Carntaigh Babylon


Saturday night, as the Caledonian sun set on the day’s highly successful Renaissance Faire in support of RFL, the moon rose as a second event slowly began to gather steam…namely the Duchess of Carntaigh’s After Hours festivity which I like to call Carntaigh Babylon, or Duchespalooza.

The evening of dancing and debauchery under the stars of Carntaigh was one of the best attended and most morally suspect events which I have had the pleasure of attending on Caledonian shores. Following is full coverage of the event, with even more pictures than normal. When you see them, you will understand WHY yours truly was a shutterbug that night (all bribes for picture removal must be quoted in Linden only please).

Of course, the entire activity was intended to support the excellent goals of the Relay For Life, so I imagine that a certain amount of bestial, lascivious debauchery can be excused…just this once.

After all…it WAS for charity.

The Duchess of Carntaigh, Gabrielle Riel, very graciously provided both the venue and the musical entertainment for the many dancing couples (and trios). The music was top notch, as always, though at times it was somewhat scandalous, as I believe certain of the lyrics included terms never before heard in public within Caledon, and some which I am still not sure of the intended meaning. The breadth of the Duchess’s musical library is quite astounding, including some pieces which illustrate just what liberties modern musicians take with their bagpipes.

The highlight of the evening was the auctioning of the infamous, semi-legendary “Duchess Sandwich” which was nobly purchased by Mr. ZenMondo Wormser for 6000 L. The Sandwich, which has often been whispered of in tones normally reserved for the reign of Caligula or the darker outrages of Sodom, but seldom seen in public, consists of an individual dancing in between the barely clad, gyrating forms of the Duchesses of Carntaigh and Loch Avie. The dance itself was quite arresting to the many onlookers and I assumed the noticeable silence of the three participants while it was going on was due to the fact that they were concentrating on the intricate steps and pelvic rotations while keeping the three inches between their persons that propriety demanded.

Some individuals quietly suggested to this chronicler that their public reticence was due to scandalous private messages streaming between the three, but I repudiate such rumor mongering for the sake of titillation alone. I am sure any whispers between them as they moved against one another, dressed in little save for their good intentions and a light sheen of persperation, were utterly innocent and focused on the charitable endeavors of the faire…or cookie recipes.

The evening was quite simply a triumph, for the Relay For Life as beneficiary, the Duchess of Carntaigh as hostess, the many attendees as revelers, Mr. Wormser as a cold cut and the Gods of Decadence as the ultimate victors on an evening all of us who witnessed it will LONG remember…and dream of.


The dance floor (above), while most of the dancers were still clothed.


The Duchess of Carntaigh (above), performing her original interpretive dance entitled “Springtime Blooms in Caledon”.


Miss Emilly Orr (above), and her impressive body…art.


Miss Kate Nicholas (above), almost demure in black tulle.


Caledon RFL Captain Miss Lapin Paris (above), illustrating why stockings are superior to hose, with Mr. Wormser in the background indicating his agreement with her reasoning in body language.


Miss SweetlySo Gealach (above) resolutely clinging to the Renaissance theme as she keeps her balls in the air.


The Duchess Sandwich (above), served with the crusts removed.


Caledonian Diplomat Mr. Hotspur O’Toole (above), demonstrating his role in the ongoing Wartalks.


My devoted ward Miss Kiralette Kelley (above), showing that all that money spent on Finishing School wasn’t wasted.


Myself and Miss Kelley (above), performing an ancient dance in celebration of Bacchus called “The Funky Chicken”.



  1. *falls into a dead faint on the floor*

    Someone must has slipped something into my Renaissance Faire ale, for I have no recollection of this shocking debauchery. And the “attire” in which I am clad???

    Bring me my smelling salts please Lady Lapin???

  2. Oh, my.

    I must thank you for the compliment.

    And the image. I shall treasure it.

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