The Holiday Spirit High up in the sky laughter abounds, a booming great voice spreads mirth all around; tall trees pass below with snow on their crowns. Up through the valleys and down to the seas, old Kleb went about as quick as he pleased. He rode on the back of a winged balgaroo, which is the wingiest creature you ever could view. He came bearing gifts: treats, sweets and new clothes. From Carnhold to Krake - even under the lake! - good folk prayed to Kleb wearing bells on their toes, leaving out mead for his red glowing nose. The North on this night was grown wintren and white - a day of long darkness, the moon shining bright. At Amno the zemmi sleep wrapped up all tight, warm rooten beds dug down deep underground. Snoring with sneer amid rumbles and groans: no dreams in their heads, not one to be found. They arise with a clamour, screams in their ears - it must mean old Kleb was soon coming near. Midwinter's night Shadur hates most of all. It hated, it HATED, and filled up with gall. It sends out its whispers, but no one can hear, their hearts stuffed to bursting with Wintrentide cheer. Naiounes on clouds it dispatches each year, but Kleb flies too fast; laughs away in the clear. "No, not once more will this come to pass! I won't be outmatched by this troublesome clown! I'll make up a trap, and I'll cast him right down!" Shadur screamed at Hyric, who started to frown. "YAVA!" it yelled, its voice calling far. "Bring me a glabber, one with a scar!" With curses and sighs she dragged 'cross the plain, six glabbering legs kicking in train. She dropped it right there in front of her God; what plan did it have to bag the drunk fraud? Clatters and klinks echoed above, and out from a mouth Shadur tumbled a jug. "Now milk me its teats and we'll make up a drink," Shadur spat in the bottle, letting it sink, brewing a spell made from troublesome sleeps. Wraiths to fly out, promise to keep. "On Hyric! On Ibba! On Yava and Glame! Kill me a godling and pickle his brain!" In a field lonely and clear they set up a lure, zemmi arms heaving up a mountain of beer. In the midst of clay bottles lay the trappening jug; they knew Kleb would come, drawn by thirst for a slug. They waited and watched as the moon crossed the sky, until way up above a red star did they spy. Kleb dropped with a crash, falling on snow, and he took up a bottle, his nose all aglow. Beer after beer he threw down the hatch. He drank and he drank and he started to grow! Would the spell work? Soon they would know. A monstrous man, now tall as a bear, covered all over in white scratchy hair. Ah, at last, the jug is right there! Kleb holds it in hand; the naiounes prepare. But then on his face a look of great care, he sniffs at the contents, inhaling its airs. The wraiths hold their breath, their eyes giving stares. And Kleb drank it down with a rumbling shrug. Hyric leaps out, grey spear in hand. "We've got you old man, for this we've long planned!" - he's thrown through a tree, the distance quick spanned. Ibba flies in, a howl of rage, an axe in Kleb's back while Glame readies the cage. Ibba trips up, his feet all askew. Can Kleb truly resist the strength of the brew? Yava is there with a rope and a chain, wrapping Kleb 'round - but she's smacked by his cane. Glame lashes the field with a howling wind, the icy sharp teeth of an obelisk's grin - then kicked in the head by a winged balgaroo. Hyric is back, face all aglower, arm of the monolith thrumming with power. A punch in Kleb's gut, fist striking straight through while Ibba grabs on, sticking like glue. The drunk shakes him off, dancing aside, intestines spilled out, the hole gaping wide. Hyric pressed on, wounded in pride. Alas, not tonight would Shadur have Kleb's hide. He scampers and skips and he hops on his ride. The naiounes look up as he flits on his way and tosses a bag as night turns to day. He laughs as he calls to wraiths he holds dear: "You all tried your best, and thanks for the beer! I've left you a gift, and I'll see you next year! Even Shadur deserves holiday cheer!"