Twas the Night before Ravenmas

Twas the night before Ravenmas, when all through the fortress
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Skaven.
The skulls were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Tzeentch soon would be there

The Marauders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of flaying skin of Witch Hunters danced in their heads.
And my concubine in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our weapons for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny vulture demons.

With a little old demon, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Tzeentch.
More rapid than ravens his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Kresuc! now, Korak’in! now, Bloodspatter and Vilegore!
On, Crusher! On, Callous! on, on Deathmonger and Bonesmahser!
To the top of the keep! to the top of the wall!
Now slay away! slay away! slay away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the keep-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of heads, and Tzeentch too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little talon.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Tzeentch came with a bound.

He was dressed all in feathers, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with blood and soot.
A bundle of severed heads he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they shined with evil! his dimples how scary!
His cheeks were pale like the moon, his nose like a beak!
His droll little mouth formed an evil grin.
And the beard of his chin was as black as midnight.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his blackened teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a Orc Fire.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of dead carcass!

He was mean, and foul, a right evil old elf,
And I cackled when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A glare of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with skulls, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Ravenmas to all, and Order you must kill them all!”


One Response to “Twas the Night before Ravenmas”

  1. Pure win.

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