In September of 1984, the stars aligned and a great plague was visited upon the lands of the Barony of Settmour Swamp (Kingdom of the East). They reeked of beer, they called it Bheithir, and it was good. In March of 1985, The Clan was granted its charter by Baron Irik Rodbjörn, and swore loyalty to Baron Irik. When he woke up the next morning with an amazing hangover, he was heard to say, "I granted what?"

The old guard. Ready to fight first, die fast and shower before everyone else.

When the founding members first joined the SCA, they discovered the Barony of Settmour Swamp and loved it as home. They believed that the best thing for them would be to form a self-governing splinter group (i.e., the place was ripe for rebellion). After discussing for many weeks with the powers that be, they discovered that the path was fraught with many trials (read: effort required), which later became known as "The Trail of Beers." The largest hurdle to overcome was the simple fact that they were too few and the beers too many (if that's possible). Even the smallest official group needed more than three members, and they just didn't have them. Another daunting problem was the small matter of location. Unfortunately, they did not live in the barony of their choice, but rather, a mile south in the territory of Carillion. This was a dry and craggy land, where their seed could find no purchase. (At this point it should also be mentioned that the Carillionites said that they must join Carillion, and "must" was not in their vocabulary, along with a lot of other useless words that are in that big book, that…what do you call it?) They were Swampies by all the gods! The heartland of Carillon was miles away to the southeast, deep in territory none of them had ventured into before (besides which, the strongest thing that the Carillionites drank was tea, which was rather like having a bachelor party next door to a 12-step meeting). Faced by these perils, and gifted with an undeniable tendency toward lethargy, they decided to drink instead.

While in a drunken stupor, one very early afternoon, (morning?) someone presented the idea of forming a household (which no one to this day will take credit for). At last they could form a group which included friends from the north, and all four of them could drink together in relative peace (or so they thought). Since that time, vows were taken never to make any important decisions while sober. This pledge has since then often led to interesting journeys, not to mention wicked hangovers.

Lord Orvarg & Alithir chalking up with the help of Baroness Merlynia

Loud and abusive language.

The Clan grew slowly, and currently boasts more than forty-five members. Although the Clan has grown and changed over the course of time, it has held fast to the principle credo: No Bullshit. This translates to no politics, no ego problems, no squabbling, and we take care of our own.

Beautiful blonde Quest obstacles.

We have had many members come and go, some have even gone on to the Blessed Isles. Those that did not appreciate the self-responsible and freedom-loving code we adhere to, have long been sacked (a polite term for shunned and ridiculed). One potential coup was headed off by loud and abusive language in the spring of 1986 when ex-Bheithir clansman Greybeard MacGryphon tried to seize control of the household with a handpicked crew of quiet intellectuals. It wasn't difficult for the remaining loud, usually besotted intellectuals to drive the quiet and not very energetic rebels away to form their own household (now defunct). It was in the aftermath of this insurrection when the household gained some of its greatest members. Baroness Merlinia, a long time SCA veteran, brought diverse individuals to the table, as well as a modicum of credibility to the small core group that we had already established. A fresh batch of college students bolstered our numbers and revitalized us with even more attitude and drunken debacles. It was at about this time that the "SCA powers that be" began to really dislike us. Luckily, we seemed to meet some minimum standard of true medieval spirit and began making friends with other "powers that be" who did not have that steel rod crammed quite so high.

Bheithir Drum Corps with our friend Lady Loriwynn the harper, from the War Puppies.

Given time to develop (and dry-out between boughts) the household began to realize some of the latent potential hidden within its ranks. Our members boast: laurels, several maunches, award winning artists, brewers, armorers, blacksmiths, a glass-blower, jewelers, silversmiths, clothiers, dancers, musicians, poets, atheletes, chirurgeons, archers, axe throwers, a knight, a couple of squires, and many fighters who comprised part of the core of the once mighty and respected Wetlands Alliance. However, the claim to fame of the Clan remains its unmatched ability to spice-up social events. Yes, you guessed it, the gods have a hard-on for House Bheithir, because we drink everything we see! Even more awe inspiring is the staying power of this clan, as we rarely vomit and never pass-out (well, only in our own camp).

The Clan is well known for its genuine interest in helping out. Unlike a large majority of SCAdian households, we actually help out by fully accepting the duties of baronial offices, running events, volunteering for kitchen duty, and doing most of the nasty stuff no one else will do. (On this note we must salute those few peers with whom we occasionally bump hips with while cleaning the oven, breaking down the event, keeping the peace, etc…you know who you are, and so do we! Bravo!) One fateful summer, Baron Irik volunteered the Swamp for security duty at the Pennsic War. We will skip over a detailed description of this tour of duty, as it was an evil and nightmarish experience, not soon to be repeated. Let it be known, however, that having kept in touch with those individuals running security since our shift, our "little moment of poor judgment" was the most active year for security since. Something that's not soon to be repeated (by us anyway).

Water? Must be earlier than 8 a.m.