Robert Camulus Brigantia: Difference between revisions
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== Memories == | == Memories == | ||
=== [[Laertes McBride]] === | |||
Greetings. | Greetings. | ||
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For those that knew Robert, please take a moment this weekend to raise a drink in your left hand and salute his memory. | For those that knew Robert, please take a moment this weekend to raise a drink in your left hand and salute his memory. | ||
Greg | === [[Beorn of the Northern Sea]] === | ||
I've lived in Caid now for... believe it or not, almost 26 years. It'll be 26 years in August. 10 years longer than all other kingdoms in the SCA combined. And for damn near that entire time, I knew, loved, and quarreled with Rob Milligan, also known as Robert Camulus of Brigantia, White Scarf of Caid. | |||
All the time I've spent here, and he was who I asked to escort my Mum in during my Laurel elevation. The most important Lady of my life and very reason for my existence, guided by the right hand of Don Robert (keeping his left hand free to draw a blade on anyone so foolish I reckon). | |||
Through his ups and downs, he never failed to be a wry smile and a circuitous verbal slap away. As his health declined within this last year, he still would text me or call me to run something side-splitting and very irreverent, or make a joke at Greg's (Master Laertes') expense. Entertainment personified! | |||
Throughout the years we fenced together, traveled to events together, dined together, and played lots of online games together. He and I were Jedis in SWTOR and ship's captains in WoWS. No matter which vessel (a Mustang, a Corellian transport, or an Iowa-class battleship), no matter whether crusing the 101, the galaxy or the North Atlantic, journeys with him were an absolute blast. | |||
I have always prided myself on my storytelling ability, and my best stories are the true ones (where I am not the hero, rather the comic relief or, more likely, the cautionary tale). But Rob's stories about the 70s and 80s in Los Angeles... what a life. Not a hero, not a villain; a seeker in search of a great time, a smoke, a drink, and companionship where you'd meet them once, and talk about them for 45 years. | |||
He knew and cared for some of the greatest loves of my life: My Mum, my Laurel, my daughter, my Bestie, and my Lady. His friendship was glorious, and his loss felt very deeply. | |||
To hear him start to laugh was like a dry rasp followed by someone using a gas-powered hedge trimmer about 20 yards into a dark copse of trees: a deep throaty chuckle that somehow kept a bright snap to it even wrapped in the muffle of decades of smoking. | |||
That laugh, that smile, that casual dismissal of propriety in search of a funny story... Oh dear friend, you will be missed. | |||
[[Category:White Scarves]] | [[Category:White Scarves]] | ||
[[Category:+ Populace R]] | [[Category:+ Populace R]] | ||
[[Category:Memoriam]] | [[Category:Memoriam]] |
Latest revision as of 10:48, 28 April 2024
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Don Robert Camulus Brigantia
Classes Taught
- Rapier Combat 101: Introduction and Practice, Collegium Caidis Spring 2001, Collegium Caidis Fall 2001, Collegium Caidis Spring 2002, Collegium Caidis Fall 2002
Memories
Laertes McBride
Greetings.
It’s with a heavy heart I announce the passing of Rob Milligan – known in the SCA as Don Robert Camulus Brigantia. He passed beyond the veil earlier this month at his home.
Don Robert was the first primarily left-handed rapier fighter to be recognized as a White Scarf of Caid. He then claimed the title as the “first officially sinister White Scarf”. (Nothing like a heraldry joke to get people laughing.) He dedicated his time to help the rapier community grow during its formative years. One his proudest moments was being recognized as a White Scarf; the second one was when his student, (now) Master Colwyn, received his white scarf. Although his health prevented him from attending events over the past decade, he stayed engaged online and definitely shared his opinions with his friends.
Through the years, he was my fencing student, my brother-in-arms, my counsel and, most importantly to me, my friend.
For those that knew Robert, please take a moment this weekend to raise a drink in your left hand and salute his memory.
Beorn of the Northern Sea
I've lived in Caid now for... believe it or not, almost 26 years. It'll be 26 years in August. 10 years longer than all other kingdoms in the SCA combined. And for damn near that entire time, I knew, loved, and quarreled with Rob Milligan, also known as Robert Camulus of Brigantia, White Scarf of Caid.
All the time I've spent here, and he was who I asked to escort my Mum in during my Laurel elevation. The most important Lady of my life and very reason for my existence, guided by the right hand of Don Robert (keeping his left hand free to draw a blade on anyone so foolish I reckon).
Through his ups and downs, he never failed to be a wry smile and a circuitous verbal slap away. As his health declined within this last year, he still would text me or call me to run something side-splitting and very irreverent, or make a joke at Greg's (Master Laertes') expense. Entertainment personified! Throughout the years we fenced together, traveled to events together, dined together, and played lots of online games together. He and I were Jedis in SWTOR and ship's captains in WoWS. No matter which vessel (a Mustang, a Corellian transport, or an Iowa-class battleship), no matter whether crusing the 101, the galaxy or the North Atlantic, journeys with him were an absolute blast.
I have always prided myself on my storytelling ability, and my best stories are the true ones (where I am not the hero, rather the comic relief or, more likely, the cautionary tale). But Rob's stories about the 70s and 80s in Los Angeles... what a life. Not a hero, not a villain; a seeker in search of a great time, a smoke, a drink, and companionship where you'd meet them once, and talk about them for 45 years.
He knew and cared for some of the greatest loves of my life: My Mum, my Laurel, my daughter, my Bestie, and my Lady. His friendship was glorious, and his loss felt very deeply.
To hear him start to laugh was like a dry rasp followed by someone using a gas-powered hedge trimmer about 20 yards into a dark copse of trees: a deep throaty chuckle that somehow kept a bright snap to it even wrapped in the muffle of decades of smoking.
That laugh, that smile, that casual dismissal of propriety in search of a funny story... Oh dear friend, you will be missed.