I wrote this years ago for our Warhammer FRP group. Happy Solstice!
‘Twas the night before Sigmarsmass, and in Bogenhafen
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Skaven;
Our pistols were primed and blades close to hands,
On the chance we’d be assaulted by a band of brigands.
The halflings were tucked in, warm bricks by their feet,
Dreaming of pies filled with questionable meat;
The dwarves and I were enjoying some cheer,
Tapping into our second keg of weiss beer,
When out on the street there arose such a ruckus,
I rose from my chair to see what all the fuss was.
I staggered to the window with torch in hand,
Pushed open the shutters; cast about with my brand.
The Chaos Moon’s light on the new-fallen snow,
Cast a lurid red glimmer to objects below,
When what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a skull-covered sleigh pulled by tentacled, man-eating deer,
With a little old driver, so covered in puss,
I nearly heaved all that I had in my guts.
Quicker than fleeing halflings his vile beasts they came,
And he wheezed and he screamed and he called them by name;
“Now, Slasher! Now, Gasher! Now Puker and Nixon!
On, Vomit! On, Putrid! On, Dahmer and Blitz ’em!”
To the top of the inn! To the top of the hall!
Now run away screaming! Run away all!”
Like an agitator’s tract, spouting lofty ideals,
They slithered up the walls like blasphemous eels,
On the inn’s roof came this villainous crew,
Pulling a sleigh of corruption and a nurgling too.
And then, with revulsion, I heard on the roof,
The scraping and clawing of each foul hoof.
As I reeled from the window and stumbled around,
Down the chimney a mutant came with a bound.
He was dressed all in rags, he sure was no Duke,
And his clothes were all sticky and covered with puke;
A bag full of filth was slung over his hunch,
And staring at him I thought I’d lose my lunch.
His eyes — filled with madness! His pimples how scary!
His cheeks were all pock-marked, his warts were all hairy!
His vile little mouth was all covered in sores,
And his nose was replaced with the snout of a boar’s;
Blackened and foul were the pegs he called teeth,
And flies encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a foul face and his body was wracked,
He looked like two tom cats fighting in a sack.
Emaciated and pale, worse than an elf,
And I shuddered when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A mad gleam in his eye and the horns on his head,
Soon filled my poor heart with most piteous dread;
He cackled and gibbered as he rolled on the ground,
Befouling our beer as he cast filth around,
And with the aid of his claws and prehensile toes,
And cursing out loud, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, his whip gave out cracks,
And away the beasts flew while he bloodied their backs.
But I heard him scream madly, ere he drove out of sight,
“Putrescence to all, and I send you my spite.”