Posted by Oddjob on December 23, 2000 at 11:12:44:

In Reply to: Best in years, doen't top to Cabals take on Christmas. The Empire one had me rolling for 20 minutes.(nt) posted by Tat on December 22, 2000 at 18:45:30:

> > A festive aura hung about the common room of the Inn of the Eternal
> > 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?"

> > Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
> >
> > 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.

> > "Oh, that must have hurt."

>
> > "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,

> > "And good riddance!"

>
> > "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. :)

> >
> >

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