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Being roused by her sense of smell was rarely a good sign for the World Guardian, the last time it happened, something was on fire. Today was perhaps the only exception, the 30th of Wintumber; Christmas day.
The scent in question was food - beef sausage, pancakes, tea, eggs, toast - ‘Thaz had already finished breakfast.
Sepulchre jumped out of bed and into her brightest red shirt and a pair of black pants, working her hair into twin tails on the way from her bedroom to the dining room.
“I see the aroma of our feast has awoken you, my mistress,” Alathazdrar commented the second she stepped into the room. “Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“As is your cooking.” she replied, taking a delighted whiff of his handiwork.
The demon chuckled, amused. “You flatter me, miss Valenthia. The table is set and it is already past nine in the morning. May I suggest you ‘dig in’, as they say?”
He didn’t have to tell her twice; in fact, he hadn’t even finished the sentence before she took a seat and grabbed a plate. Even after all these years, she was forced to remind herself that her ‘butler’ was a demon, and that he did not need to eat. That didn’t stop her from feeling awful that he couldn’t enjoy the fruits of his labors, to be honest.
Not even ten minutes had passed, and there was a solid knock on the front door. Though Alathazdrar moved to answer, his mistress sprung to her feet and motioned him off it. I know exactly who it is already. she bubbled to herself.
Before the door had opened fully, she greeted her guest. “Nickalus, I keep telling you to leave the presents by the tree in the garden.” she said.
Indeed, the former King of Roses stood at the doorway in his red suit and hat. “After all the favors you’ve done me, World Guardian, you have earned a personal visit this morning every day until you die.”
He held out two wrapped boxes, immaculately crafted presents that would only be torn open by day’s end. “But if you insist on a quick exit,” he continued, “then you’ll take your presents without protest.”
‘Santa Claus’ knew Sepulchre well enough to predict her objection to receiving presents from him. Much to his satisfaction, she acquiesced and accepted the gifts with a smile.
“Merry Christmas, World Guardian.” Santa chirped on his way down the deck stairs, waving his hand high above his head.
“To you as well, Father Christmas.” the World Guardian responded, equally lively.
Right into the sitting room she went with the two wrapped presents. “I presume our visitor was the same as it has been each year?” her ‘butler’ asked. The presents answered the question.
The World Guardian had already moved to her bedroom, grabbing her Subtle Blade from its space near her bed. Under most circumstances, Alathazdrar would not see her leave that room, but today was different. Today, Sepulchre had other things to bring with her.
“Enjoy your day with family and friends,” ‘Thaz went on as she gathered these ‘other things’ into her pack. “And do make sure to come home at a good hour this year,” he quipped. Last year she had fallen asleep at a certain someone’s house, and walked through the door at two in the morning after waking up in the middle of the night.
“No promises,” she said with a cheeky smirk. Rather than wait for a response, she swung the blade through the air and disappeared into the rift it opened.
On the other side of the rift was a sight not dissimilar from the one she left. Black stone walls, lined with art and shelves of random memorabilia. No, she had not opened a portal to another room in her own house - this was her first home.
“You’re early.” a low, half-hissing voice griped from behind her. “It’s barely past half-nine, you’re normally not here until after 10.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, ‘dad’.” she retorted, minorly offended.
A scoff. “A Saradominist holiday, Valenthia. That I even humor you by pretending is proof I’ve gone soft.”
Sepulchre turned to see her ‘father’, Lord Mischa Myrmel, sitting in his wing chair with his arms folded. His attendant, Remus, was closeby with a strip of red ribbon in hand.
“Miss Valenthia,” Remus welcomed her with a bow, “A pleasure as always. I’m afraid you’ve caught us in the middle of a curious holiday tradition.” He motioned to the ribbon.
“Wrapping my present on Christmas day, are you?” Valenthia teased, “Poor form, Lord Myrmel.”
Lord Mischa merely rolled his eyes, reaching a hand to the floor at the side of the chair. What he lifted from the floor was a bottle - a wine bottle, to a human - but her sense of smell told her otherwise. The bottle was full of blood; high-quality blood, at that. “Come then,” he said wearily, “take your present without all the gratuitous wrapping.”
She did exactly that, and she did it happily. It’s likely from his personal stores, which means the taste will be perfectly to my liking.
In return, she handed him what appeared to be an over-decorated purple flag. It was much more than that, of course, and the small gasp her ‘father’ responded with made that obvious.
The vampyre lord took her offering in hand, treating the object with care. “This is a Legionary banner…” he marveled at its make, “with the Demon Numeral 23. The legion that I commanded.”
A glint passed through his eye when his gray hand brushed the fabric. “Made of authentic samite, as well!” Lord Myrmel very clearly approved. “A near-perfect recreation. What master craftsman weaved this?” he questioned.
His ‘daughter’ beamed with pride. “You’re looking at her,” she declared. “I threaded it from a reference Azzanadra showed me, the shaft is even made of real imperial iron.
“Oh, and I didn’t forget you, Remus.” She reached into her pack and pulled out a figurine. Most humans would immediately recognize it as the likeness of Arrav. “Another one for your collection of famous human heroes.”
Smiling just as brightly, her former caretaker took the tiny sculpture with joy. “Many thanks, miss Valenthia. Now, if I could only procure your likeness for that collection…” Remus observed, obviously trying to tell her something.
“Maybe next year, Remus.” She was implying exactly what she was saying.
In the blink of an eye, an hour of discussing her gift and a story from Lord Mischa's time as Legatus passed them by. The World Guardian had many places to be in this one day, and so with a smile and a (very awkward) hug, she departed the same way she came - a rift in space.
This time, Sepulchre found herself in a brighter-colored building. Her place of employment, you could say. The Archaeologists Guild, where only one other person would be spending their Christmas day: Charlotte Reiniger, whom she knew as ‘Lottie’. Lottie was the closest thing to a sister she had.
Exchanging typical sisterly greetings, Lottie and Valenthia both considered the other too busy for small-talk. Neither would have said no to spending the whole day together, but neither was brave enough to ask for it. Conversation was kept short and sweet, and requests for ‘presents’ were made plainly.
On Charlotte’s end, the samples of Shadow anima she suspected her sister of taking from the Raksha upon defeating it. On Sepulchre’s side, permission to take an expedition to Forinthry. Both were hesitant to fulfill the other’s request. “I’ll think about it.” was the answer they exchanged, each suspicious of the other’s intentions. A merry Christmas, indeed…
Varrock was her next destination, though there were two different places to visit in this great city. First would be the palace. With her status, getting an audience with the King and Queen of Misthalin on their thrones was as simple as walking through the door, even today of all days.
Captain Rovin opened the doors for her. She saw that the rows of seats within the throne room were barren, and only the royal couple awaited.
No sooner than she took a knee did King Roald speak, “A merry Christmas to you, Sepulchre, World Guardian. Do you come bearing gifts or news for us this day?” he asked.
“A single gift, your Majesties.” she answered, reaching again into her pack. Digging through the bag, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Nicklaus felt when he rummaged for presents.
“One hopes it is a gift worthy of a King and Queen, Sepulchre,” Ellamaria interjected. She ignored the King’s silent protest to her words. “Grateful as we are for your constant service to the crown, you must understand that one finds herself overburdened on holidays.”
“Worry not, your Majesty,” the World Guardian assured her. She had finally found the gift; a most curious flower. “This flower comes directly from the island known as Anachronia, the Land out of Time, which your court so graciously funded the expedition to.”
Both King and Queen took immediate interest. Roald had demanded to be brought something exotic from the island, and Ellie was always looking to expand her garden. “This flower can survive in the world beyond the island?” Roald asked, “I did not think that was possible.”
Sepulchre shook her head. “Under normal circumstances, it isn’t possible,” she confessed. “My magical and horticultural expertise just barely sufficed to alter the plant enough to survive in Varrock’s climate. This flower is technically tens of thousands of years extinct, and this is the only of its kind that can exist in the modern day.”
“Truly the only of its kind?” Ellamaria echoed with a hint of excitement. “That’s astounding. We graciously accept this gift, Sepulchre.”
From behind the World Guardian, Captain Rovin came and collected the potted plant. Ellamaria directed him to deliver it to her garden so that she may plant the flower later in the day. Sepulchre was dismissed, and the King and Queen moved on to other business.
Second in Varrock was her second home, the Blue Moon Inn. Every year for as long as she could remember (and likely before then), there was a Christmas party held at the Blue Moon, and many people from all over the city showed up to celebrate.
This was immediately apparent when she opened the front door and saw the crowd. Her arrival was noticed instantly by one person, who felt the need to announce it to everybody else.
“Bloody hell, she’s here!” an animated female voice exclaimed, “I was beginning to worry the ‘World Guardian’ had outgrown us.”
Sepulchre couldn’t help but laugh. “As if I could ever outgrow you, Katrine,” she objected, “or any of the people here for that matter…”
“Then how about taking back your old job?” asked a younger, male voice. “Let me get out of the city for a change. I’ll be the World Guardian, you clean tables.” This voice was Balek, who had indeed inherited her duty of cleaning the tables and floors.
“Why?” questioned another boy, “you lookin’ to bring about the end of the world?” She recognized the voice as Kherian, a friend of Balek.
“End of the world? At least I wouldn’t throw a snowball at Zamorak!” Balek shot back.
“All right, all right. That’s enough outta the both of ya.” interrupted a voice like Balek’s, but more mature. It was his father, Kaleb, the bartender.
“How ya doin’ kid?” Kaleb asked the newest arrival. “Good ta see ya. Elio and Zack are workin’ on dessert in the back.”
She shook her head emphatically. “Oh no, I’m not going anywhere near the kitchen. Just me standing in the room turns it into a disaster area.”
Kaleb shrugged, “Have a bite and a drink then,” he insisted. So she did exactly that.
Zack had, as always, gone all-out with the spread for Christmas celebrations. The famous Blue Moon Stew - a divine dish, which the removal from the menu of was a tragedy in the eyes of the World Guardian - was back on the menu only for this special day.
Eating, drinking and general merriment followed, all surrounded by familiar faces; Aubury, Ingald, Father Lawrence, Dimintheis, Curator Halen, and more. ‘Reldo’ was unable to make it this year, sending a letter to inform the Inn that he’d come down with the virus that had been going around this year.
Following a few rounds of darts, Sepulchre decided it was best to give her presents to her adoptive family - the employees of the Blue Moon - and get ready to move on.
Elio, the innkeeper, was presented with an impossibly large package, said to be a gift for everybody at once. “You buy us a whole new building or what, girl?” he asked when she put it down in front of him. “That’s about the only thing I can imagine being in a box this big.”
“No, uncle Elio,” she assured him, “just open it and you’ll understand.”
With a shrug, Elio tore the wrapping-paper apart. The box itself wasn’t hard to open. “Now, what do we have here…?” he wondered, pulling the top open.
What he had here was shirts - many of them. Some fit for men, some fit for women, all in various sizes. Each was a plain gray with only one thing upon it: the Blue Moon symbol, as was displayed on the sign outside the Inn. The symbol sat in the upper-left corner of the shirts.
At first, Elio seemed confused, but within a few seconds realization came over him. “You had uniforms made for us…?” he questioned, ambivalent. Somewhere between grateful and sheepish. “I, uh, I don’t know what to say, kid.”
“You could probably start at ‘thank you’, Elio.” Zack chimed in, amused.
“That’s not what I meant, you idiot!” the innkeeper growled in return. “A simple ‘thank you’ doesn’t cover… all this!” He held up the shirt in his hand.
“That’s why I said ‘start at’, boss,” the cook chuckled.
Much less awkward hugs than the one shared with Lord Mischa were brought about by this wonderful gift. By this point, noon had come and gone; the day was more than half over, and the World Guardian was nowhere near halfway down her list of places and people to visit. Though many insisted she stay for just one more round, she really would prefer to be home by midnight this year.
Before heading to the next city, there were two quick stops she had to make: the Kinshra hideout in Taverley and their fortress near the Wilderness wall.
‘Marshal Alexandria Morton’ popped by the fortress briefly to drop off the treats she (Alathazdrar) had baked for them. For a fortress filled with dark-hearted knights, the place sure lit up when the veritable boatload of cookies, cakes, pies and other assorted sweets were unveiled.
Finding a spot alone, ‘Alexandria’ hopped into another portal, making her way to the underground hideout in the dungeons of Taverley. While another round of sweets was to be presented to the knights stationed here, there were also two special gifts for two special people.
Lord Daquarius took notice of his Marshal’s arrival, and she motioned for his private office in the back of their underground lair.
“What news do you bring, ‘Marshal’?” the Lord of the Kinshra queried, no joy in his voice.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know why I’m here, Lord Daquarius,” the World Guardian said, not disguising her voice as she normally would. “You know what today is.”
Daquarius sighed. “More of this Saradominist holiday, then? Are even my own advisors fooled by this yearly mawkish ruse?”
“For you information, my lord, Christmas was originally a Guthixian holiday. Santa Claus himself is Guthixian, though he and Saradomin are friends in some way.”
The Lord of the Kinshra was not swayed by this information, though the idea of informing the world that this holiday was stolen by the Saradominist Church appealed to him.
“I see,” he said, displaying indifference, “go on then. I have no gift for you, but I assume you dragged me in here because you have one for me?”
Without a word, the World Guardian once more opened her backpack. Searching took only a few seconds, and when her hands were pulled back out, they were accompanied by what the Kinshra Lord knew immediately was a cocktail shaker set. She placed it down on his desk.
Daquarius was, by his own admittance, somewhat of a connoisseur of cocktails. Even the stoic Black Knight could not stifle a smile at this gift. Naturally, he quickly corrected this error in showing any form of cheer.
“Well, I certainly cannot fault your choice in gift.” he admitted, masking his excitement perfectly. “Now, are you finished wasting my time? I have an order of knights to run.”
Despite her decorated black helmet, he could somehow discern the pout on his subordinate’s face. “Oh very well then,” he sighed once more, “it is a thoughtful gift, and one I will make much use of.”
Even with her helmet on, the smile she wore beneath as she bowed to her superior and left his office was obvious.
It didn’t take long at all to find the other person; Lieutenant Cassandra Crane, a Kinshra officer trained by the World Guardian. Unlike Daquarius, who had learned the true identity of ‘Alexandria Morton’ by her own mistake, Lieutenant Crane had put together the pieces of the puzzle all on her own. She had done it well before the truth was revealed to Daquarius.
The present was a pair of hiking boots, as Cassandra was an avid hiker (despite being a talented mage, who were infamous for being physically frail). “I feel awful for not having gotten you anything, my friend.” Cassandra moped. “I wish you had at least told me!”
Sepulchre shook her head, demurring the apology. “Consider this repayment for helping me out back during the Pest incident.”
Hesitant as the Lieutenant was, Sepulchre’s insistence won the day. Their hug was awkward not from an emotional perspective, but because two people in full plate armor hugging was essentially impossible.
Far to the west, the Elven city of Prifddinas was already celebrating Christmas hours before the World Guardian arrived. Originally Guthixian indeed, the Elves and their goddess took an interest in the holiday Ages ago.
Sepulchre’s arrival was well-received by all present. Speaking of presents, the World Guardian had brought none with her. The Elven clan leaders were unrelenting in reminding her that the return of their city and their goddess were two eternal gifts, and that anything further would be excessive. Arguing with Lady Tangwen was equivalent to arguing with an Elder Wall, so she acquiesced.
With no gifts to be given, her visit to the city was more a show of respect to the Elves than anything else. For Sepulchre, the Crystal City was almost a home away from home, and she spent many days and nights under the crystal spires when first they were regrown. She had become accustomed to many faces during her stay, and she took time to see as many of those familiar faces as she could.
Seren herself made a very rare public appearance for the holiday. Brief as this was, it was still shocking for the World Guardian to see her outside the Tower of Voices or the castle in Burthorpe. Sepulchre’s presence was partially to blame for this rare showing, as the Goddess of the Elves wanted to make a point of greeting their ‘Champion’ on this day.
Though the ‘Champion of Prifddinas’ had many acquaintances and friends among the people living within its walls, there was one with whom she was very close: Gwaitel Trahaearn. He was of indirect relation to Lady Tangwen, and much like her, had natural Smithing talents. Sepulchre and Gwaitel had perfected this craft together under Lady Trahaearn’s watchful (and critical) eye.
Gwaitel and Sepulchre met privately under a specially-decorated archway. Unfortunately, only half an hour was given for these two friends to catch up with each other before the sun’s descent began - dinner would be happening soon, and she had obligations to be elsewhere for it. Still, the goodbye was a satisfying one.
Already almost 66% of the day was gone, and still there were more stops to make before dinner. Taverley, Keldagrim, and various secret spots across Gielinor were among very quick stops, and numerous presents were given out to numerous people. Thurgo, Veldaban, Doric, Sanfew, Thaerisk, Kaqemeex, Vicendithas, Sakirth, Phalaks; that’s just to name a few.
Evening was slowly creeping its way upon the world when Jartin Far-strider emerged within the walls of Miscellania’s castle. Being so far west had thrown her clock off, and she accidentally turned up to the island earlier than necessary.
Compulsions brought on by her inherent negativity guided her to a particular room, a room that had been cleaned but not used for the past 11 years. The room in question was, of course, the bedroom of her deceased wife, Princess Astrid.
Merely opening the door dropped an anvil on her heart. In the past, the two had shared the double bed that still sat within the room today. It was all exactly the same as the last night Sepulchre slept here - Astrid’s prized bow in its case on the right-side wall, the paintings hung above the bed, the white wool rug lying beneath it.
Today has been tiring; a short nap will do me good, she reasoned. The World Guardian silently crept into the room and laid down on the left side of the bed. Laying on her left side was natural, but more than just fatigue had drawn her here.
A familiar aroma wafted through the air around her. The scent of Astrid’s perfume had, of course, washed away years ago; intense longing and a vivid imagination were the culprits behind her false perception of smell.
With her eyes closed, more than just a scent intruded upon her senses. Warm air grazed her collarbone, just in the way Astrid’s breath had when the two laid together at night, her head resting against her lover’s shoulder. Her right hand was embraced by a soft phantom hand, spreading her fingers apart as they would when interlocked with Astrid’s own.
Each moment that passed, the illusory feelings felt more and more real. Within seconds, Sepulchre could faintly hear the breaths that brushed her skin. Seconds later the slight push of Astrid’s head on her shoulder manifested. Slowly, the fantasy was seeming to become reality.
"Astrid…" she mumbled lovingly, waiting for her delusions to answer. Despite knowing it was not real, there was a large part of her that wanted to stay here forever - to stay with her forever.
Her blissful reverie was shattered by a reprimanding voice from the doorway. “You’re only going to hurt yourself pretending, Jartin.” The voice belonged to Astrid’s father - her own father-in-law - King Vargas. “Astrid would probably put an arrow in you for moping like this over a decade later.”
Opening her eyes took more than physical strength, but eventually she pried them open to meet her father-in-law’s glare. “And it doesn’t do my heart any good to see you like this either,” he added once her gaze locked with his own.
As quietly as she crept in, Sepulchre removed herself from the bed, and ultimately, the bedroom itself. King Vargas closed the door behind her.
“It’s good to see you, Jartin.” The King hugged her, a hug that she weakly reciprocated. “But let’s try to keep the mood happy for today, for her sake,” he pressed.
“Is the feast ready then?” she asked, nodding her head in agreement. “Are all the people of the islands gathered in the square?”
The King’s lips formed a bright smile. “No, Jartin, it’s not just the people of our islands this year - it’s all of us.”
By “all of us”, King Vargas meant all of the Fremennik clans in contact with each other: the Rellekkans (including those at Daemonheim), the Mountaineers, those from Jatizso and Neitiznot, and even the Moon clan. All of them had gathered this year on Miscellania for the biggest Christmas feast in the history of their people.
Her arrival was met with cheers. “Welcome to the party, Jartin Far-strider!” uttered the voice of Manny the Reveller. “You’re just in time for the first round!”
“What are you all doing here?” she asked, looking from Manny to Chieftain Brundt, who was sitting only a few seats away from him.
“It was not my idea,” Brundt revealed, “but we have all sailed here for the purpose of strengthening the bonds between our clans by the means of a banquet.”
King Sorvott spoke up quickly. “The idea was mine. Mawnis thought it would never work, but naturally I have proved him wrong.” he gloated.
Burgher Burowgar growled audibly, but said nothing against his cousin. Given the looks Queen Sigrid shot the two of them, this was likely out of fear she’d bring a beating upon them for arguing.
Host of the feast as he was, it was Vargas’s duty to declare that it had actually begun. With what remained of his family now fully in attendance, he did just that.
Though the World Guardian had not noticed him initially, one ‘Koschei the Deathless’ quietly made himself known to her. I guess even Mahjarrat can be made to celebrate the holidays , she chuckled to herself.
Fish, meat, vegetables, bread, mead and beer all seemed infinite on this night. Every person in attendance, including ‘Jartin’, ate their fill and then some. Once everybody was full (and at least a little bit tipsy), an… interesting proposal was made.
Manny was the one who made this proposal. “Chieftain,” he addressed Brundt with a pint in both hands, “do you remember our old ending to the Christmas feast?” he queried.
Brundt was apprehensive as he answered, “You are referring to the Festive Brawl? I remember it, my father cut it from our celebrations after one of our greatest warriors died from a particularly nasty blow to the skull.”
“Well, how about bringing it back for the year?” Manny continued, “it would be a great way to celebrate the reuniting of our people. It was something that carried on from those old days, after all.”
Many voices of approval echoed out in reply. Much of the agreement was no doubt due to drunkenness, but there was majority backing nonetheless. With a shake of his head, Chieftain Brundt brought the proposal to the other leaders.
“Magic was, of course, forbidden in the Brawl we had.” he pointed out, though the look on the Oneiromancer’s face communicated that her people would not want to participate. “Ultimately it’s up to the individual to take part or not.”
The more it was talked about, the more approval there seemed to be in response. It was only a matter of time before the rulers gave the thumbs-up. Even the Ring of Charos wouldn’t have allowed Jartin to talk her way out of being in the Brawl. Fortunately, she was not the only one being forced into this one - ‘Koschei’ had been strong-armed by the other Rellekkans.
The Brawl nearly started off with over 200 people in the castle courtyard. With the condition of his castle in mind, King Vargas demanded the Brawl be moved to a clearing outside the walls. Once all 200 people had made their way there, he declared the Brawl underway.
Battle cries roared out and forceful grunts came with each swing of swords, axes, hammers, mauls and spears. The clashing of these weapons created a cacophony like none anybody present at the feast had ever heard before.
Defeated warriors dropped to the ground on the battlefield in great numbers, and within ten minutes, the 200 had been thinned down to only three: ‘Koschei the Deathless’, Thok Thokson and Jartin, the World Guardian. Each was holding nothing but a single longsword; Koschei and Thok had their own, Sepulchre wielded King Vargas’s old sword.
“Not surprised you two left with me,” Thok admitted. “You’re strongest warriors Thok know, besides Thok.”
“Aye, this felt inevitable the moment we all put forth our names,” Koschei agreed.
The World Guardian looked between her two remaining opponents. “I don’t suppose we can call this a three-way draw?” she offered, hoping to avoid any cataclysms on Christmas day.
“No!” Thok huffed. “Thok always wanted to fight both of you, now he can beat both of you at once!”
She looked to Koschei, hoping to reason with the man beneath that mask. “Personally, I’d like to see who’s strongest between the three of us as well, Jartin. I’m with Thok,” he said apologetically.
Dammit Kharshai, can we at least try to keep the island in one piece? she complained silently. “You two asked for this,” she declared out loud. All three charged at each other on her last syllable.
The three-person war that followed will likely be sung about in the Rellekkan long hall from now until the End of Things. For over an hour straight, the three warriors fought under moon and torchlight without a single break in the action. King Vargas officially accepted Sepulchre’s three-way draw proposal after they felled a thirtieth tree with a single slice. There was not a single scratch on any of them.
Realizing how late it was getting, ‘Jartin’ called for a toast to another year of glory and survival for the Fremennik people, saying her goodbyes shortly thereafter.
She was really pushing her luck, showing up in the Land of Snow after nightfall. There was a real chance the person she’d come to see was already asleep, and this was supposed to be the fifth straight year she ended Christmas with them.
The worst that can happen is they say no, she decided, so she hopped over the gate and walked up to the door. She gave the door a solid knock.
“I know it’s you, Sepulchre!” exclaimed a young girl’s voice. “Don’t open the door juuuuust yet, I have a surprise for you.”
“I-it’s pretty c-cold out here…” the World Guardian feigned being half-frozen, “are you s-sure I can’t c-come in…?”
“Just hang on ooooone more minute…” the voice replied, sounding very focused. There was a shuffling and a rustling sound from inside. “Okay! You can come inside now!”
The World Guardian very cautiously pushed the door open, inch by inch. She saw nothing, so she stepped inside the house.
“Raaaaaaaaaar!” An adolescent-sized yeti jumped out from behind a barrel and let loose a terrifying roar at her!
That’s how she treated the occurrence, anyway. In truth, Violet’s ‘surprise’ was a very well-crafted Yeti costume, which she was now wearing. “Scared ya, didn’t I?” she giggled.
“That’s an understatement!” the World Guardian said, “I was less scared when I had to fight a god earlier this month!”
Both let out a hearty laugh, which was joined in on by the real yetis in the room - Trevor and Betty had been watching from the stairwell.
Taking a moment to look over Violet more closely, Sepulchre was shocked to see how much the girl had grown. “I swear last year you were still just barely at my stomach,” she recalled, “so please explain how in Guthix’s name you’re almost up to my chest?”
“I’m gonna be 12 next year,” she stated with a shrug. “I’m at an age where I grow fast. Weren’t you the same way?”
“Come to think of it, I suppose I don’t really know…” Sepulchre realized. “But anyway… Merry Christmas, kiddo!” She swiftly scooped Violet up into her arms in a big hug.
“Merry Christmas, Sepulchre!” she said, hugging her. “You wanna go out and play??”
Sepulchre looked over at Trevor and Betty. “It’s already dark out, and today was very cold,” her mother said, “and you were up very early today, Violet.”
“Don’t be like that, dear!” Trevor interjected, “The front yard is very well-lit thanks to all the decorations, and we’ve kept her locked up all day.”
Betty glanced at Violet, whose face was begging for a ‘yes’. She let out a long sigh. “Oh alright,” she conceded. “But I want you back inside in an hour, do you understand?”
“Fiiiiineeee,” Violet groaned, dragging the World Guardian back out the front door.
‘Cold’ didn’t even begin to describe the weather outside. Only being outside for a few minutes before, Sepulchre did not realize how truly freezing cold it was. Within ten minutes she was forced to ‘go vampyre’ as Violet calls it, just to keep herself warm. One might wonder if Violet was torturing her when she suggested making snow angels mere minutes later.
Needless to say that didn’t last long, but at least the snowmen turned out nicely. They’ll probably be standing until next year, the way things are here in the Land of Snow. Betty opened the door and called them back inside just as they were finishing the fourth one. Naturally, Violet had wanted to make five of them.
After the two sat by the fireplace with some hot cocoa, Violet snuck into her room and brought out their favourite game: Luncheons & Flagons (5th edition, of course).
“I think it’s a little late to start up a one-shot, Violet,” Sepulchre commented. “You know how these things go: we think it will only take an hour or two, and then six hours later…”
Violet shook her head and placed the box where everything was kept down on the floor. “Nuh-uh,” she protested, “this one is only supposed to take half an hour, which means it should only last about two hours!”
Sepulchre couldn’t help but laugh, though in all fairness, it wasn’t entirely a joke. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Do you have a character for me?”
“You can use that same rogue teacher lady you used last time. I liked her.”
“Oh good, so did I!”
Violet jumped right into the game, “So you wake up in a long hallway, the first thing you see is a poem on the floor…”
Four long hours later, their game of L&F finally came to an end. Whatever this dungeon was, it was very difficult. Even the World Guardian had trouble discerning what exactly that poem meant most of the time, and it was the answer to the entire dungeon!
“And you escape with the Lich’s treasure!” Violet announced gleefully. “I can’t believe you did it! I had all my friends do this map together and they couldn’t figure it out! You really are a genius, Sepulchre. No wonder you’re such a famous hero.”
Sepulchre shook her head with a smile. “I’m not that smart, and I’m not that famous,” she insisted. At least half of it was true, in her opinion.
Violet was going to respond, but instead she let out a big yawn. Glancing at the clock, Sepulchre noticed it was less than half an hour until midnight. “Violet, wasn’t your bedtime almost two hours ago?”
Violet shook her head. “I don’t have a bedtime on Christmas,” she protested sleepily.
“Oh is that right?” Betty’s voice rang from behind their bedroom door across the sitting room. “I think I’d have to disagree, young lady. Sepulchre is right about it being well past your bedtime.”
Again, Violet was about to protest, but another yawn came instead. The World Guardian took the opportunity to scoop her up once more. Rather than hugging her young friend, she cradled her as you would a much younger child, carrying her into her bedroom.
Very slowly and carefully, she lowered Violet into her bed. She really must have woken up early, because she was already more than half-asleep. Sepulchre pulled the covers over Violet, who mumbled ‘Merry Christmas’ one last time before drifting off to sleep.
“Thank you for coming again this year,” Trevor’s voice came from the doorway back to the main room. “It means so much to her to have seen you every year for the past four. Though I’m afraid time with just Betty and I is a no-go this year.”
The World Guardian looked at the clock - 10 minutes until midnight. “That’s probably for the best. Last year I fell asleep here around this time anyway,” she recalled. “I promised myself I’d be home before midnight this year.”
Trevor also glanced at the clock. “Ooh, you’re cutting it close then. How far away is your home?”
She pulled the Subtle Blade off her belt. “One swing away,” she said. “It opens portals, I can direct it by focusing hard enough.”
“Well, I don’t suppose you have any spares?” he asked, half-joking.
“One-of-a-kind, I’m afraid.”
“What a shame. Violet could see her friends in town any time she wanted,” he commented. “Then again, she’s likely to become an adventurer like you in a few years regardless, so she wouldn’t need it for long.”
Sepulchre broke eye contact. “And you’re okay with that?” she questioned.
“I’ve accepted it…” he sighed. “Neither of us blame you, for the record. We’re glad she has a role model to look up to, and we’re glad it’s you.”
Still she could not look at him. “I should get going. Merry Christmas, Trevor.” She raised her blade in the air and very quickly slashed down.
“I left your presents on the table,” she turned back to him with a smile. “Try not to use them up too quickly, alright?”
“No promises,” he chuckled as she stepped through the portal.
Normally, she’d open the portal to the porch or the front yard, but tonight she was feeling decidedly worn out, opting to step directly into her bedroom. It knocked her out of her weary state to see Alathazdrar waiting for her.
“Eleven-fifty-four,” he said proudly. “You made it home with five minutes to spare, mistress. That dagger might be the most brilliant invention in history.”
The World Guardian looked down to the Subtle Blade in her hand. “I suppose it might be,” she agreed. “Did you enjoy your holiday alone, ‘Thaz?”
“Oh I had a very relaxing time admiring the garden and cleaning your laboratory. When I was done, I took the opportunity to read the draft of your ‘Vampyre Compendium’.”
“I forgot I left that lying around,” she admitted. “Thank you for cleaning the herb lab, I’d been meaning to do it myself, but…”
“Is it not what you hired me for?” Alathazdrar pointed out. “I hope you found your day as enjoyable as I have.”
A yawn of her own gave her butler a good idea of how much she had done today. “I did, actually. Gift-giving all around, friendly faces, an unexpected brawl among the Fremenniks to work off all the food I had at dinner, building snowmen.” the World Guardian let out a happy sigh. “Today was certainly enjoyable.”
He nodded his head, glad to hear she’d enjoyed herself. “So this day has lived up to its title, then? ‘The Most Wonderful Day of the Year’, I believe they call it?”
“Yeah, ‘Thaz,” she said with a warm smile. “I believe it has.”