@DarkravenI've had that for years tbh (same with this Santa Dwarf). I think I found it on Deviant Art though haha. You'll get far more punctual replies on PM's too tomorrow evening :)

MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

There's a reason Dwarves laugh when humans fuss about getting a Turkey for christmas. Things work differently for Dwarves, see their family lines are so well traced and recorded christmas meals often encompass several hundred plump beardlings! Plump beardlings who have been known to get very (very!) grumpy should they get even the slightest inclination of hunger. In the first christmas feast (or Blood-feast to the Dwarves because you're dining with people who share blood with you, not because you're dining on blood) Heir to the throne Kirrax of the Christmas Spirit said to his father "With so many guests, we're going to have to go hunt ourselves a Wyvern to feed them!"

His father, who is still hailed across all of Dwarfdom as the very father of christmas, took this quite literally and arranged a mass hunt in November. After a month of tracking, the family feared that christmas would be ruined, as they had not found their prize. Miserable, they headed back through the mountain snows white of beard and red of face; partially from anger and partially because of early eggnog drinking to cope with the depression of dishonour.

When they arrived back, just a few days before the big event, they were surprised to find a Wyvern, sitting just outside their home! With a triumphant roar the Dwarves charged, bolts were knocked and aimed from crossbows but before they could be released the Wyvern let forth a mighty cry that stopped all of them in their tracks. "Merry christmas, honourable friends!" it lifted it's wings and revealed hundreds of wrapped presents no doubt been hidden for centuries in it's hoard, now presented as gifts to one and all. The Wyvern, Nveryioth, was invited as a guest of honour to the household.

As the hundreds of Dwarven fellows were greeted in, and presents were stockpiled underneath the wooden statue of the ancestor (in place of a tree) they were amazed to see a Wyvern, lying across the table with an apple in it's mouth! "How did you cook one of those?" one Dwarf cried (for when presenting food back in those days it was typical to make it look as if it were still alive, and ready to spring back to life). The Wyvern replied to the curious Dwarf "They didn't! Aha!" and snapped up the apple in it's mouth before letting out a gout of red and green flame "Merry christmas!"

The Wyvern spent the entire night telling ancient stories, and about how lonely it can be to live forever and to not get visited by friends anymore, only thieving adventurers and mean hunters. The present Dwarfs took heart, and invited him to share in celebrations every year with them, though to not bring too many friends (Nveryioth by this stage had already drunk three years supply of prized Dwarven Ale). Which is why it is now tradition in Dwarfdom to find a Wyvern and invite it back to your hold for company.

So Humans have Turkey, but Dwarves can only smile knowing how much more hassle and rewarding it is that they have Dragons for christmas dinner (or Blood-feast)

@The Fated Fallen Ha, you think that's a tale? Compared to what the Elves go through every year, inviting a Dragon over for Christmas is as simple as baiting fish to bite a hook.

The most famed of Elves, of course, are the Silver Elves, and as everybody knows, their civilisation is rife with magic, and every year their displays of Christmas cheer are glorious to behold... for any non-Elven individual, that is. For an Elf, and in particular a Silver Elf, magic means all such Christmas decoration is but common fare by their standard, even boring to some. They struggle to find any joy in their decorations, as the average Silver Elf has "seen it all", so to speak, by around their fiftieth year, leading them all to try and develop wilder and wilder decorations with every passing Christmas, their civilisation for a good month every year turning into a wonderland of glorious festive colour, incredible displays of runecraft and power, sometimes verging on the dangerous as they attempt to outdo themselves again and again and again. Indeed, the royal households more than any other are often the most wondrous to behold, for even compared to other Silver Elves it is hard to find a display of magic and power that the monarch and their family have not discovered, rich and powerful as they are.

But of course, they are not the only Elves to discuss. The Wood Elves, evidently, often find their lands accosted by those who would cut down trees to decorate their homes, and being that they live in those trees, they tend to be hard-pressed to defend their territories around this time of year from all sorts, ranging from Humans to Dwarves to Gnomes, and even Drabarians at times, many of whom are great mages in their own right. Their Woadian counterparts, of course, help protect the trees from their Northward territories, but every year the available forested land gets less and less, even considering how their greatest mages are capable of regrowing lost trees to full size. Meanwhile, their cousins to the East of the Great Clans have even more work to do: many of their seasonal traditions are quite different to those that are generally considered "standard" for this time of year, and that's not considering that some of their number even celebrate both the old and new traditions at once, to the point that various points of both clash quite terribly with one another. Inter-familial warfare is rather common between the Great Clan Elves at Christmas time, any Christmas gifts that are given tend to be some form of dried foodstuff, and you would be hard-pressed to find any Clanself who experiences more than a modicum of joy in the festive season, high-strung as the season oft is for them.

And yet no other subspecies is quite so hard-pressed as the Dark Elves and those who live amongst them at this time of year. One wonders that they even have the goodwill to celebrate Christmas, for all their hedonic impulses and cruel actions by the standards of their untainted cousins, and yet somehow they all manage to pull themselves together and set up celebrations of "The Red Time" that are often surprisingly cordial. Deaths dealt to one another drop by at least 50% at this time of year, and for the most part, one might even mistake the Dark Elves as being briefly happy... but it is of course a façade, for they all know what comes next, be it at the very start of the season or the eve before the big day. You see, certain aspects of their celebrations are often somewhat sacrificial in nature, and of course when one sacrifices enough life in a short enough timespan, you tend to end up accidentally summoning... rather nasty creatures. Indeed, even if this weren't the case, they would still be put upon by none other than the being that cursed them to begin with, for it happens that Bal'thamon finds their celebrations pleasing to it, and inexplicably winds tendrils of its being into every Dark Elf's home in an effort to experience what they do.

Now, picture the size of such an extradimensional entity, however it might try and mostly fail to fold into three-dimensional space. Picture the effort it must go through even to manifest but tiny fragments of its being into our world, and then imagine how insatiable such a beast must be, and how angered it becomes when, on the day of Christmas itself, it is inevitably disappointed by its patron race's inability to feed it. Picture the impossible, unnatural force such a creature can exert to flick a Human-sized body across a room, or into an unnaturally-gaping maw as it were. Any Dark Elf would laugh to hear the Dwarven tradition of attempting to feed a dragon; they would respond "try exhausting your food supplies entirely and still failing to feed the thing that has invaded our world". Naturally, though their natural rate of attrition drops substantially beforehand, the eldritch monstrosity that attempts to ingratiate itself into their homes almost always takes the lives of thousands, even tens of thousands of Dark Elves every single year, and even once it is vanished from our dimension, the utter loss of food leads to mass famine over the next few months that of course lead the Dark Elves to become rather crabby, setting off their cycle of infighting all over again, and consequently to excession and hedonism once the available food is back to normal levels. And yet that all fails to smother the sheer existential dread that lurks in the background constantly, peaking as the Red Time approaches... no wonder, then, that Dark Elven civilisation is so heedless of the good of others, when they hardly have goodness enough to share amongst themselves. Do not pity the Dark Elves, for they damned their kind when first they summoned Bal'thamon... but have a thought for them, nevertheless, and be glad you are not amongst them at Christmastime.

And of course, a Merry Christmas to you all.

(more christmas stories pls!)

@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity And what merit is there in tales of kindness where the central figures are very much capable of such goodness? It is far more endearing if goodness be found in places normally empty of it. Below is one such tale, unearthed from an ancient library. - Kravenius Wordsworth the Heretic

Once upon a dark day of ages past, in the wintry days of year-end, a boy and his four brothers and sisters were playing thief-and-watchman in the bushes near half a league from their home. They had been searching for Snowbloom for their parents - they had fallen on such hard times - and found it fitting to play a little after a hard day's work.

Jerome, the boy was called, in hiding from his siblings, had wandered into a forest at twilight. As the sun went down, he found his surroundings changed owing to his inexperience. He had seen but nine winters, and only remembered a few.

Jerome blundered and hurried, called out and cried, but all he had achieved was to dig his grave further, and invite wakening carnivores to his flesh. As night descended and the air grew colder, as snow fell and was kicked up by wind such that the boy could see no more, Jerome fell by a tree, having resigned to a lonely, regretful death.

The tears that fell from his eyes froze the instant they dripped onto his cheeks.

Then, he saw light, dark red light. But he could move no more, and he thought that surely, death was near and whatever creature that would lay claim to his soul had come. Sure enough, as the light came close enough, something none other than a demon came to his view.

But it was not just any kind of demon. Slender and curved in limb and body, muscled enough as to not appear starved, with pony-like legs, the horns of goats and bony wings with membranes. But most striking of all, it had the face and upper body of a woman unparalleled in beauty, albeit surfaced with ashen demon skin.

It was a Succubus, a demon of lust.

It walked up to the boy, naked and baring it all but not freezing. It watched not with demented interest but with curiosity. Despite his impending doom, Jerome, in a seemingly last display of courage, was able to work up the strength to speak to what seemed to be his taker: "Have you come to take me, O demon, to swallow my soul?"

The Succubus bent down on her hoofed legs to regard the boy on his level. It smiled mischievously, as if death was but a game.

"No, silly boy," it said. "I take only those of a... mischievous, playful tendency - even then, I grow weary of matchmaking them with their nasty end. Besides, I walk in these woods only to enjoy the fresh air that it affords." The Demon surprised the boy with its words. The boy was young, but no fool. He knew that a demon was nothing but darkness, and decided that it was mocking, teasing him.

"What are you doing here anyway, young little pricker?" It turned the odd conversation on the boy, itself playful and mischievous. A reminder of his doom had all but made the boy cry some more.

"I- I'm lost," Jerome sobbed. "And I shall die a foolish boy that no one will miss. Taken by a demon and never to be seen again!"

"Yes. That would be unfortunate," the demon teased further, but surprised the boy some more: "Or, you shall see your kin again, and live to age and mature into a handsome young man- A really handsome young man."

"H-how?" Jerome's voice cracked at the impossible notion. The Succubus answered by picking him up with her arms in the crook of his knees and around his back. It was strong, and the boy's weight was nothing. It pressed him close to itself, and it was warm and good, unlike the cold and darkness he thought it - her to be.

"You will not freeze, young pricker," the Succubus said. Where there was once pretty baldness and ashen-grey skin, yellowish fire and a reddish hue took over. Jerome could feel the cold leaving him, as if the Succubus was a thick blanket. Despite his initial misgivings, the boy wrapped his arms around her, his tears unfreezing, free-flowing. Her hugged her, chest to chest.

Through the night, the Succubus transported Jerome. The journey was slow and tough despite her demonic strength and resilience, but they made it to the bushy field where he was playing thief-and-watchman with his siblings.

The siblings were gone. They had to abandon the search as the day turned into night, and became treacherous.

So the Succubus brought the boy to the outskirts of his family's farm, and finally set him down on his feet, which had regained their strength.

"Thank you," Jerome mumbled, and held the Succubus' hand tighter. "Please, my savior, come inside to my home. My parents would want to meet the woman who rescued me from certain death. Room and food are the least I can offer in exchange."

The Succubus bent down again, seeing the boy eye-to-eye, her gaze and demeanor loving for a demon.

"Oh, you silly little plaything," she said. "You can't - shouldn't let anyone see us together. And I do not need room and food even during such times."

"I understand," the boy said, but would not let go of her hand, that tender, loving hand. "But please, please don't leave. I- I-" Tears flowed anew. Good friends were far and few, and he'd just met a new friend who would soon leave.

"Shhh... Darling boy," the Succubus leaned in, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Her final gift. "Go, live your life. As many more winters come and go, you shall find another lady to befriend. And perhaps - love and marry."

"At least tell me your name, O demon," Jerome asked, his heart swimming with impossible feelings for the horned lady.

"I am Ushael," the Succubus obliged, "but you may call me Shae. Goodbye, love. Perhaps we may meet again."

And with that, the Succubus turned and leave, and eventually faded into the dark.

But that wasn't the end of this tale, no. For a few days later, on another wintry night, Jerome opened the door to some knockings and rappings, only to find a pile of gold and gemstones of various colours on the floor before him. Thus, his family was saved from severe suffering at best and slow death by starvation at worse.

They lived happily ever after.

The End.

- The Boy & The Succubus, a Children's Story retold in 1994, based on a Fairy Tale in 1576 which was banned from circulation and the author executed for heretical crimes against King and Kingdom and Humanity. The few known copies to exist were put under heavy restrictions in the highest libraries of the human kingdoms.

@Banana No such thing. Tell me your story, Mr Banana 🍌

Edit: Wait... Can you guys see that banana emoticon? I typed it out of my phone... 🍌

In any case, would love another story to pass the time :)

@Banana No such thing. Tell me your story, Mr Banana 🍌

Edit: Wait... Can you guys see that banana emoticon? I typed it out of my phone... 🍌

In any case, would love another story to pass the time :)

Yep, bannananananana is right there

<Snipped quote by Darkraven>

Yep, bannananananana is right there

Oh. It looked different on the computer. It's all shades of yellow on my phone but white here...

This isn't a Christmas story, but I'd like to think it's enjoyable nonetheless!

---

"As per Bjorls tradition, he shall fight in the final match unclad!"
Beren turned around, and his face went from incredulity to aghast. The hulking, seven foot Northman entered the ring, stark naked in all of his glory. Immediately Beren averted his eyes and let out an 'ugh' as the ladies within the crowd let out whoops.
"Ew, that is just disgusting and pretty gay. Are we re- are you really going to-" Beren began, then sighed. Bjorl looked at Beren with a raised eyebrow, as if the very questioning of this was beneath him. All around the crowd watched. Many of the maidens eyes were intently on Bjorl, and did not notice the humorless look in Beren's eyes.
"Match ready?.... Begin!"
Bjorl flexed his abdominals, and spread his big arms wide. He showed his teeth and set a grim visage on his face, and charged forward like a bull, intent on bowling Beren over and winning this match with a fierce offensive. Some of the crowd cheered as they watched, in sure belief that this single attack would end the match before it had even begun. Secret gasped. Bjorl stamps drew ever closer to his adversary in a thundering roar of muscle and hair!
Beren kicked Bjorl straight in the nuts.
The painful, squealing wheeze of Bjorl cut through the crowd's gasps like a Knife, and the big man fell to his knees as intense pain wracked his body. "Sorry, but you kinda left yourself way too open." Beren declared.
Doubled over, Bjorl's head was nearly touching the ground as he gasped for air and whimpered. The Eru'Dai stood over him. "This is a serious fight." he said. "You're a murderer, a thief, a raider, and worst of a all a narcissist. I'm not going to let you both show off, and make me uncomfortable at the same time with your unclad strategy. I fully intend to fight you honorably, but as long as you fight unfairly, I will."
The high born ladies screamed for Beren to be disqualified, and one of them was weeping.
Bjorl couldn't speak yet, but glanced upwards and gazed at Beren with what could only be described as seething hatred. Beren just shook his head, sheer deadpan annoyance on his face. "Can't believe I'm fighting a naked man."
Eloryan ran out of the crowd, stopping at the edge of the ring. "Beren, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Beren turned to the Elf, and he could see Secret shaking her head as she strode over as well, hands on her hips. Beren still looked fairly done with the whole situation. He pointed behind him towards Bjorl. "This guy was naked! I wasn't about to let that stand...or dangle."
Eloryan facepalmed, and Secret did her best to hide her continued astonished laughter. "You do realize doing that gives him an advantage, right?" the Elf asked.
Beren shrugged, and turned back to Bjorl. The big warrior seemed almost able to speak now, shuddering and still on his knees. "Now, I will give you an hour to collect yourself, and if you put some pants on and can actually walk straight by then, we'll have a real fight. Do you agree?"
Through clenched teeth, Bjorl sucked in deep breaths as he glared daggers at Beren. "Aye." he croaked. His next words were barked at his servants. "Get me some trousers!"
With that, the young southerner turned and strode back to his corner of the sidelines. "And they call me the savage." he muttured. The High born ladies were still yelling at him and lamenting Bjorl being so hurt by a brute. One of them pointed at Beren and threatened to have him imprisoned.
Beren pointed back at them. Secret was grabbing at his arm before he could say something out of line, but he kept speaking. "This is about combat and honor! Not your sick sexual fantasies! Go buy yourself some men and leave my hobby alone!"

Also, kudos to all of you for being awesome :)

This isn't a Christmas story, but I'd like to think it's enjoyable nonetheless!

lol...

Question though. What does Beren mean by 'hobby'? Sorry, I guess I'm new and don't know the character well enough.

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lol...

Question though. What does Beren mean by 'hobby'? Sorry, I guess I'm new and don't know the character well enough.

He means fighting/martial arts in general :). It's why he entered this particular unarmed tourney

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He means fighting/martial arts in general :). It's why he entered this particular unarmed tourney

Oh okay :D

Ushael would have made things worse by turning the unarmed tourney into an orgy.

Well, so there we have it.

I guess I'll get to work on my post after I get home from work. Post will probably be up at least 4-5 hours later.

My introductory post will probably be just that - An introductory post describing Jezebeth and her (wretched) starting conditions, her thoughts and feelings. Interaction will probably be limited to her thoughts on seeing everyone else in the group.

<Snipped quote by The Fated Fallen>

Oh. It looked different on the computer. It's all shades of yellow on my phone but white here...

It's very yellow on mine, almost dark yellow

<Snipped quote by Darkraven>

It's very yellow on mine, almost dark yellow

Huh. Odd.

Anyway, I've posted.

Not my best work, but I haven't RP'ed for a while...

Forgot to mention people in my post, pls forgiver me.

This was the third time I've tried to initiate some sort of dialogue with An-Hasst and it was the third time this attempt was aborted by time skip.

@Fetzen I apologize. I waited two weeks to post and I am often going over the limit that I say I need to post, so I give people a fair amount of time. But I shall be far more mindful of that in the future. You might want to tag whomever you are speaking to, just in case.

This was the third time I've tried to initiate some sort of dialogue with An-Hasst and it was the third time this attempt was aborted by time skip.

They had a great and enlightening convo that endeared the two towards each other to a much greater extent, they'd happily take a bullet for eachother