Author's Note: I actually wrote this for the Dark Library Christmas fic contest, but wasn't allowed to send it in. Damn. Just found it again, after three months. Oh, yeah- in this one the Necromancer isn't an old man, he's just very very very blonde. 'Kay?
Disclaimer: Diablo II characters and concepts aren't mine.
----------------------------------------------------
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
"A toast, then!" the Barbarian proclaimed, raising a tankard the size of a bucket. "To Christmas!"
"To Christmas!" the others echoed.
"Ta Krishmash!" a sauced Sorceress agreed, managing on her third try to get the drink in her mouth. "Merry Krishmash an' happy Eashter! I luv ya, guysh!"
"I think somebody's had enough mead," Paladin said matter-of-factly.
"No way!" the Sorceress giggled, reaching for her glass again- and again- and again- and again-
"Enough." Paladin repeated. Reaching over, he retrieved the jug in front of her. "Besides, it's my turn."
Assassin snickered into her hand. "Some Christmas party," she said. "It's twenty below outside and everybody's getting drunk. Is this what the holidays always entail?"
"Naaah," the Barbarian drawled, draping an arm over her shoulder. "Sometimes we actually, you know, do stuff. As in, stuff."
"Stuff it up your-" Assassin started, but was cut off by the Druid.
"Pray, no arguments." he said pointedly. "It is Christmas Eve. Can we not hold off killing each other until Boxing Day?"
Assassin and Barbarian looked at each other. Each weighed the situation silently. One one hand, killing the other would be fun. On the other, they'd get in major trouble with a Paladin, a Druid, a Sorceress (if she could remember how to aim), a Necromancer (who had just hit upon the marvelous concept of an Alcohol Golem) and an Amazon. Then they looked back at each other. They nodded in silent agreement.
It took all five of their companions to keep them from demolishing the Inn.
Midnight . . .
Assassin rolled over on her cot. Her eyes were heavy, but for some reason, she couldn't get to sleep. Maybe it was long-time habits of vigilance, maybe her subconscious sensed a hostile dark wizard in the area, maybe it was the fifteen Stamina potions, but Assassin just couldn't sleep.
I left my pack downstairs in the bar, she thought to herself, sitting up and wiping her eyes. Maybe I have a potion that can help. Or I can just whack myself with a gemmed club.
Pulling on a seductive ensemble of black silk robe and fuzzy bunny slippers, the Assassin groped her way downstairs.
In the bar, Assassin stopped and looked around. It was just the same as it had been before- small and dim, with the smell of a mens' privy that hasn't been cleaned since Tal Rasha's imprisonment. The table they had been sitting at was covered with bottles- as well as covered with the Necromancer, the Sorceress, and various pieces of Necromancer and Sorceress clothing. Repressing the urge to snicker evilly, the Assassin gently tugged her bag out from under a discarded Eagle Orb and started rummaging through it. Greater Rejuvenation potion . . . no. Stamina potion . . . been there, done that. Death Claw Katar with socketed 'Ist' . . . good for suicide, not good for insomnia. Shrugging, she dropped the pack. Maybe she could just run headlong into a wall or something.
These cheerful thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.
The Assassin jumped and quickly produced a series of eloquent phrases pertaining to the perpetrator's family and moral character. This was answered by a second crash.
"The roof!" she whispered to herself. "Somebody's on the roof!" For once displaying brainpower, the Assassin faded into the shadows and settled down to await development.
Across the bar, something rattled heavily on the stones and mortar of the chimney. There was a series of clunks, accompanied by scuffling noises and heavy breathing.
"Let's see," a deep voice muttered. "The Seven Champions . . . let me check the list . . . my, my, my, they've been bad! Charges of mass murder, slaying demonic brothers out of season, disturbing the peace, and all three ladies have been accused of indecent exposure. Coal for you, kiddies."
Across the room, Assassin drew in a sharp breath. Who was this man, who had apparently had access to high-security trial documents? And why did he care, anyway? Was he one of those eco-activists who was still after them about killing Treehead Woodfist?
Her training provided the answer for her. DARK SORCERER ALERT!
Unsheathing the Wrist Blade of Amplify Damage, Assassin stepped out of the shadows. "Halt, scum!" she hissed.
The large shadow that was the sorcerer halted. "Who's there?" it called.
"I," the Assassin replied, drawing closer. "I am one of the Clan of the Mage-Slayers, foul one. And I am here to see that your days are ended!"
"Hold on!" the sorcerer said. "There must be some mistake! I'm not a mage- whatever that is- and I don't want to be slain!"
"Should've thought about that before you came here," she said coldly, lifting one hand and palming a small silvery device. "Meet Mr. Web- I believe he would like to have a talk with you."
When the screaming stopped, there wasn't any movement either. Assassin blew on her fist, silently thanking the Gods of Skill Points, and went to inspect her kill.
"That's curious," she muttered. "This is no mage. Some kind of Golem, perhaps? It's covered in red . . . is there a Blood Golem? I must ask the Necromancer . . ."
"Surprise!" the thing said, opening one eye and leaping to its feet. Backing away quickly, it wagged one finger at her. "Really, young lady, you shouldn't play with electricity like that- somebody could have been hurt!" It turned its back to her and started rooting through a bulky sack by the fireplace. "Let's see . . . where did I leave that coal?"
Assassin was speechless, but not for long. "Oh, no you don't!" she yelled. "SHADOW MASTER!"
Darkness coalesced and formed a duplicate of her, complete with Katar and bunny slippers. The shadow mimicked her every motion, even when she sent a Blade Sentry against the curious red Golem.
Meanwhile, back upstairs . . .
"The hell?" Amazon muttered, shifting sleepily on the bed of furs. "Somebody making a row downstairs?"
Next to her, the Druid stretched and sat up."I do not believe that our comrade would be summoning a Shadow Master at midnight without reason," he commented, snatching his bathrobe from the floor and disentangling the Amazon's breechcloth from it as he spoke.
"Okay, then, let's check it out already!" Amazon said irritably.
When the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, followed closely by the Paladin and a sleepy Barbarian in feetie pajamas, they were confronted by a sight so weird it was almost unreal. Witness:
One (1) Assassin, standing triumphantly over the now-dead body of something fat and red.
Two (2) embarrassed mages, attempting to find all their clothes.
One (1) Shadow Master, standing there like a dimwit.
And seven (7) stockings lying on the floor, half-filled with coal.
"This I don't believe," Amazon muttered, lowering her Rare Spear. "What the *&$% happened?"
"Something came down the chimney," Assassin explained wearily. It had taken a lot out of her, but she had defeated the red thing. "It looked like a cross between a man and a Golem, but it was red."
"A Carver?" Paladin questioned.
"Nope. I said before, it looked like a man. Here." Assassin stepped aside. "Take a look."
Druid, Paladin, Amazon, Barbarian, Sorceress, and Necromancer (the last two rather red-faced, but determined to ignore the curious looks from everybody else) came forward to examine the body.
There was silence a moment. Then:
"Oh, my god," Paladin said simply. "This I don't believe."
"What?" Assassin questioned.
"YOU KILLED SANTA CLAUS!" Amazon screamed. "YOU DAMN BITCH, YOU MURDERED SANTA!"
"Who?" the mage-slayer asked, now thoroughly confused. "Sandy Claws? Doesn't look like a desert creature to me."
"Santa!" Sorceress emphasized. "Kris Kringle! Jolly Old St. Nick! Father Christmas! The guy who puts the 'joy' in Joyeux Noel! Moron, you just eviscerated Santa Claus!"
"Oh." Assassin shrugged. "So?"
Necromancer shook his head. "Personally, I don't think any of us could care less about him. Looks like he was bringing us all coal anyway. But if word gets out that the Diablo Slayers have killed the most powerful merchandising icon in existence, there'll be a mob looking for our heads on a platter."
"And we had to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court LAST time," Druid added. "I hate to see what kind of suit Mrs. Claus will level at us for this one."
"So what do we *yawn* do?" Barbarian wondered, absentmindedly scratching his rear.
Paladin looked queasy. "First, you get your hands out of your pants. Second-" he turned to glare at the Necromancer. "He covers up for us?"
"Me?" the Necromancer squeaked. "What in the River of Flame can I do?"
"Raise a zombie." Paladin said simply. "This one, in fact."
Amazon looked queasy. "Hate to spoil your day, buddy, but he's all, you know, charred and mangled! No kid in the world is going to be fooled by that!"
"Kids aren't supposed to see Santa!" Paladin argued. "They're all asleep anyway! Just reanimate Santa, and everybody will get presents like they're supposed to. Then have the sleigh crash someplace. It's plausible he could die in a sleigh crash, right? And nobody'll ever know the difference!"
Assassin jumped in. "I know absolutely nothing about this Sandy guy, but our resident Zakarumite's plan seems plausible. Do it."
"But- I-"
"Let's go!" Amazon snapped. "We don't have all night, death-boy!"
"I-"
"NOW!" Sorceress yelled.
That sealed it. The Necromancer raised his hands and mumbled a spell . . .
"Oh gawd, Manny!" Mitty Sue whispered, bouncing up and down on the sofa. "Ah don't think ah kin take th' suspense!"
"Steady on, Mit," her brother replied. "Ah heard sleigh bells not long ago. He's a-coming, ah know it!"
At that moment, there was the sound of scraping cloth on brick. The twins looked at each other. "He's here!" they whispered in unison, then dived behind the sofa to hide themselves.
One single figure emerged from the fireplace, red outfit turned orange by the glow of the streetlight that seeped through the curtains. Mitty Sue watched excitedly as he took several large bundles out of his sack, and started to place them under the tree. This was it . . . she couldn't take it any longer.
"Mr. Claus?" she asked cautiously, standing up. Next to her, Manny stared.
"Mit! What are you-" he whispered.
"Quiet!" she hissed back. Then, in a normal voice, "'Scuse me, Mr. Claus, ah really dun't know how t'say what ah'm thinkin', but ah was jus' wonderin' somethin' . . . could ah see y'face?"
No reply.
"If'n it's a no, say somethin', please," Mitty Sue continued, taking another step forward. "If'n it's a yes, jus' let me come a li'l . . . li'l . . .
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Disclaimer: Diablo II characters and concepts aren't mine.
----------------------------------------------------
HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
"A toast, then!" the Barbarian proclaimed, raising a tankard the size of a bucket. "To Christmas!"
"To Christmas!" the others echoed.
"Ta Krishmash!" a sauced Sorceress agreed, managing on her third try to get the drink in her mouth. "Merry Krishmash an' happy Eashter! I luv ya, guysh!"
"I think somebody's had enough mead," Paladin said matter-of-factly.
"No way!" the Sorceress giggled, reaching for her glass again- and again- and again- and again-
"Enough." Paladin repeated. Reaching over, he retrieved the jug in front of her. "Besides, it's my turn."
Assassin snickered into her hand. "Some Christmas party," she said. "It's twenty below outside and everybody's getting drunk. Is this what the holidays always entail?"
"Naaah," the Barbarian drawled, draping an arm over her shoulder. "Sometimes we actually, you know, do stuff. As in, stuff."
"Stuff it up your-" Assassin started, but was cut off by the Druid.
"Pray, no arguments." he said pointedly. "It is Christmas Eve. Can we not hold off killing each other until Boxing Day?"
Assassin and Barbarian looked at each other. Each weighed the situation silently. One one hand, killing the other would be fun. On the other, they'd get in major trouble with a Paladin, a Druid, a Sorceress (if she could remember how to aim), a Necromancer (who had just hit upon the marvelous concept of an Alcohol Golem) and an Amazon. Then they looked back at each other. They nodded in silent agreement.
It took all five of their companions to keep them from demolishing the Inn.
Midnight . . .
Assassin rolled over on her cot. Her eyes were heavy, but for some reason, she couldn't get to sleep. Maybe it was long-time habits of vigilance, maybe her subconscious sensed a hostile dark wizard in the area, maybe it was the fifteen Stamina potions, but Assassin just couldn't sleep.
I left my pack downstairs in the bar, she thought to herself, sitting up and wiping her eyes. Maybe I have a potion that can help. Or I can just whack myself with a gemmed club.
Pulling on a seductive ensemble of black silk robe and fuzzy bunny slippers, the Assassin groped her way downstairs.
In the bar, Assassin stopped and looked around. It was just the same as it had been before- small and dim, with the smell of a mens' privy that hasn't been cleaned since Tal Rasha's imprisonment. The table they had been sitting at was covered with bottles- as well as covered with the Necromancer, the Sorceress, and various pieces of Necromancer and Sorceress clothing. Repressing the urge to snicker evilly, the Assassin gently tugged her bag out from under a discarded Eagle Orb and started rummaging through it. Greater Rejuvenation potion . . . no. Stamina potion . . . been there, done that. Death Claw Katar with socketed 'Ist' . . . good for suicide, not good for insomnia. Shrugging, she dropped the pack. Maybe she could just run headlong into a wall or something.
These cheerful thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash.
The Assassin jumped and quickly produced a series of eloquent phrases pertaining to the perpetrator's family and moral character. This was answered by a second crash.
"The roof!" she whispered to herself. "Somebody's on the roof!" For once displaying brainpower, the Assassin faded into the shadows and settled down to await development.
Across the bar, something rattled heavily on the stones and mortar of the chimney. There was a series of clunks, accompanied by scuffling noises and heavy breathing.
"Let's see," a deep voice muttered. "The Seven Champions . . . let me check the list . . . my, my, my, they've been bad! Charges of mass murder, slaying demonic brothers out of season, disturbing the peace, and all three ladies have been accused of indecent exposure. Coal for you, kiddies."
Across the room, Assassin drew in a sharp breath. Who was this man, who had apparently had access to high-security trial documents? And why did he care, anyway? Was he one of those eco-activists who was still after them about killing Treehead Woodfist?
Her training provided the answer for her. DARK SORCERER ALERT!
Unsheathing the Wrist Blade of Amplify Damage, Assassin stepped out of the shadows. "Halt, scum!" she hissed.
The large shadow that was the sorcerer halted. "Who's there?" it called.
"I," the Assassin replied, drawing closer. "I am one of the Clan of the Mage-Slayers, foul one. And I am here to see that your days are ended!"
"Hold on!" the sorcerer said. "There must be some mistake! I'm not a mage- whatever that is- and I don't want to be slain!"
"Should've thought about that before you came here," she said coldly, lifting one hand and palming a small silvery device. "Meet Mr. Web- I believe he would like to have a talk with you."
When the screaming stopped, there wasn't any movement either. Assassin blew on her fist, silently thanking the Gods of Skill Points, and went to inspect her kill.
"That's curious," she muttered. "This is no mage. Some kind of Golem, perhaps? It's covered in red . . . is there a Blood Golem? I must ask the Necromancer . . ."
"Surprise!" the thing said, opening one eye and leaping to its feet. Backing away quickly, it wagged one finger at her. "Really, young lady, you shouldn't play with electricity like that- somebody could have been hurt!" It turned its back to her and started rooting through a bulky sack by the fireplace. "Let's see . . . where did I leave that coal?"
Assassin was speechless, but not for long. "Oh, no you don't!" she yelled. "SHADOW MASTER!"
Darkness coalesced and formed a duplicate of her, complete with Katar and bunny slippers. The shadow mimicked her every motion, even when she sent a Blade Sentry against the curious red Golem.
Meanwhile, back upstairs . . .
"The hell?" Amazon muttered, shifting sleepily on the bed of furs. "Somebody making a row downstairs?"
Next to her, the Druid stretched and sat up."I do not believe that our comrade would be summoning a Shadow Master at midnight without reason," he commented, snatching his bathrobe from the floor and disentangling the Amazon's breechcloth from it as he spoke.
"Okay, then, let's check it out already!" Amazon said irritably.
When the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, followed closely by the Paladin and a sleepy Barbarian in feetie pajamas, they were confronted by a sight so weird it was almost unreal. Witness:
One (1) Assassin, standing triumphantly over the now-dead body of something fat and red.
Two (2) embarrassed mages, attempting to find all their clothes.
One (1) Shadow Master, standing there like a dimwit.
And seven (7) stockings lying on the floor, half-filled with coal.
"This I don't believe," Amazon muttered, lowering her Rare Spear. "What the *&$% happened?"
"Something came down the chimney," Assassin explained wearily. It had taken a lot out of her, but she had defeated the red thing. "It looked like a cross between a man and a Golem, but it was red."
"A Carver?" Paladin questioned.
"Nope. I said before, it looked like a man. Here." Assassin stepped aside. "Take a look."
Druid, Paladin, Amazon, Barbarian, Sorceress, and Necromancer (the last two rather red-faced, but determined to ignore the curious looks from everybody else) came forward to examine the body.
There was silence a moment. Then:
"Oh, my god," Paladin said simply. "This I don't believe."
"What?" Assassin questioned.
"YOU KILLED SANTA CLAUS!" Amazon screamed. "YOU DAMN BITCH, YOU MURDERED SANTA!"
"Who?" the mage-slayer asked, now thoroughly confused. "Sandy Claws? Doesn't look like a desert creature to me."
"Santa!" Sorceress emphasized. "Kris Kringle! Jolly Old St. Nick! Father Christmas! The guy who puts the 'joy' in Joyeux Noel! Moron, you just eviscerated Santa Claus!"
"Oh." Assassin shrugged. "So?"
Necromancer shook his head. "Personally, I don't think any of us could care less about him. Looks like he was bringing us all coal anyway. But if word gets out that the Diablo Slayers have killed the most powerful merchandising icon in existence, there'll be a mob looking for our heads on a platter."
"And we had to throw ourselves on the mercy of the court LAST time," Druid added. "I hate to see what kind of suit Mrs. Claus will level at us for this one."
"So what do we *yawn* do?" Barbarian wondered, absentmindedly scratching his rear.
Paladin looked queasy. "First, you get your hands out of your pants. Second-" he turned to glare at the Necromancer. "He covers up for us?"
"Me?" the Necromancer squeaked. "What in the River of Flame can I do?"
"Raise a zombie." Paladin said simply. "This one, in fact."
Amazon looked queasy. "Hate to spoil your day, buddy, but he's all, you know, charred and mangled! No kid in the world is going to be fooled by that!"
"Kids aren't supposed to see Santa!" Paladin argued. "They're all asleep anyway! Just reanimate Santa, and everybody will get presents like they're supposed to. Then have the sleigh crash someplace. It's plausible he could die in a sleigh crash, right? And nobody'll ever know the difference!"
Assassin jumped in. "I know absolutely nothing about this Sandy guy, but our resident Zakarumite's plan seems plausible. Do it."
"But- I-"
"Let's go!" Amazon snapped. "We don't have all night, death-boy!"
"I-"
"NOW!" Sorceress yelled.
That sealed it. The Necromancer raised his hands and mumbled a spell . . .
"Oh gawd, Manny!" Mitty Sue whispered, bouncing up and down on the sofa. "Ah don't think ah kin take th' suspense!"
"Steady on, Mit," her brother replied. "Ah heard sleigh bells not long ago. He's a-coming, ah know it!"
At that moment, there was the sound of scraping cloth on brick. The twins looked at each other. "He's here!" they whispered in unison, then dived behind the sofa to hide themselves.
One single figure emerged from the fireplace, red outfit turned orange by the glow of the streetlight that seeped through the curtains. Mitty Sue watched excitedly as he took several large bundles out of his sack, and started to place them under the tree. This was it . . . she couldn't take it any longer.
"Mr. Claus?" she asked cautiously, standing up. Next to her, Manny stared.
"Mit! What are you-" he whispered.
"Quiet!" she hissed back. Then, in a normal voice, "'Scuse me, Mr. Claus, ah really dun't know how t'say what ah'm thinkin', but ah was jus' wonderin' somethin' . . . could ah see y'face?"
No reply.
"If'n it's a no, say somethin', please," Mitty Sue continued, taking another step forward. "If'n it's a yes, jus' let me come a li'l . . . li'l . . .
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"