You enter the story room (Patreon)

this week to see Adler nervously packing a suitcase.

"Ah, good evening," he mutters as he crams large wads of green satin into the case. "I know you're itching to hear how the Folly-La Gang and I got out of that frightful situation in the ruins of Albric Tor, but unfortunately your lowfolk Thanksgiving is this week, which heralds the start of the accursed Kringlemas season. Normally at this time I pack up and appoint a substitute story-teller to regale my audience with tales from my thrilling autobiography during my absence, but this winter I wasn't sure what to do. The events of last year's holiday have me second-guessing myself. Instead of forcing me to slave away in his festive toy mills, the Kringle actually rewarded me with a very fine wiener whistle for being good enough to get on his Nice list. However, he made it quite clear that my fate THIS winter would depend on my moral performance during the intervening year - in other words, whether I had been Naughty or Nice. I have been on my best behavior (most of the time), but everyone slips up now and again. How in Fuma’s name is anyone supposed to know whether he's been truly good or bad? We don't even know for sure what the standards are! Fuma, for example, allows and even encourages things which I'm sure would earn the Kringle's stern disapproval. Obviously I would rather not cower all month in a dank, uncomfortable hiding place if I don’t have to, but I'm just not sure it’s worth the risk. Hm… Since you're here, why not make yourselves useful for a change, and help me decide. Should I head for the hills or stay- What on earth?”

Adler is interrupted by an icy wind blowing down the chimney. Glittering snowflakes in the colors of white, red, and green dance festively across the room. Suddenly, the wind reverses, pulling Adler towards the fireplace in a powerful vacuum.

“It’s not December yet!" the skunk-elf shrieks in panic. "I still have time!” He grabs his suitcase in a futile grip, but the suction from the fireplace pulls him along, bag and all. “No! NO!! I was good this year! I was good this year, I SWEAR!!! An elf-swear counts for-”

In a dance of glittering ice and sugar crystals, Adler is pulled up the chimney and vanishes without a trace.

Before you can react, the door opens and a mink femme in a very minimalist Santa outfit steps into the room. "Cor," she says uncertainly as she looks around. "Is this the right place? Come read Christmas stories to a room full of simpletons, the advert said. Good pay, free drinks. Looks like you've already started the party. Ooh pog, is this what I'm supposed to read?"

She bends over very slowly and picks up a red-and-white striped book from amid the festive debris scattered across the floor.

PREV www.patreon.com/posts/143822766