It was with no small amount of humility that Wurzag had approached Taryn to ask if he could possibly borrow the floor of his room in the tavern. Normally content to sleep within the cramped confines of his cell at the battle-stand, or even in a litter choked alleyway when push came to shove, the half-orc had found himself lacking in a certain, vital piece of architecture synonymous with the time of year. Namely a chimney. Isolated in the wilderness or slumming with the tribes the green-skin had never heard of Santa or the mysticism that surrounded this legendary figure, and had been somewhat aghast to hear that this jolly personification of seasonal cheer delivered wonderous gifts based on ones behaviour throughout the year.

A retrospective examination of his activities over the last twelve months revealed a somewhat checkered history of both good and rather questionable deeds. The mage, more than a little bemused, had helped him to pen a rather circumspect letter detailing how he had mostly managed to behave himself and maintain at least a modicum of decorum. In the appropriate situation anyway. Mostly. So it was, that with a pie laden plate in one hand and small glass of brandy in the other Wurzag ascended to the nicely appointed bedroom where he dutifully set them by the fireplace.

When he had questioned exactly how the bearded fat man made his descent through the chimney Taryn had explained that the generous gentleman possessed magical powers that allowed him to traverse such obstacles with ease. He also apparently employed a magical sack of unlimited holding, a sleigh pulled by a bunch of flying reindeer and could circle the entirety of Arda in only a single night. The half-orc had accepted the concept of a really big bag, but once the young man began the explanation of the air-born Caribou he decided that somebody somewhere was playing a cosmic joke and stopped listening.

Teleportation was one thing, celestial deer was quite another.

"So ... uh ... Santa, dis pie and booze is fer yooz, I 'ope yez likes it but dunt drinks too much or yez might crash ye sleigh." The half-orc settled himself down by the warm fire and cocooned himself in his blankets. Sleep would be a long time in coming, but when the morning came and if the story was true there would be presents.

Or a lump of coal.

With one eye on the blazing hearth Wurzag drifted, head filled with thoughts of what the sunrise would bring ...

Taryn had been almost indulgent whilst helping Wurzag write his letter to Santa. He'd been enamoured of the idea that the half-orc would be so caught up in the legend and was reminded, fondly, of the years as a child when he and his little sister would write their own letters and leave out their own pies and brandy.

Now, however, Taryn celebrated the season in the way that he celebrated anything else.

Copious quantities of alcohol were involved, as was watching a travelling bard and storyteller who was entertaining the guests in the Wilwarin that evening. Taryn sat, reasonably mellowed by his intake of festive spirit, a barmaid sat on each knee, feeling perfectly at peace with the world. There was possibly goodwill to all men in there somewhere, too - not to mention goodwill to all the other races of Arda.

Except undead, of course. Taryn would love to have said that it was nothing personal, but it was about as personal as it was likely to get.

Late into the night when his ability to drink had finally reached saturation, he had staggered upstairs to his room, completely and utterly inebriated. He had left the barmaids downstairs out of respect to his room guest, although he was pretty sure that had he asked, they both would have accompanied him to bed. But he was trying to limit his conquests as part of the ongoing efforts to change himself.

Thus it was that a solitary, but inordinately drunken Taryn Pallerion stumbled into his room. He was about to flick his fingers at the candles and bring forth fire and light to the room when he made out the shape sleeping under the blankets.

"Oops," he said out loud, then put a finger to his lips. "Sssh," he reprimanded himself.

Then he giggled for a few minutes.

Eventually the giggling stopped and he washed his face in the by-now ice-cold bowl of water. That sobered him up a little, which was no good, no good at all. He glanced around the room and his eyes lit up.

"Brandy!" he exclaimed, happily. "Oh, and would you believe it, pies!"

In his drunkenness Taryn had completely forgotten the tales he had told Wurzag and he didn't think on them as he downed the brandy in one practised throw and then munched happily on the pies.

"Happy Yenearsira, Taryn," he said to himself cheerfully.

In the event, Wurzag slept deeply throughout the young mages drunken intervention and remained blissfully unaware of the pillaging of his gifts intended for Santa. So it was, that when the morning spread its pale, fragile rays through the window the half-orc awoke to the sight of an overturned brandy glass and a plate of crumbs. He could scarcely believe his eyes; the legendary Santa had visited his room on Yenearsira, eaten his pies and drunk his brandy. He paused a reconsidered a moment. In all honesty the room was Taryn's, the drink had been given by the tavern and the pies had been 'liberated' from a vendor who had been looking the other way, but the principal was the same.

Wurzag peered at the hearth with child-like excitement in his eyes and looked in wide-eyed wonder at the small pile of gifts that waited there. Santa really had been here. He must also have been a master of stealth or teleportation wizard to have achieved his delivery without disturbing either of the room's sleeping occupants.

The half-orc crawled over to the presents and pulled the first from the pile. It was wrapped in red paper with tiny, shimmering flames worked into a pattern. A neat little card pinned to the package said 'For Taryn, who really did eat all the pies'. Wurzag lobbed the parcel on to the sleeping mage with a grin, "wake up ye dozy git, Santa's dun left a present for ye!" He announced before investigating the rest of the pile.

The next was covered in black paper with white striations. It was a foot and a half long and cool to the touch. The green-skin ripped the gothic paper away with reckless abandon to reveal a dangerous looking dagger. The blade was as keen as a razor, while the hilt had been crafted from a single piece of bone, the ivory worked with intricate scrimshaw designs. Wurzag whistled in appreciation before tucking the weapon into the sheath on his belt.

The second of Wurzag's gifts was wrapped in paper decorated with an interlocking spider design that confused the eye and bamboozled the brain. It did little to disguise the contents of the package however; Wurzag knew a pair of brass knuckles when he saw them and this pair were exceptional. The brass was polished to a shine and the knuckles sported a set of vicious spikes that would cause severe injury to anybody on the receiving end. The half-orc grinned happily and tucked them away in his pouch.

The next present was covered with paper depicting individual snowflakes in a traditional Yenearsira design. The object itself was a small, dull metal sphere bisected by a pair of narrow slits. Wurzag puzzled over the object for a few minutes before tossing it into the air with the intention of catching it when it fell. The ball did not fall however, against all the conventional laws of nature it hung in the air with a faint whirring sound. Then two sets of blades rotating in opposite directions sprang from the slots, the savage knife edges meshing together in a pincer motion that would cut flesh and bone in an instant. The half-orc stared at the thing in wonder for a minute and then flapped a hand at it randomly. The little sphere buzzed and weaved around as directed and, to the green-skin's joy, did a complete circuit of the room before returning to its dormant state in his palm.

"I shall call it Fragit!" Wurzag declared and dropped it into his pocket.

The penultimate gift was very heavy and gave a metallic jingle as he lifted it. Santa had thought to decorate the wrapping with the symbol of the Goddess of Life and as the half-orc peeled away the paper he gasped in awe at what was revealed beneath. The suit of armour he had spied in the market upon his return from the tournament lay before him, black enameled plate and brass chain glinting in the morning light. Wurzag lifted the breathtaking piece and stood admiring it for a long time before reverently placing it over a chair. He would try it on soon enough, but for now he just wished to admire it.

The final present was soft to the touch and depicted a stylised image of Santa himself, riding his sleigh into the moonlight. For some reason Wurzag shivered as he lay his hands upon the gift, like a ripple of destiny upon the skein of reality. With shaking hands he peeled back the paper to reveal the garment beneath. A rich, crimson cloak spilled from an ornate, golden mantle, the fabric alive with sparks and fragments of red light. For a moment the green-skin's blood ran cold as a recent memory thought only to be a delusion was brought to life before him. He had seen this cloak before.

With a vague, puzzled smile the half-orc set the cloak beside the armour and stood to admire his haul. Today it felt good to be Wurzag, though the disturbing cloak warranted further investigation to be carried out later.

He peered over at Taryn, "I reckon Santa is makin' up fer me lost years," he said with a grin, "'appy Yenearsira Taryn."