Christmas in the Guild Wars universe is known as Wintersday, and is a festivity unrivaled in all the lands of Tyria. Despite it's name, Wintersday is not just one day; it's a festival spanning several weeks. This festival started yesterday, December 14th, so I decided to post my parody a few days early. Join me as we go to a homestead in the wilds of the Wayfarer Foothills, to hear an old Norn tale of a large Norn in a red coat who gives presents to children who leave him flagons of ale...
'Twas the night before Wintersday, when all through the hall,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Grawl.
A dozen flagons of ale were stacked by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Old Nik Whitebeard soon would be there.
"Such a shame," I said, "a waste of good ale!"
"All on a man who's a myth, a legend, a... fairy tale!"
But my children were adamant, and made quite a fuss,
"But if we don't leave him ale, he'll have no presents for us!"
Angrily I huffed, overcome by their volley,
This children's tale had filled their heads chock-full of folly.
Disgruntled, I sent them to bed and gave them all kisses,
Then headed off to my room and laid down with the Misses.
For several hours we slumbered, on this peaceful winter's night,
The full moon shining through the window, it's beautiful rays oh so bright.
When, suddenly, outside there arose such a clatter,
I leapt from my bed to see what was the matter.
With a sword in my hand, and shield at my side,
I raced into the hall and threw the door open wide.
I ran out on the LAWN, and stood in the snow,
The foothills around me lit by the moon's soft glow.
Not a living thing could I see, neither near or far,
Not a Human or Asuran, Norn, Sylvari, or Charr.
When off in the distance, just above the horizon's edge,
I spotted a Norn driving a sleigh, pulled by eight snarling Dredge.
He shouted over the pack, whipping them from behind,
"If you varmint don't hurry, we'll never finish in time!"
"Now on, Smasher! On, Crasher! On, Wrecker and Blast!
On, Crusher! On, Digger! On, Boomer and Bash!"
Like eagle-griffons they flew, over mountain and hill,
The sight of such sorcery filled my spine with a chill.
As they drew ever nearer, and soared overhead,
I spun on my heel and hastened back to my stead.
I returned to the hall, and stood ready in wait,
The ceiling above creaking under the sleigh's immeasurable weight.
Soon came the sound of a *thump!*, then a *creak!*,
The clamorous din of the giant Norn's heavy feet.
The fire in the hearth was extinguished by a cold winter's breeze,
As the one they called "Whitebeard" dropped down the chimney with ease.
A giant Norn stood before me, a being of great height and wide girth,
He brushed the soot off his clothes as he stumbled out of the hearth.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toes,
All the same shade of red as his cheeks and his nose.
Trimmed all in white, with a few bits of gold,
He appeared exactly as they'd said in the legends of old.
He carried a bag as large as a jotun, stuffed with all manner of baubles,
There were gifts for all of Tyria, ranging from greatswords to diving goggles.
When he saw me he jumped, like a startled dire-boar
His bag clattered and boomed as it crashed to the floor
"Hallo there, young lad!" he said with a shout,
"You especially should know better than to be up an' about!"
"I what?" I stammered, my face full of confusion and awe,
"Oh, ya' don't remember?" he asked, as he gazed about the hall.
He spotted the flagons, and made straight for the ale,
"Why don't ya' have a sit-down, lad," he said, "and I tell ya' a tale!"
He guzzled down the first flagon, then wiped his mouth with his beard,
"It's a tale of a young lad," he burped, "that lived in a homestead not far from here."
"It was many years ago, when I was out making me rounds,
Soaring from rooftop to rooftop, ta' every village and town.
I came to a homestead, an' dropped down the chimney with glee,
But what to my surprise, there was a lad there waiting fer me!"
"He handed me a flagon, filled with the finest of brews,
He refilled it again an' again, until I'd had quite a few.
I asked him, "Where did you get this, lad? It's such a fine ale!"
As the words left my mouth, the lad's face turned quite pale."
"'I stole it from my father,' he said, then dropped his head to his chest,
'He wouldn't let me leave ya' any, but I knew you must have the best!'
The lad cried when he thought of the punishment he would receive,
When his father discovered he'd stolen his ale an' given it to me!"
"I laughed and I smiled, then reached into my sack,
And pulled out a warhorn made from the greatest of a dolyaks.
'Now don't go blowin' it until morning,' I said, as I handed it to the lad,
'I imagine waking up to the sound of one a' these would make anyone quite mad.'"
"The lad's eyes how they glimmered, his hands how they shook!
He smiled from ear ta' ear and gave me the happiest of looks!
'Thank you!' he'd shouted, his face all aglow,
Then suddenly raced out the door inta' the fresh fallen snow."
"Once I'd finished me task, I returned to me sleigh,
And took off into the night on that cold Wintersday.
As I soared through the sky, I heard a bellowin' below,
The lad was blowin' the horn as he danced in the snow!"
With that, the Norn's tale had come to an end,
He finished every ale that remained, then looked to me with a grin.
His eyes peered over my shoulder, to the shelf above the hearth,
To a horn hanging from a plaque, a warhorn of great worth.
My eyes widened in amazement, as he chuckled with glee,
The 'young lad' in the Norn's tale was, unmistakably, me!
Over the years I had forgotten, that cold Wintersday long ago,
Keeping watch out the window through the thick falling snow.
"Now don't ya' fret," he said, as he rose from the table,
"Your children only wished fer the same as the lad in me fable!"
He stepped out into hall and opened his enormous sack,
He set out toys for my children, then lifted it onto his back.
He took one last look around and turned to me with a nod,
Then reached into his coat and produced a small rod.
With the flick of his wrist, he was enveloped in light,
And suddenly shot up the chimney, flying out into the night.
I grabbed my horn off the shelf, and ran out on the LAWN,
Then spotted the Norn's sleigh above in the first light of dawn.
I blew the horn as loud as I could, loud enough to wake every Norn,
The sound was legendary, the grand call of the Dolyak's Horn.
I danced in the snow, and blew until I ran out of breath,
Knowing full well every soul in The Foothills had been scared half to death.
Old Whitebeard shouted back with a laugh, as he whipped at the Dredge,
"A Merry Wintersday ta' all, and ta' all a full keg!"
And there you have it! Yes, I know it might have been a little longer than the last ones, and, yes, it is quite different than years prior... but Tyria is a very different place! I like this one so much, and I now have the ability to make videos, so I think I may do a "reading" of this and put it up on Youtube! Stay tuned!
I thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Until next year's rendition, I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas... as well as a very Merry Wintersday!
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