A Sosaria Christmas: Inspired by A Visit from St. Nicholas
A Sosaria Christmas
Inspired by A Visit from St. Nicholas
Poem by Clement Clarke Moore
Poem by Clement Clarke Moore
Zedland Printing
’Twas the night before Christmas, in Sosaria so deep,
Not a lich was groaning, not a reaper did reap.
The T-Map rune books were locked down with utmost care,
In hopes St. Nicholas soon would gate in from somewhere.
Not a lich was groaning, not a reaper did reap.
The T-Map rune books were locked down with utmost care,
In hopes St. Nicholas soon would gate in from somewhere.
The tamers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While dreams of blue dragons and freshly looted bosses danced in their heads.
My guildie in Umbrascale plate, and I in my red robe,
Had just recalled home from a long dungeon roam.
While dreams of blue dragons and freshly looted bosses danced in their heads.
My guildie in Umbrascale plate, and I in my red robe,
Had just recalled home from a long dungeon roam.
When out in the courtyard there erupted a clatter,
I sprang from my rubble bed to see what was the matter.
To the battlements I bolted with all of my haste,
Fearing dragons — or a stealth archer perfectly placed.
I sprang from my rubble bed to see what was the matter.
To the battlements I bolted with all of my haste,
Fearing dragons — or a stealth archer perfectly placed.
A moongate appeared, swirling sapphire and white,
Casting a shimmering glow like a magical night-light.
When what to my wondering eyes should break through
But a golden sleigh sliding cleanly right through —
Casting a shimmering glow like a magical night-light.
When what to my wondering eyes should break through
But a golden sleigh sliding cleanly right through —
Pulled by eight spectral bears, happy and lean,
Their paws carving sparks of shimmering green.
The driver was jolly, his laughter quite thick.
I knew in an instant it could only be St. Nick.
Their paws carving sparks of shimmering green.
The driver was jolly, his laughter quite thick.
I knew in an instant it could only be St. Nick.
Faster than nightmares his ghostly beasts came,
And he whistled and shouted as he called them by name:
“On Virtue! On Valor! On Justice! Compassion!
On Sacrifice, Spirit! On Honesty, Honor — fly with passion!
And he whistled and shouted as he called them by name:
“On Virtue! On Valor! On Justice! Compassion!
On Sacrifice, Spirit! On Honesty, Honor — fly with passion!
To the top of the keep! Let no gargoyle stall!
Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
Like shadow wyrms fleeing when tamers draw near,
Up the stone walls they climbed without tremble or fear.
To the rooftop they flew, ghostly paws tapping light,
With a sleigh full of rares — and St. Nick mid-flight.
Up the stone walls they climbed without tremble or fear.
To the rooftop they flew, ghostly paws tapping light,
With a sleigh full of rares — and St. Nick mid-flight.
Then suddenly I heard on the rooftop above
The rattle of bones — a sound I strangely love.
As I ducked back inside and turned all around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
The rattle of bones — a sound I strangely love.
As I ducked back inside and turned all around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He wore crimson leather, enchanted and bright,
Trimmed with frosted threads that shimmered in the light.
A bulging pack hung at his side with care,
Like a veteran merchant returning from Bucc’s Den fair.
Trimmed with frosted threads that shimmered in the light.
A bulging pack hung at his side with care,
Like a veteran merchant returning from Bucc’s Den fair.
His eyes burned like gems freshly mined,
And his beard was white wool, the polar-bear kind.
His blessed luck boots glowed, his gloves artifact-true,
And the aura about him hummed with pure virtue.
And his beard was white wool, the polar-bear kind.
His blessed luck boots glowed, his gloves artifact-true,
And the aura about him hummed with pure virtue.
He spoke not a word as he knelt by each stocking,
Stuffing bandages, potions, gold checks — it was all shocking.
A tie-dye box for Scarlett; rich rares for Glory too;
A new book for the Bird Lady’s tales of old Yew;
Stuffing bandages, potions, gold checks — it was all shocking.
A tie-dye box for Scarlett; rich rares for Glory too;
A new book for the Bird Lady’s tales of old Yew;
A Yule wreath so ancient collectors would plead.
Still deeper he rummaged, past every seed,
Searching his pack for that shimmering need.
He drew treasures no mortal adventurer could track:
Dragon eggs warm with a burning glow,
Umbrascale drops from caverns far below,
Artifacts untouched since Lord British’s reign,
Emberfruit burning with magical flame,
And Zelda’s fabled red dragon egg,
Searching his pack for that shimmering need.
He drew treasures no mortal adventurer could track:
Dragon eggs warm with a burning glow,
Umbrascale drops from caverns far below,
Artifacts untouched since Lord British’s reign,
Emberfruit burning with magical flame,
And Zelda’s fabled red dragon egg,
guarded by St. Nick’s so well.
And nestled among them — as the old bards yet claim —
A crystalline glyph swirling with yuletide arcane;
Holding it aloft, it chimed like a virtue bell’s,
Awakening only when Britannia’s joy burns strong as well.
He tucked it back away with a sly wink for us all,
As warmth spread like spellfire along every hall.
Then placing a marked rune on the hearthstone with flair,
A crystalline glyph swirling with yuletide arcane;
Holding it aloft, it chimed like a virtue bell’s,
Awakening only when Britannia’s joy burns strong as well.
He tucked it back away with a sly wink for us all,
As warmth spread like spellfire along every hall.
Then placing a marked rune on the hearthstone with flair,
He inscribed: “To all Britannians, Great Holiday Cheer I Share!”
With a tap of his nose and a whispering thrill,
He muttered, “Recall!” — and vanished with skill.
With a tap of his nose and a whispering thrill,
He muttered, “Recall!” — and vanished with skill.
He leapt to his sleigh and his team rose in flight,
Soaring skyward like a golden missile into night.
But I heard him exclaim as he gated from sight:
“Merry Christmas, dear friends —
and to all, a good night!”
Soaring skyward like a golden missile into night.
But I heard him exclaim as he gated from sight:
“Merry Christmas, dear friends —
and to all, a good night!”
Comments
Cookie Hugs