• Twas the Day After Christmas. 1992
• Twas the Day Before Christmas.  2001, Diablo-themed
• Notes on both stories. March 28, 2002

was the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
a strange creature was stirring, one much worse than a mouse.

It crept through the window, it sneaked up the stairs,
there was sweat running off it, off its filthy black hairs.

It paused in the hallway, and sniffed the still air,
the kids smelled like sugar, hot blood it craved, theirs!

While ma in her nighty and paw in his booze
were so deeply asleep it was more than a snooze,
the thing in the hallway was turning around,
for it'd heard something in the chimney give quite a bound.

And there on the bricks, embers scorching his suit, was a fat little demi-god with a sack full of loot!

His beard was like snow, white, heavy and cold, and he was covered in leather, from his head to his toes.

His chains they did jingle, his spikes they did shine,
and the thing on the steps knew this was far from fine.

What a battle they joined, on the living room floor,
the one fighting for meat, used his tusks like a boar.

His thrusts were they answered, and ever so quick,
for the one seeking souls met the ivory with brick.

The hunger it burned, so strongly so bright,
that primal urge quite overcame fright.

The beastie did leap, claws bent to the task,
of opening Santa like a cork from a flask.

"What ho there you hellion," spoke the old one in black,
"It's clear you're determined, though brains you do lack.
I propose a deal, I offer a truce,
I'd like us to sit down, in front of this spruce."

The monster did stutter, bent brain to the task,
of figuring the words that'd been spoken last.

Quite put off the chase, it sank to the ground,
and blinked evil red eyes, smoke wreathing its crown.

The elf he did speak, taking seldom a break,
pausing only to load the pipe, the tobacco he'd rake.

His words they were clever, his meanings were true,
the beast agreed completely, it knew what to do.

Then up they did fly, up the stairs with a bound,
into the boys' room, there they gathered around.

The bed they stood over, and each took their prize,
old Santa the soul, and the beastie the eyes.

Then fly down the stairs, each out their own door,
in search of Christmas goodies, for there's plenty more.

Now if you can listen, and cock your good ear,
the screams of hell's torment you clearly will hear.

For all is not calm and all is not bright,
and all is not good on this dark evil night.

Two foul marauders are running around,
leaving trails of sorrow on the cold white ground.

was the day before Christmas, and deep in the Hells,
one poor demon was stirring, (try to ignore the smells).

"Oh dear!" moaned the demon, called Taark by his friends,
as he paced to and fro in his festering den.

"Tomorrow is Christmas, a day for sweet gifts,
but I've nary a present, that might mend her rift.
Andariel grieves, I must heal her pain,
but just how to do it won't land in my brain!"

The demon fell silent, and continued to pace,
his mind all astir, his thoughts in a race.
For two months now, (and the days dragged in Hell)
the Maiden of Anguish had moped 'round her cell.

She'd been on the surface, in the cruel mortal realm,
corrupting rogues, sowing destruction, and sporting a helm.
Then humans had come, adventurers they said,
and battled her forces, leaving most of them dead.
The Queen had gone forth, from her deep dungeon lair,
and slain all but one, save a Paladin who had no Prayer.

The battle was won, surely she'd thought,
but the Paladin was fierce, how he had fought!
Andy's claws and poison bore down on the knight,
but he'd had resistance enough, to stave off her blight.
Their battle had raged, all through Catacombs four,
til shocking to all, the Queen lay dead on the floor!
All since her defeat she'd been in a stew,
muttering and cursing and giving her fate rue.

Poor Taark sat alone, turmoil in his head,
while thoughts of Andy made his black heart pulse red!
He must win her love, with the queen he was smitten,
but her favors were not bought with a +10 (to all) mitten!

Taark was not alone, in his pre-Christmas wish;
there were others demons craving that poisonous dish.
His gift must out do them, it must leave no doubt,
it must sparkle and shine to end Andy's pout.

Items and treasures she had galore.
Chests of gold, jewels, tiaras, and so many more.
Taark also had trinkets, of surpassing wealth,
but to her they'd be nothing, a toast to her health.

A dark ritual, perhaps a sacrifice to her wonder?
A foolish idea, a pathetic blunder.
Any demon's sharp claw, could spill the blood of a steer,
but at such a meek effort, Andariel would sneer.

Perhaps take the ritual to extreme heights,
and slaughter some virgins with the swords of dark knights?
Taark thought even that would fail to impress,
the Queen was mighty, a true demoness.

With such desperate thoughts, Taark fell into despair.
He desired her stingers, black hooves, crimson hair.
He was no mere demon, no squatting scab-picker,
Succubi left him cold, his breath came no quicker.
Taark stood tall and proud, his shoulders were wide,
he commanded legions in battle, and sat at Belial's side.
He oozed foul pitch that stank of brimstone,
the merest scent of which drove witches to moan.

Then at last a notion came into his brain,
a gift to give, that would ease her pain!
He whirled to his cupboard, and snatched up some things,
then ran for the stairs, he'd have flown had he still wings.

To the gateways he strode, pushing demons aside,
he would travel alone, on this grim, fateful ride.
The burning red portal, it set him aflame,
but through it he leapt, scarcely feeling the pain. 

The mortal realm he had entered, for the first time in years,
but he dared not here linger, he'd brought none of his peers.
Alone into the world few demons dared venture,
but Taark had a purpose, he would feel Andy's pincher!

Sneaking in shadow, shrouded in fog,
Taark crept to the building and sniffed for a dog.
Humans were weak, their senses were dull,
but canines were feared, they could not be lulled.
Taark's luck held, still was the night,
he scented the air, chance favored his plight.

He'd come to the halls of his enemy true,
the mighty Paladins, demons they slew.
But all were now sleeping, and dreaming of Light,
secure in their beds, weak in the night.

On tiptoes, through high windows, did Taark's eyes peer,
but darkness and empty rooms were all that met his leer.
The second story was much the same,
where were Paladins, those warriors of fame?
He stood on his toes, peeked into the third,
and here was his jackpot, there were dozens, my word!

He'd found a night chamber, lined with single beds,
they were ripe for slaughter, man-sausage with heads.
Taark readied his sack, it was made of chain mail,
then smashed in the wall, his fist moved without fail.
He grabbed up a soldier, along with his bed,
and stuffed both in the sack, with a knock to the head.
The crash of his entry was loud and met shouts,
but faster was Taark, snatching a second one out.
He reached for a third, and caught one by the toe,
as men leapt from their beds, swords ready to go.

Taark's sack was half full, he'd room for two more,
but he could not reach a one, they'd pulled back to the door.
The twenty men left in the barracks were ready,
all had swords and shields, their hands were quite steady.
Auras did glow beneath their stockinged feet,
and within their compound hundreds more ran to greet.

Taark wanted a fourth, but he'd no time to waste,
the night was alive, he'd have to make haste.
There were portals to Hell, but few found in this land,
he'd travel all night, to keep ahead of the clan.
To return to Hell was not nearly enough,
he must make it by Christmas, he'd a stocking to stuff.

The next day was hot, in the bowels of Hell.
Andariel sat despondent, her sorrow a well.
More gold, more jewels, a tiara or two,
and of course nipple clamps, in every hue.
Had none of these demons, one ounce of wit?
Their gifts were all garbage, junk, crap and sh....

Her thoughts were broken by a monster at the door,
he held a sack that dripped blood, and cries of war.
Andariel's eyes drank in the sight of the beast,
he was massive, a demon, Mephisto's size, at least!
Black glittered his scales, with horns of pure red,
and Andy wondered how he'd be in bed.

"My queen," said the demon, "I bring you rare treats!
Presents they are, fine tasty meats."

At a nod of her head, towards her he strode,
the bag held before him, what could be its load?
Andariel watched, daring to hope,
as a huge clawed hand emerged, clenching a rope.
The demon's arm lifted higher, and revealed a man,
nearly naked, bruised and bloody, he kicked like a fan.

"No mere human," spoke Taark , "Do I bring you this day.
For know this is a Paladin, back him you can pay!"

At his stirring words, Andy clopped forward a step,
her eyes were ablaze, her spirits had leapt.
Here was vengeance for her, to erase her defeat!
And two more still were there, in the sack at her feet!

The laughter that came from her throat at that thought,
echoed all through the Hells, toothy grins it brought.
For all of the demons, wished Andariel well,
on this day of gift giving, they knew all would be well.

The xmas rhyme is from 1992, written for my own amusement, and probably shared with some people in my college writing classes, my hopefully-scandalized parents, and perhaps even a GF, if I had one at the time (and she didn't overlap #1).  I had forgotten it existed, and only found it now in March 2002 while sorting old stories to add worthy ones to this site.

It's nothing special, sort of amusing and of course evil.  I delighted in that sort of thing on happy fun family love holiday like Xmas, back in my youth.  Actually I still do, but let's overlook that character flaw.  The rhyming works pretty well, and I laughed a few times reading it now.  "truce" and "spruce" is a good one.

Quite put off the chase, it sank to the ground,
and blinked evil red eyes, smoke wreathing its crown.

I think I meant that to be the demon's brain smoking, not Santa's pipe, which is mentioned in the next couplet. I also just changed it from "four eyes" to "evil red eyes", which sounded like it was wearing glasses, when I meant it to be some weirdly-mutated beast.

I fixed a couple of typos on it and added or removed a syllable from several lines to help it flow, but 99% of it is original from 10 years ago.

_____________________

The Diablo-themed one was done for the d2 site, Xmas 2001.  It's a bit long, but does tell a semi-interesting story with reasonable alacrity.  There are a few extra syllables in the couplets, but I can't be arsed to go back and edit it any further now.  If you don't know the game at all, you'll wonder at a few things.

Andariel is the first act boss you face in D2, and she's a huge, naked woman thing, with nipple clamps, a g-string, red hair that stands straight up, four pincher arms like a scorpion, legs like a horse from the knee down.  You see a shot of here here from the original Blizzard artwork. She is described somewhat in the story as Taark thinks of her.

Andariel, or Andy to her friends (which I often used in the story for number of syllable reasons)

In the game she is of course killed and dies in a pillar of flame, and this Xmas poem is set sort of during the game, with her back in hell after her defeat.  Taark and the rest of it is all my own creative license, though the demons in the game are described as living in hell, though they don't really go into their actual cave-set ups.

Anyway, this should be enough that you can figure what Taark is talking about when he's thinking of feeling Andariel's pinchers and such.  My recollection was that she has horse hooves for feet, 

At his stirring words, Andy clopped forward a step,
her eyes were ablaze, her spirits had leapt.

hence the "clopped" verb, and I think she does in the game, but in the concept art here she's got like chicken feet.  Click the pic for the full size version.

Here is the initial version of this story, which I abandoned after half an hour or so, when it was just not going where I wanted it to.  I wanted to do something special and quick for Xmas, lighter in tone, not a normal short story, so I turned this opening concept into the rhyme you see above.

First effort, pre-ryhming.  bleh, plot synopsis sorta.

Yes, Andariel, the demon queen, the Maiden of Anguish, recently returned from the mortal realm, and in a foul mood about her banishment at the hands of some human adventurers.

"Blasted Barbarians!" she had sworn to them all. "Damned Sorceresses and Amazons!"  Andariel stalked through the caverns of hell, hordes of demons trailing her, hopping and limping and flapping along over head, all crowding to hear what had gone wrong.  "I had the Rogues' Monastery in my grasp, the rogues were my servants, and monsters roamed the lands.  But human adventurers banded together and they were too strong, they killed my servants, and they drove me back to this hell.  Burn them all!  Away with you demons, I will be alone!"  She said as she vanished into her private chambers.

Krogg had been trailing close behind her that day, captivated as always by the shine of scales on her four pinchers, the burning red of her hair, the blackened hooves that sparked on the sulfurous ground with every angry stride.  She was perfection!  He halted at the entrance to her caves, not daring to enter.

That day was over a month past, and Andariel's mood had not mellowed a bit, even after the arrivals in Hell of a similarly defeated Duriel and Mephisto.  There were rumors that some mortals had even entered the Hells and defeated Diablo in his lair, but most thought that impossible.  Baal was known to be roaming the mortal plane, and Krogg was sure the Lord of Destruction would triumph, but such distant events were of no importance to him, when his every thought was consumed by Andariel's beauty.

Her scales, her hooves, her massive, clawed hands, her insectile pincers.  That the rest of her body was covered in flesh much like a human's only emphasized the perfection of her demonic features.  To see those feral, burning eyes turned upon his own was Krogg's fondest desire.  He was large for a demon, more than twice the height of a typical human, and covered head to toe in dark gray scales, with horns of the deepest red.  He knew he was a proud figure of a monster, strong, broad-shouldered, rich in combat skills and arcane magicks, a general in Belial's hordes, but how could even a leader among demons such as himself hope to attract the perfection in form that was Andariel?  He even exuded a constant drip of stinking slime from glands on his chest,  a most desirable trait, but he dared not hope that his physical traits would woo the demon queen.

The key was a magnificent present, Krogg had long since concluded.  The day of giving was tomorrow, and Andariel would have no shortage of admirers, showing her with presents.  His had to be the best!  Andariel would notice him then, perhaps even drive one of her pincers into his flesh in gratitude. Krogg craved the touch of her rancid poison as he desired nothing else on earth.

Treasure?  He had considered it many times, but always ruled it out. Andariel could claim all the gold and jewels and magical items she liked from the mortal realm, or have them made for her in the Hells.  There was nothing so fine that she would pay it any attention.

Sacrifices?  Some of the demons loved nothing more than seeing countless of mortals, animals and humans, slaughtered.  Krogg knew he could gut a dozen goats and have his pick of the Succubi princesses any any time, but would such simple offering impress Andariel?  He thought not.

Dark rituals?  Krogg knew of several such ceremonies, séances that would call forth demons from the past, or from other planes, binding them to his will for the duration of the spells used to summon them.  He could give Andariel a four-headed Gikkabahbak to command, or one of the the floating, decapitated head of one of the fabled Kurakarok kings, rulers of a distant dimension.  Surely that would impress her?

Krogg wasn't sure though, if he gave too much, too many presents, would she suspect him, think his devotion was artifice to wheedle a place near her, from which he might steal her powers?  The Hells were full of flatters and sly demons who liked nothing better than to attach themselves to another demon and bleed them dry of secrets.  

he decides to get her adventerours, the ones who defeated her, and must enter the mortal realm to get them.  what then?  success?  probably skip to him entering with them sealed up in a bone box or something, describe their tortured forms from hsi PoV, hoping they look good, while the reader sees how horribly mangedl they are.  maybe get some annoyign npc in there at the time, for an in-joke?   how does it end, andariel knocking krogg's head off cleanly?  love?  humans do not interfere, they are properly helpless and pathetic in hell.

Note to myself upon reading this the next day: What happened to the light, joking, semi-rhyming nature of this though?  Have to see how the tone goes, it's not meant to be a normal story, more of a lark, poetic somewhat.

After this I used the plot idea, and turned it into the rhyme you see above; for better or worse.

I got a few, "funny poem" mails about the D2 one after posting it, but not many, and didn't save any.  I'm not entirely happy with it, but it was done the evening of the 24th, to be posted immediately, so there wasn't a lot of time to evaluate and proof read, etc. And I got lazy about it, not sweating if any couplet was a syllable too long or short.

I didn't really expect a bunch of feedback on silly poems posted Xmas eve; it's not exactly the biggest surfing time for websites.

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