Twas the Night Before Questmas

‘Twas the night before Questmas, when all through the city,

Not a creature was stirring; no Move was a pity.

The weapons were stacked by the main gate with care,

In hopes that a Questing would soon depart there.

The stabbers were nestled all snug in their bunks,

While in their heads danced visions of skewered punks,

And the Chief in her shawl, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a pre-Questmas nap -

When out by the Outer Walls such a racket took place,

I sprang from the bed to see who had entered the airspace.

Away to the window I ran like a flash,

Ordered open the windows, did the same to the sash.

The moon overhead with its shine white as snow,

Illuminated clearly the units below.

An octet of equines, with screws as their horns,

And a sofa with runners, pulled by Screwed Unicorns,

With a hefty old driver, so languid and lounging,

I knew in a moment it must be Sofa King.

Faster than Double Eagles his units they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and Ordered by name:

“Now, Socket! Now, Slotted! Now, Torx and Robertson!

“On, Allen! On, One Way! On, Phillips and Frearson!

“To the top of the courtyard! To the top of the tower!

“Now dash away, dash away, dash away, with power!”

As croaked leaves within a windy hex fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, lift to the sky;

So up to the tower-top the units they flew,

With a Ruler-loaded sofa colored purple(or blue?)

And then in a twinkling, I felt them touch down!

“They’ve entered the garrison!” I thought, with a frown.

As I turned from the window, and looked at the fire,

The Sofa King smothered it, then stood with some ire.

He brushed off his furs, from his head to his foot,

Trying to get off all the ashes and soot.

A bundle of weapons was flung on his back;

He looked like he had enough for a stack.

His eyes - how they glared! His mouth formed a frown.

He sniffed, and adjusted his Derriere Crown.

His cheeks were hidden by huge sideburns of grey,

Which connected with his mustache in a feline sort of way.

His double chin was clean-shaven, as was his throat,

And his orange raiment was stretched by containing his bloat.

He had a broad face, and a substantial girth,

Which shook like jelly with his rueful mirth.

He was chubby and plump, in Signamantic decay,

Or perhaps he just Sofa King popped that way.

His lack of a stack and unglorified entry

Calmed me enough to send my troops back to sentry.

At my query, he defended his entry Sofa King well,

By the end of it I thought his errand quite swell.

My Side gained good weapons for Questmas next day,

And I promised to help in a Sofa King fray.

Carried back to his sofa, he gave a great sigh,

And said, ere they flew into the night sky,  

“Screwed Unicorns have Move day AND night, which is new,

“But I wouldn’t mount one, and that’s Sofa King true!”

 

Inspired by comments made by Bandaid and Menche in the Erfworld IRC channelCrivens' recently published Questmas storyOmnimancer's equally awesome start to the Questmas idea, and of course by cloudbreaker's artwork, which I heavily referenced and hope to generate a thumbnail from as soon as I have permission, as well as my own Sofa King silly idea, even though I had no intention of going in this direction with it until working too long on Christmas.