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Joined: Fri Oct 31, 2003 7:52 am
Posts: 10348
Location: Malta
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WEDNESDAY 24/12/2003
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Alaitoc
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Knarloc*;
The cruisers were hung from the craftworld with care,
In hopes that the Avatar soon would be there;
The guardians were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of shurikens danced in their heads;
And Wraithguard in wraithbone, and Warlock in runes,
Had just settled down under Lileath?s moons,
When out on the launch pad there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the wraithbunk to see what was the matter.
Away to the porthole I sped with a whistle,
Tore open the scuttles and armed a cruise miss?l.
The moon on the rim of the craftworld?s long bow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Nightwing, and eight Shining Spear,
With a little old driver, a lively grand-dad,
I knew in a moment it must be Eldrad.
More rapid than eagles his war machines came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, PHOENIX! now, WARLOCK! now, PHANTOM and REVEN?NT!
On, COBRA! on SCORPION! On GREAT HAWK, and SERPENT!
To the top of the tower! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As mon-keigh that before the wild shurikens fly,
When they meet with the Eldar, get blown to the sky,
So up to the craftworld the cruisers they flew,
Nightwing full of runestones, and old Eldrad too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The crushing and crashing of each Titan?s hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the wraithbone old Eldrad came with a bound.
He was dressed all in runes, from his head to his foot,
His clothes were all tarnished by heavy flamers? soot;
A bundle of runestones he had flung on his back,
And he looked a doom-peddler delivering flak.
His eyes - how they crinkled! His bright runes how merry!
His cheeks like dried raisins, his nose a blueberry!
His smug little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the point of his chin sharp as a cruiser?s prow;
The stump of a bonepipe he held in his false teeth,
And the wraithsmoke encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a thin face and was missing a belly,
He scowled and he grimaced like Demiurg in a melee.
He was skinny and glum, a right buggery elf,
And I laughed in hysterics, in spite of myself;
A blink of his eye and a shake of his head,
Soon gave me to know that I had loads to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And threw all the runestones; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his runestaff aside of his nose,
And foreseeing doom, up the wraithbone he rose;
He sprang to his Nightwing, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD FIGHT!"
*c/o Ring-Ling Bros. Bar-Num and Bey-Li Kroot, of the Kroot Winter Circus touring the craftworld Alaitoc ('Knarlocs on Ice' Troupe)
With sincere apologies to you all for the lack of diary work , and in particular to Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828)
cheers 
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Back from oblivion (again)?
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) not much Epic. 
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Great Work!
