Joyeux Cynthiël!

A most joyous Wednesday, mortals! Christmas Eve is come once more, despite all odds—& on Friday, e’en more reason to celebrate, with JOYEUX CYNTHIËL! Aye, after so long away, Cynthia Weatherwax (hexologist supreme, high arbormanceress, Euchre queen) returns for a grand Christmas special! Rejoicing, Wassailing, & a mega-powerful monologue await ye Friday on JOYEUX CYNTHIËL!

More glad tidings I bring—for today marks my deadline for restoring St. Nicholas’ faith in mortal-kind! My Yuletide Adventure reaches a critical point—but ‘tis not ended yet…

Need to catch up on the story? Read all of this year’s Yuletide Adventure, or revisit last year’s, right here!

At this December’s dawn, I found St. Nick in a dreadful state. Despondent, obstinate, & scrawling wild demands; all while clutching some wretched Kringle-stone, which shews only misery & doom. He refused his annual gift-giving duties; I vowed to set things aright, & restore his faith in all of thee.

No small task; after some setbacks, I set out across the Santaverse, gathering Clauses from other wickedly-stricken worlds. I found St. Nick’s Angels on Ærlinn; brave Elves who carry gifts & justice across a world ravaged by war. The brave Claus of Aqua-Earth™, who is legally distinct from Waterworld & who is as courageous as they come. & then, the Claus from business-plagued Obelisk Investments Presents: Earth™, who brings the gift of liberation.

With these allies, I returned to thy North Pole, hoping their stories might inspire thy Santa out of his pity-pit. He barred the door to his Workshop, but the Elves of Ærlinn whispered its secret poems, & it swung open with a hush. In we crept, to find Santa still gazing, weeping, into that horrid Kringle-stone. We crept inside, quiet as shadows, but he could pay the world no heed. I lunged forward, & snatched the stone from his quivering grip. He howled, he bellowed, but fell weakly to the floor.

The Elves of Ærlinn averted their gaze; they could not bear to see this scarlet shadow of the great Claus they knew. The Claus of Aqua-Earth™—from a world ill-accustomed to patience or tenderness—yanked Santa to his feet.

“My world is drowned!,” he hissed, “& I transformed my workshop into an airship. There are children yet in need, & a Claus must be there. Duty!,” he shouted, & Santa recoiled. ‘Twas, at least, a response.

One of the Elves of Ærlinn rested her lithe hand upon Claus of Aqua-Earth™’s shoulder, bidding him silently to let her take the lead. She caressed Santa’s cheek with the back of her hand, & whispered low in the Elvish tongue of her world. We know not what she spake, but a single tear we all saw fall o’er his rosy cheek.

Then forth stepped the Claus of Obelisk Investments Presents: Earth™. E’en the children there no longer know his name, nor speak wishes to him. All are naughty, on that horrid world. But he fights for them; gives the gift of Santa-tage. A Claus with ev’ry reason to abandon his post, but found new purpose.

“A duty,” he said, beaming, “is a gift of its own. We are called, as of old, to keep burning the flame of kindness, to bring light into worlds overrun by shadow. On my world,” he said, his throat catching a moment, “children are taught to hate, & enslave. Their parents let them down at every turn. & how could I, not try to reach them? To help them?”

Finally, thy Santa spoke. “Can you not see, what lies in the Kringle-stone? The madness, the violence, the cruelty? How can I give gifts to these bloodthirsty monsters?”

The Claus of the business-Earth stood firm: “How,” he asked, “Could you let those bloodthirsty monsters win?”

At this, Santa’s eyes twinkled; his heart shook, like a bowl full of heroic vigor. Hope had failed, but spite—for just this night—could fuel him through.

“Ho, ho, ho!,” he cried, his voice aglow! “You are right, my Clauses! What a fool I have been!”

He burst out of his workshop, & into the snow. “Ready my sleigh!,” he commanded his elves, “we’ve deliveries to make!”

The Pole exploded in cheers, & Santa turned back to us. “I am sorely behind,” he admitted, “& could use some help.”

I stepped forward, pledging my wand. The Elves of Ærlinn, too, volunteered. The other Clauses needed to return to make their own deliveries. We made grand toasts of cocoa, & swore eternal fealty to one another. Then, after the other Clauses returned to their worlds, we stepped onto the sleigh. Freshly-polished, it smelt of holly & pepper-mint. Gleaming under the aurora, it seemed to grow to accommodate its extra passengers.

As we stepped aboard, I felt overcome with good cheer. We lifted off, with barely a start, & set about to bring Christmas to thy benighted Earth!

A good ending…except…’twas no ending…

As we flew across the Pole, readying our first deliveries along the Arctic Circle, my thoughts turned to the Kringle-stone. Is it not strange, that Santa should suffer so much fear & doubt from so small a thing? I turned in the sleigh, & slid it from my cloak. ‘Twas cold to the touch, yet burned my palm. It overpowered Santa; ‘twould be foolish to believe I could overcome its sorcery…

…but I knew the fiend behind this must be found. I would risk my own sanity, to end this threat to Christmas. I forced mine eyes to focus ‘pon the orb, to perceive the ghastly visions within. Strange they were, & legion; of war, of sickness, of genocide. Of cruelty, & stupidity, & of American boors wielding Santa’s image for evil. Each foul picture seared my mind, yet disappeared nearly as swiftly as they came. I could not fully grasp them, as though they were slick with a bowl full of jelly. But one singular sight repeated, o’er & o’er. I began to hold fast its form, nearly fixing it in my mind’s eye. The villain behind this, were they taunting me?

I resolved to study the Kringle-stone further, after our Christmasly duties. ‘T seems this year, my Yuletide Adventure may not end on Christmas after all…

“…And Be Merry.” shall continue on Saturday!

Thank ye for reading, mortals! & thank ye extra-much to the generous mortals who can & do support our works here with coin!

I hope ye enjoyed this installment, & I hope ye shall join us Friday for JOYEUX CYNTHIËL! ‘Til then—be safe, be well, & remember, ne’er ponder any orb ye did not procure thyself…

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Anticipator Christmasæ