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12/21/2020 11:15:08 AM
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Yule Council (Story)

[spoiler]Special thanks to [i]Gingerbread[/i] (a.k.a. ragingredhead) for taking the time to help me improve this! Also, another special shout out to [i]Charles Dickens[/i] for the story's inspiration! Thanks, man! Since this story is too long, I've placed it's continuation in the comments! I 'ope yeh enjoy, and 'ave a' mar-ee Christmas![/spoiler] The giant helped himself to another slice of mince-pie, scarfing it down with a smack of his lips. Tugging his forest-green coat over his cherry-red waistcoat, Nat observed the giant’s feast. For the short time he had known him, the giant was always in a constant state of consumption. [i]But then, I’d do the same as well if I had but a year to live.[/i] The giant wiped his mouth on his pine-green robe and grinned at Nat’s paling expression. “What’s the matter, Nativitatis?” asked the giant, its cheery voice resonating through the cabin. “Are my manners so unbecoming?” “No, not at all,” assured Nat, adjusting his spectacles. “I simply can’t stand to witness such fine cloth to be tarnished by such poor manners.” Pinching the fur-lined edges of his robe, the giant examined the stain. “Oh- how unfortunate!” He dropped the cloth, reclining in his banquet throne. “I do love this robe.” “Did!” interjected a spirit to the giant’s left. Her face was nothing more than a colorless blaze, casting a dreadful shadow from the giant’s form. “[i]Did[/i] love this robe. It has been spoiled.” “Yes, quite right,” agreed the giant, feathering his robe sadly. “It is spoiled. I do not love it, I should think.” He shrugged his massive shoulders and dug into a barrel of red chestnuts, shoveling a handful in his mouth. The giant chuckled, smacking his belly in good humor. “I dare say, I’ve quite forgotten why we’re here!” “You summoned me, if I recall correctly,” answered Nat. “It was quite urgent, I believe?” “Indeed,” approved the she-spirit. “It was exceedingly urgent.” “It [i]still[/i] is!” laughed the giant. “That’s why you’re here, my good Nativitatis!” “Ah, then this isn’t one of your schemes to know me better, man?” The she-spirit smoothed the folds of her white gown. “A Christmas Carol?” she sighed, her soft echoes laced with pique. “I would say Charlie portrays me rather well!” bellowed the giant as he stuffed a seed cake down his gullet. “He certainly captures my good looks!” “No- he doesn’t portray you, he did portray you.” Her slender fingers rubbed the sides of her temples. “He’s dead! Your older brother passed away with him!” “Older brother?” The giant stroked its great auburn beard. “Which one is that?” “Which one [i]was[/i] that,” she corrected. “Your brother's name was Eighteen Seventy.” “What? Eighteen Seventy? Good heavens! I-” The giant’s smile vanished. “I never met him.” Before the she-spirit could utter another word, Nat cut her off. “As much as I enjoy this jolly banter, I must ask the spirits to address the current matter of said urgency.” “Ah!” exclaimed the giant. “The -blam!---blam!- man!” “I- I beg your pardon?” Nat removed his fiddler cap, combing a hand through his dark hair. “By that, do you mean to say Saint Nicholas?” “No…” murmured the she-spirit. “Not Nicholas of Myra… he has passed on.” Her face shifted into the bearded countenance of an old man before resuming its previous sheen. “Our trouble lies with Father Christmas- Santa Claus, as the mortals call him.” Nat smiled at the name. “Oh? Jolly Father Christmas? Yes, I remember him!” Nat turned to the she-spirit, frowning. “Spiritus Esset, he hasn’t gotten into trouble with you three, has he? I’ve only met him on sparse occasions, with each meeting being delightfully unforgettable. Why, I consider myself to be good friends with him.” “I’m sure you are, Spiritus Nativitatis, but he is not who he claimed to be. You have never seen his true form… a form which surpassed description.” “If I recall correctly, he assumed the form of a mortal, as I was given. How can such a man surpass description?” “As similar as they are,” said the giant, “human attributes cannot be used to describe a fallen spirit.” Nat raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me Father Christmas is a deadly sin- a demon?” He laughed, wringing the hat in his hands. “I’m terribly sorry, but I find that impossible to believe! The man’s an inspiration to the mortals! Is that not why you instituted him to begin with?” “For one,” began the giant. “You should no longer refer to him as Father Christmas. His true identity is Spiritus Avarice.” “Spiritus Avarice? I’m not sure I recognize any being of this title.” “Once, he had another name.” Esset’s light faded, ever so slightly, exposing her smooth features. “He was Spiritus Liberalis, your predecessor. We did not know it, but he was a fallen spirit, infiltrating our system.” “A deadly sin, a slave of the zealot, a fallen spirit, duped the three most powerful beings of the Spiritus title?” He smirked in eager disbelief. “How can this be so?”

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  • [i]...continued[/i] “You should not be so surprised,” chimed the giant, swigging a mug of cider. “He’s not the first.” “Indeed,” affirmed Esset. “There was Spiritus Ira who had taken a day from us. But she was not as deceitful. Ira was bold, exposing her true intent from the beginning. In the early days of the world, she amassed an army of mortals to serve her purpose. For a short span, they worshiped Ira, sacrificing their own to satisfy her master’s hatred of mortals.” Nat shuddered at the mention of Ira, her evil disturbing him. Esset paused, eyeing Nat as if she could discern his thoughts. “You should not fear the evil of the past, Spiritus Nativitatis.” “Nor, the evil of the present,” chimed in the giant. “They are abominable, aye, but pathetic and weak. Why, after this council, Spiritus Spero and I are to raid Beezlebub’s palace!” The giant shook with laughter, slapping his knee. “I must say, few things in life give me pleasure than seeing the helpless look on Beezlebub’s face!” The timbered room trembled at the roar of his laughter. Esset pursed her lips. “As I was saying,” she continued, “Ira was eventually defeated, but not vanquished. She had found a way into the hearts of mortals. Ira feigned benevolence, amassing yet another army of mortal followers to worship her as Eostre. I’m sure she had violent plans for them, yet since then, her forces have been all but diminished…” “Aye!” the giant thumped a fist against his chest. “She is not so blatant as to show her face these days! Ha! The coward! Nonetheless, she still lives on, trying to misguide the mortals. In spite of that, they are slowly catching on, changing Ira’s day to suit us instead!” Nat couldn’t help but laugh along with the giant’s infectious cheer. “Yes,” agreed Nat, “I do believe Easter is better off for it! But…” His grin faltered. “But, what was the point in telling me this? Does it have to do with Father Christmas being a fallen spirit?” “Spiritus Avarice, yes,” affirmed Esset. “Like Spiritus Ira, he has infiltrated our system. However, unlike Ira, Avarice has used nothing but deceit since the beginning. When he stepped forward to assume the role of Father Christmas, he proposed many admirable teachings to share with the mortals- unselfish generosity, cherished family, and limitless kindness. I’m sure you’re familiar with these qualities, Spiritus Nativitatis?” “I am, yes. And, though I am loathe to admit it, such morals have been… difficult to convey to mortals these recent years. I apologize for not meeting your generous expectations.” “It is not your fault entirely,” she said. “Spiritus Avarice has amassed the season for himself, deceiving many humans to fall for his schemes of evident greed. There are some mortals who have been completely swayed by his influence, leaving them devoid of the hope this season offers.” “I see…” Nat silently gulped. “And how do I fit into this plot?” “You’re the spirit of Christmas, are you not!” thundered the giant’s voice. “It is your duty to protect His day, and exemplify all things good! Peace on Earth! Good will towards men! Do you desire such sentiments to succumb to [i]Santa Baby?[/i]” Nat shuddered at recollection of the song. “No, Spiritus Quidest. In all I hold dear, anything but that.” “Good! Then you’ll have no trouble accepting your assignment!” “I presume you wish me to banish the fallen spirit, Avarice?” “Yes! But, like all demons, he’s a coward- a weakling! Thus, he is well hidden. You’ll need assistance if you’re to find his lair.” The shadow of Quidest flickered. “Spiritus Venire!” greeted Nat, hiding his fear beneath a merry attitude. “You’ve been silent this whole while! Have -erm- have you nothing to say over the matter?” Nat could feel the sweat beading his brow as the hooded spirit extended from Quidest’s shadow, towering over Nat with a void face of darkness. Giant Quidest erupted in laughter. “Poor Venire… he resides in what will be! He can’t speak to us since, to him, we are all what was! Nonetheless, he knows what is to come and will prove mighty serviceable! Isn’t that right, Spiritus Venire?” The hooded spirit straightened, directing a skeletal finger at Nat. In an icy blur, the gloomy spirit dove into his shadow, assuming its place. “Um… is he to host my shadow for the remainder of the assignment?” “Spiritus Venire is only called to help,” assured Esset. “What he does to help, or how he helps, I cannot say.” “Oh…” Turning back to his occupied shadow, Nat shivered from the sight of it. “Um- when do we start?” Quidest wolfed down a heaping spoonful of plum-pudding. “No time like the present!” … [i]And thus, the hunt for Santa Claus began[/i]

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