Annual Christmas Story for my Kid-let

I need a Christmas icon for this sort of thing…

Anyway, I asked my son what kind of Christmas story he wanted me to write for him this year, and he said he wanted a D&D story. Hunnybun popped off with "Christmas in the Dungeon!" and laughed. Little did he know, my muse liked it enough she ran with it. I think Kid-let will like it, but he has to wait until Yule, because I'm mean that way.

Here's the first bit. If you like it, ask nicely and I'll send it to you as a present. 😉

The wrinkled man tilted his head to the tavern ceiling and upended his ale mug into his mouth. He gave a pleasured sigh and wiped his lips. “It is said that whosoever bests the great Sorcerer Kringle at the top of the Tower of Yule, gains their greatest desire,” the drunk old man slurred.
“Yes, yes,” the brown cloaked little thief leaned forward said, “that is why we came to you, Ancient. They say you reached the top of that tower in your youth.”
“In my youth,” the old man repeated, “In my youth.” He chuckled and a tear came to the corner of his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeves. He nodded, and said, “But youth does not know what to ask for, does it?”
From the smoky shadows behind the thief, the arm of a heavily armored female half-orc tapped the thief on the shoulder, almost knocking him off the stool onto the table between him and the old man. “Stop wasting time, Car!” she ordered, “Ask him what defenses the bloody tower has!”
Car rubbed his shoulder while the old man smirked at him, amused. The thief narrowed his eyes as if planning petty revenge on the half-orc later. He straightened his cloak around himself, and opened his mouth again to speak, but another voice from behind him spoke first.
“Honored Ancient,” a grey robed broad shouldered man placed his meaty hand on the table and leaned forward onto it. The old man saw the pendant swing out of the cloak. It was the symbol of a cat’s head. The old man’s narrowed eyes met the eyes of Bast’s cleric.
“And what do you want, hedonist?” the old man demanded, “This town worships Flagellanti. We have no need for your temptations.”
The cleric jerked back quickly for such a large man. “I am not here to convert new worshippers,” he gruffed, “only information.”
“Best to keep it that way,” the old man said, and returned his attention to the brown thief.
“You want to know about the tower, ey?” he asked, “The secret isn’t as easy as that.”
“We have gold,” Car said.
“Bah!” the old man said, and waved his hand dismissively at him. “I have gold. What I don’t have you can’t give me.”
“What might that be?” a third voice came from the only other chair at the table. The old man could tell with ease the man seated to his left with strawberry blonde hair was a wild mage, no matter his common as mud travel clothes.
“My wife. My love,” the old man said, “Clarissia.”
“I can’t bring back the dead,” the burly cleric said and shook his head sadly.
“I can give you a dream of her,” the wild mage said, “If you can answer our questions.”
The old man looked into his empty cup for a moment and said, “Agreed.”


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