Twas the Night Before Christmas...

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the hall
Not a creature was stirring, you could hear a pin fall.
The brigand heads were hung by the forge with great care,
In hopes that Sir Jassen soon would be there.

The guild were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of lobster pies danced in their heads.
And Lenne in her plate helm, and Eleswyr in her hat
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
Eles sprang from her bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tor open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to her wondering eyes should show,
But a band of mercenaries, a terrible foe!

With a flash of metal, their movements in hasten
She knew in a moment it must be Sir Jassen!
More rapidly than dracos his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Bonser, now Fonser! Now Calas and Tenk!
On Elthis! On Mantos! On Gilan and Fenk!
To the top of the portcullis, to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! And slash away all!”

As monsters that before the fire fields jump,
Every obstacle they met was soon just a lump.
So up to the hall-top the coursers they flew,
With their packs full of weapons, and Sir Jassen too.

And then, in a twinkling, she heard on the roof
The clinking and clanking of each men’s boot.
As Eles drew in her head, and was turning around,
Down the forge Sir Jassen came with a bound.

He was dressed all in metal, from his head to his foot,
And his armor was all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A pack of weapons he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a fierce peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! His gaze quick and narrow!
His cheeks were well chiseled, his nose like a sparrows.
His droll little mouth was drawn down in a frown,
And the beard of his chin was a dark shade of brown.

The blade of a dagger he held tight in his teeth,
And the gleam of it shown around his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a muscular frame,
That was clearly used to fight and to maim.

He was not chubby or plump, most definitely not an elf
And Eles nervously laughed when she saw him, in spite of herself.
With a wink of his eye, he blew her a kiss,
Soon gave her to know there nothing was amiss.

He spoke not a single word, but went straight to his work,
And stuck each brig head with a weapon, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the forge he rose!

He sprang to his men and gave them a wave,
And away they all ran to go back to their cave.
But Eles heard him exclaim, ‘ere he ran out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”

Selendia jerks awake. Grabbing her favorite robe, she gets up and irritably lights a candle. "Clank! bong ! clatter!" Quickly peering out the tiny casement window, the old wizard catches a glimpse of...gasp... St. Jaasen, himself. Flinging two brigand heads over the side of his cart, he waves as he hollers,...."Merry Christmas CAs,"and adds as he drives by, "But Els nearly gave me a heart attack!" Pulling her nightcap firmly back down on her head and drawing the covers up to her pointy chin, Selendia tries to get back to her dreams of her favorite ranger.