Centuries ago before the advent of email, scotch tape, or gorilla glue, messages of high importance were often sealed with hot wax and then stamped with the seal of the sender, typically a man or woman of high renown. The impression of the crest in the wax would carry great weight to all who saw that distinctive seal. For example, take the following exchange at the border between two warring nations:
Guard (raising his hand): “Stop in the name of the king!”
Messenger Bob (reigning in his horse): “Indeed I cannot, for I bare an important message from the Duke of Avalon.”
Guard (smirking): “Surely you jest. The Duke and all his retinue have vanished, lost at sea since autumn’s harvest. A spy or traitor you must be! To arms!”
Bob (pulling the message from his valise): “Verily I tell thee the truth. For look I bear the seal of the Duke himself. He has returned from the halls of Death and seeks audience with his Majesty, the King.”
Guard: “By Heaven! This indeed is the Duke’s mark. Proceed, though I do not bid you well. Your presence and that of your Masters bodes ill-fortune, when the Dead breathe once more and the mark of one so mighty a man is seen once again under the sun. Go and fly fast from here!”
The story continues with the Messenger at the castle, revealing himself to be the Duke in disguise, lost at sea through the king’s treachery who in order to seize power, married the Duke’s sister and robbed the Duke of his favorite sword, Rosalita, but that’s all unimportant now as the story ends quite happily and thus lamely. However, as you can see seals and crests can come in handy at times to identify yourself, distinguish your work, and avoid being skewered by a troop of unfriendly border guards.
Thus, in an effort to keep up with current security measures as well as improve the quality of the site, I sought Dasad’s help in creating a pub sign for the blog.
Interesting, huh? While in London fifteen years ago, Pat and I had the fortune to join Mom and Dad on a pub crawl. For a bunch of underage kids, bars held little interest but it was amazing if you managed to notice the subtle atmosphere between each one. Some felt like riverside dives, others high-class wineries. One entitled the Beefeater felt like a theme restaurant, serving bowls of stew, chicken, and chips without any utensils. Mom and Dad even got chosen to be King and Queen of our table, donning paper crowns like five-year-olds at Chuck E’ Cheese. As the evening wore on these more blatent difference disappeared as the pubs melded together, each more indistinct from the next. Boring as the pubs themselves were I anticipated each new locale, a walk through fog-drenched London and the unique names and sign above each pub door.
Though I cannot recall the names of them all, take a look at the some of the pub names I found scattered on the web:
- The Carpenter’s Arms
- The Dirty Dick’s Pub
- The Slaughtered Lamb
- Sherlock Holmes Pub
- The Smuggler
- Jack the Ripper Pub
- The Golden Fleece
- The Beehive
I wanted something similar for my digital pub, something distinctive, and personal. Seeing as I hope to write about and slay dragons one day (at the same time perhaps), what better symbol? All that remains is the leaves of the book where I hope to show the beginning of a story or two. Perhaps Moby Dick? Perhaps Sir Gwain and the Green Knight? Pehaps the tale of a ocean-tossed Duke . . . maybe this time I will write a better ending.