldsmith faster than before. The smith was hard at work, smelting a sword. ‘Twas not mine, for ‘twould not be usable this day, it was much too hot. Looking up, the smith saw me.
“Ha! Thou shall be most pleased by thy work, the armor has indeed turned out to be thy best,” the man was bustling with excitement. Thy hoped he spoke the truth.
“Very good! Are thou going to show thy?” I asked.
The smith went to receive a shimmering suit of armor, gold in color, for it was solid gold. Thy was most pleased, for it was the finest suit of armor in the kingdom.
With a wide smile the smith asked, “Is thou pleased with thy work?”
“Aye, I am most pleased. It shall do excellent for thy joust,” was my response.
I paid the man well, and put on my armor. Handing thy sword, thy bid the smith farewell, and bid him a thank you. Thy was bound for the tourney.
Zounds! The tourney proved to be a challenge indeed! Every knight, every solider, anyone with skill in sword was thither. The crowds were enormous, with peddlers and salesmen trying to earn their way. The smells were horrid and terrific, smells of the outdoors, smells of sweaty soldiers. Every man was dressed to thou finest, suited with only the greatest of arms. Thy even received praises upon thy solid gold armor. All thy could hear were shouts of men, cheering of the crowd, and the clash of sword upon sword, armor upon weapon. Thy participated in a number of jousts, all of which thy won.
One joust in particular, was difficult. The opponent was of seven and ten years, quick and agile. His sword arm was a blur, striking, blocking, and sallying. Yon man was a tough enemy, but powerful ally.
The judge started the joust. We began to circle each other. Quick and nimble as thy cat, the man stabbed down catching thy off guard. Jumping backwards, thy gave out a slash. The man simply blocked it and came in closer. A slash and a stab, blocked with thy shield, and thy sallied. The speed of thy attack caught yon rogue off guard, driving him backwards. Zounds! Thy thought the joust would never end. Yon did keep fighting, for a long while, until thy opponent delivered the final blow. Thy was defeated, by a young man.
Thy shall end this entry hither, for thy is worn after the events of the day.

Sincerely,
Lord Edward
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2,500 words later, we are through!

EDIT- Damn, the thing gets messed up on RSR. The format was different…