An Tir College of Heralds: Heraldic Humor

The AnTir Heralds' Electronic Discussion List Norking Waiver

(perpetrated by Baron David of Moffat)

I, the undersigned, do hereby state that I wish to participate and partake in the conversations that occur on the An Tir Heralds List, an email discussion list associated with but not controlled by the Society for Creative Anachronism, Inc, a California not-for-profit corporation (hereafter "SCA").

I accept and acknowledge that this list has some rules of behavior which may govern and restrict the activities on this list. I accept that continued breach of these rules may result in my termination from this list without prior notice.

I understand that these activities on this list are voluntary and that I do not have to participate in these activities unless I choose to do so. I understand that these activities may be dangerous or harmful to my person or property, including but not limited to my nasal passages and my computer components. I voluntarily accept and assume all risk of any and all injury that may occur to myself or my personal property as a result of my participation on this list, including but not limited to reading of posts by other persons who participate on this list and who may pose a danger of posting comments that warrant the expulsion of edible and potable food matter through passages not designed for the ingestion of edible and potable food matter (hereafter "norking though the nose").

I understand and accept that neither the SCA or any other participant on this list, including the webmaster, provides NO insurances for damages to my person or property resulting from norking through the nose, and that I am responsible for my own safety needs to prevent norking through the nose, and my health care needs which may result from norking through the nose, and for protection of my property to prevent damage from norking through the nose or other results from reading posts on this list.

In exchange for allowing me to participate in this email list, I agree to release from liability, agree to indemnify, and hold harmless the SCA, any SCA officer or SCA employee, and any other participant on this list acting within the scope of their duties, for any and all injuries to my person or property, especially arising from norking through the nose. It is my express intent to waive all liability for damages to me whether arising from negligence, gross negligence, or intentional acts committed on this list.

This waiver is binding on myself, my successors in interest, and any and all persons bringing suit on my behalf or in my interest.

[Insert other legally necessary stuff to make it binding on the signatory and others]

A Poem

(This was published in the June 2003 Heraldry Gazette, newsletter of the Heraldry Society [of England]. No author was given.)

Heraldry is my hobby, I shall not be bored.
It maketh me to do my research in far places,
It causeth me to correspond with odd people,
It keepeth me alert.
It leadeth me into dark corners and church towers for curiosity's sake.
Yea, though I live through a winter of inclement weather,
I will feel no boredom, for my coats of arms are with me.
Their blazons and their language they intrigue me.
It provideth me with a means of escaping from the tensions of my responsibilities.
It filleth my house with books.
My cash runneth lower.
Surely interest and knowledge shall follow me all the days of my life,
And I shall be listed in the Rolls of Arms forever.

A Song: Hail to the Herald

Hail to the herald, of green and crossed horns,
Who blazons things argent, and rampant, with thorns,
Who reads the devices like they were a book,
And identifies strangers with merely a look,

Hail to the herald, the greatest of fools,
Painting in azure and sable and gules,
Displaying a field full of lions and birds,
And spinning them all into colors and words,

Hail to the herald, with monstrous voice,
So those standing nearest don't have any choice,
At dawn's morning light, they make their words known,
And then dodge the pillows so angrily thrown,

Hail to the herald, his nose in a book,
When you need a name, he knows just where to look,
Be you French, Welsh, or Scot, he'll find you the page,
And give you a name from a long distant age,

Hail to the herald, the voice of the crown,
She tells all the people of royal renown,
She carries the word of their wishes and laws,
And bellows their praises without any pause,

Hail to the herald, who yells on the field,
Whose voice causes all our bold fighters to yield,
Dukes, knights, and barons all bow to her word,
And midst all the chaos, she'll always be heard,

Hail to the herald, who governs the site,
There, all of the gentry must bow to his might,
He knows all the schedules, he keeps us on time,
And he'll call on the autocrat to keep us in line,

Hail to the heralds, the heart of the Dream,
We keep the world running with heads full of steam,
We give all we can so that others can play,
And we wouldn't have it any other way.

Per Dmitri: Everyone, feel free to reprint this, publish it, forward it and share it. I wrote it to be read and enjoyed. My shire has already seen it, but I have no problem with people quoting it or spreading it around. Enjoy. (Oct 2002)