Posted by Tat on December 22, 2000 at 18:45:30:
In Reply to: Merry (three days before) Christmas! posted by the Phantom Menace on December 22, 2000 at 15:57:25:
> A festive aura hung about the common room of the Inn of the Eternal > Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house > "Oh, that must have hurt." > "And good riddance!" >
> Star. Evergreen garlands hung from the roof's massive crossbeams,
> dark with age and cookfire smoke. Twinkling lights of faerie fire
> (the priestly sort - no magic to drive the Ragers off) flickered on
> the walls and along the heavy, alcohol-stained bar. Olin whistled
> a cheerful tune as he dried glasses, sniffing appreciatively at the
> delightful odors wafting from the huge black oven and the heavily
> loaded trays carried through the crowd by smiling Troupers. And oh,
> but what a crowd there was! Servants of the Dawn and Arbiters of
> Law mingled freely, chatting cheerfully with their companions, while
> a small contingent of Imperial Citizens stayed aloof in a dark corner.
> Grizzled Battle Ragers glared at the magi before glancing back down
> to their thick mugs of dwarven ale. Entropists wandered around, starting
> random conversations and picking random pockets, and thin, studious
> Masters sipped quietly at their eggnog. Even a clan of Orcs was
> in residence, delightedly quaffing mug after mug of stale beer and
> laughing uproariously at each others' dirty jokes. By the Stage of
> Fools, as far from the roaring fireplace as possible, a huge pine
> tree stood, decorated with baubles and garlands of all description,
> with its starred tip nearly brushing the ceiling. A live tree, this,
> in its own giant earthen pot, and its own squadron of Sylvan Warders
> keeping careful watch over its safety.
> Sitting by the fire, a young bard put down the notes he was glancing
> over and stood up. He said nothing, made no overt gestures, but
> slowly the hubbub and murmur of conversation ceased. Seemingly
> at random, one person after another drifted through the Inn to
> stand or sit beside him, until the entire crowd rested quietly
> on the stools, chairs, or bare floor by the Tale-Telling Fire.
> All eyes fastened on the bard, who suddenly blushed a deep red
> from his chin to the tips of his pointed ears. Stammering,
> he tried several times to speak, but merely stuttered a few
> syllables before coming to an embarrassed stop.
> "Come on, lad," yelled Olin from behind the bar, "spit it out!"
> and there was a general murmur (with a few shouts) of agreement.
> "Um," said the poor bard, now a bright crimson hue, "I, I've
> written a poem - to celebrate the season, you know." He
> ignored the obligatory catcalls of "No, we don't, tell us!"
> "And, well, how about I just read it?" This motion being carried
> with nearly unanimous approval, the bard shuffled his papers,
> cleared his throat, and, embarrassment fading as bardic training
> came to the forefront of his mind, began.
> Twas the night before Christmas,
> "Oi! What's Christmas? Never heard of it!"
> "W-well, Christmas is a holiday on which we celebrate the
> birth of Jesus Christ, the son of God."
> "Which?"
> "Shush!"
> "We give presents, and decorate, and sing Christmas carols,
> and give thanks that He was born to redeem us."
> "So, this Jesus is a god? Will Poetry be angry that we're
> worshipping him here?"
> "I d-don't think so."
> "What are Christmas carols? Prayers?"
> "Sung prayers, yes."
> "Do you think if I sung them, Jesus would empower me?"
> (a VOICE booms from the heavens) "I KNOW OF NO JESUS IN
> ASGAARD. BUT IF I SEE HIM, I'LL LET HIM KNOW YOU PRAYED."
> "Ahem. Can I continue, please?"
>
> Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
> "Of course not. How can you expect the things of the wild,
> trapped in your constrictive civilized environment, to move
> about freely? They're trapped, bound by the fear of your
> unnatural domicile-"
> "Shhh!"
> The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
>
> In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
> "Stockings? Oi! Who is this Saint Nicholas, a panty-stealing
> pervert?"
> "Not at all, my dear fellow. This Nicholas is obviously a
> minor demon, under the aspect of Baphomet, Lord of Lust.
> The superstitious peasants, believing that he roams free
> on this 'Christ-mas', hang women's undergarments about
> their homes as wards, in hopes that the demon will be
> satisfied with this token and not ravish their wives and
> daughters."
> "I-I'm pretty sure that's not how it goes."
> "Of course it is! Look, also, to the term of 'Saint' - an
> obvious attempt at flattering the demon, just as the beings
> of faerie are called the 'Fair Folk' though they snatch
> away children and leave changelings in their place-"
> "Shut yer blather, mage! I wants to hear this!"
> The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
> "Heh heh. Kiddie sandwiches."
> (general orcish laughter)
> While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads;
> "So, what's a sugarplum?"
> "Elementary, my dear fellow. It is obviously another demon,
> imaginary, perhaps - some sort of bogeyman to frighten-"
> "I-it's a candy. We have some in the kitchen."
> "Oh."
> And Mamma in her kerchief and I in my cap
> "Lousy armor. Crack 'em heads good."
> (general orcish and dwarvish laughter)
> Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
> "Ah, these folk know to live with nature! They
> hibernate the long, cold winters away, like the bears."
> When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
> "I take that all back. Lawns are abominations, making
> slaves of innocent grasses and bushes, forcing the wild
> flowers to conform to civilized ideals of beauty-"
> (a sharp *WHACK* resounds through the Inn)
> "Thanks."
> "Me pleasure."
> I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter,
>
> Away to the window I flew like a flash,
>
> Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
> "Dat nothing. Me throw up whole set of armor once."
> "You swallowed a whole set of armor?"
> "Too hungry to shell out Knight."
> The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
> "Heh heh. You say 'breast'."
> (the speaker is pummeled by thrown mugs from the other Orcs)
> Gave the luster of midday to objects below,
>
> When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
>
> But a minature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
> "What! Reindeer, ripped from their natural habitat,
> forced to drag the conveyance of some unfeeling-"
> "Gee, you woke up fast."
> (sounds of someone scooting very fast away from someone else)
> With a little old driver so lively and quick,
>
> I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
> "Speaking of Nick, did you notice that thief?"
> "Bastard! Give back that dagger!"
> "Dagger? What dagger? Oh, this one? It had fallen almost
> out of its sheath, so I was keeping it safe for you-"
> (Another loud *WHACK* echoes through the Inn)
> "You shouldn't swing that club so hard. Look, you put a dent
> in Olin's perfectly good floor. You ought to be ashamed."
> "Ah, get to yer seat, you daft bugger, and no more stealing."
> More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
> (An eagle flies in, circles the bard's head a few times, then
> perches on an overstuffed chair and transforms)
> And he whistled and shouted and called them by name,
>
> "Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
>
> On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
> "What degrading names for such noble forest creatures."
> "Um, reindeer live on the plains."
> "Well, they wander into the forest by accident sometimes."
> To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
>
> Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all!"
> (a few Entropists jump up and dash away)
> As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
> (the Entropists open the Inn's great doors, only to
> be blown back by a raging blizzard. Struggling, they
> finally push the door back into place against the gale,
> and shame-facedly wander back to their seats)
> When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
>
> So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
>
> With the sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas, too.
> "Bloody hell! Nick's a sodding mage, he is! Shut this
> poem up, you!"
> "Oh, come now. Surely even an unthinking brute like yourself
> can appreciate the value of culture?"
> "And ye kin bugger yerself with yer own magic staff, shorty."
> "Fine, then. Put this under 'knowing your enemy'.
> (sour dwarvish grumbling can be heard for quite a while)
> And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
>
> The prancing and pawing of each tiny hoof.
> "Tsk. Trespassing on private property. That's a flaggable
> offense."
> As I drew in my head and was turning around,
>
> Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
> "... and how big is this chimney, again?"
> "I tell yas, he's a bleedin' mage!"
> He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
> "And how many animals did you slaughter for that fur, you
> murdering reindeer-slaver?"
> And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
>
> A bundle of toys he had flung on his back
>
> And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
> "He no peddler. Peddlers, dey go 'Hi, want to buy dis,
> no, no, put dat axe down, aaargh, aaargh.' But nice toys."
> (general orcish laughter, joined by a few of the rougher
> Sylvans and Ragers. The Arbiters look disapproving)
> His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
>
> His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
> "Hey, Olin, he looks sort of like you!"
> "Must be a man who knows good liquor."
> His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
> "It was stitched shut?"
> "Hey, who let the necromancer in?"
> And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
>
> The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
>
> And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
> "Den his beard catch on fire from pipe and he die."
> (loud orcish laughter)
> He had a broad face, and a round little belly
>
> That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
> "This Nick seems like the perfect dwarf."
> He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
> "But elves are tall and thin, and they don't have beards."
> And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
> "Oh, sure, a strange man with a big sack comes down my
> chimney. Hilarious."
> A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
>
> Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
> "Hypnosis spell! Bloody damn, I'm telling yas he's a mage!"
> "Will you quit with the mage business?"
> He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
> "Slaughtering the entire family?"
> "No, making dem take de Bloodoath!"
> (orcs laugh, Imperials glare)
> And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
> "Filled 'em? With what?"
> "Evil magic stuff, wands and things, methinks-"
> "No, no, no. Santa Claus brings presents to children."
> "For free? Can't be much profit in that."
> "He's altruistic, okay?"
> (the Servants of the Dawn nod understandingly)
> "He has this huge workshop, run by elves-"
> "More slave labor! Is there no end to this Nick's crimes
> against nature?"
> "-RUN, I say, by elves, who make millions of toys. On the
> night before Christmas day, he loads all these toys into
> the sled and delivers them to all the children in Thera."
> "A sleigh that can cross the unbounded lands of Thera in but
> a single night? Fascinating. The Empire must gain control
> of this remarkable conveyance."
> "The Emperor!"
> "Welcome, your Majesty!
> "Hail the Emperor!"
> (whispered) "Who dat?"
> (whispered) "Dat Empr'or. All bow."
> "You and you. Go. Find this 'Santa Claus' and demand of him
> the Bloodoath. And I strongly suggest you not fail me."
> "Yes, your Majesty!"
> And laying his finger aside of his nose,
>
> And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
> "See? See? I told yas he was a bloody flyin' mage! Now will
> ye sods believe me?"
> "Alright, all right, Santa's a mage. Now sit down, will you?"
> He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
>
> And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
> "If, that is, the down of a thistle was composed of a bearded,
> drunken, overweight, defiler of Nature, who cruelly exploits
> the muscle and sinew of captive reindeer for his own perverse
> transportational needs, and who imprisons uncounted multitudes
> of elves to labor for him in durance vile-"
> (yet another *WHACK* echoes through the Inn, this one followed
> by a hollow *thump* as a body slides head-first into the side
> of the Christmas tree's clay pot)
> But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
> "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
> "Bah, humbug!"
> As the poem came to an end, the young bard quietly folded his notes
> and tried to sneak away; an attempt doomed to failure, as a party
> of drunken giants had decided to express their appreciation by dousing
> him with mugs of ale. Smiling wryly, the soaked bard glanced down at
> his equally soaked notes - the ink already dissolved to the point of
> incomprehension - and decided that, all in all, the reception had been
> better than he'd hoped for.
> Straightening his robes of state, the Emperor strode out the door,
> followed closely by his fawning Imperial entourage. The rest of the
> party-goers returned to partying, their enthuasiasm undimmed. Except,
> that is, for one.
> "Here, cousin, where're you going?" shouted Olin to the dwarf standing
> by the big doors. This dwarf was heavily muffled in armor and warm furs,
> and in each hand clutched a wicked-looking mithril axe.
> "Up on th' bloody roof, that's where I'm going! No bloody mage is gonna
> be a-sneaking down yer chimney, not while I'm on guard!" And so saying,
> the Battle Rager stalked out into the blizzard.
> Olin and the ale-soaked bard shared a glance.
> "You know, now that I think of it," mused the bard, "I forgot to mention
> that Santa Claus is entirely fictional. I'll have to put that in the
> next draft."
> There came a odd sound from outside - a muffled *THUMP* followed by a low,
> steady mutter, almost like a dwarf cursing after falling off an icy roof.
> Merry freakin' Christmas, from the Phantom Menace. :)
>