This rewrite of C.C. Moore's famous "Visit from St. Nicholas" was written and posted last year's holiday season in the BioWare NWN2 Forums' Shirtless Saga thread.
(I'm not actually much of a Casavir fan; but if the Bish is out being drunk and disorderly, I suppose His Righteousness is the KC's next best thing – and a little lace-trimmed corsetry never goes amiss! ;) )
Happy holidays!
A Visit from Bishop
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Keep
Not a person was stirring, and all were asleep.
Our weapons were hung on the wall out of sight;
The holiday season was no time to fight.
The soldiers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of roast beef danced in their heads.
And I in my sexy red-lace trimmed black leather corseted bodice, and Casabear in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window we flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my searching eyes should appear
But a shadow in the snow, and a vision most queer:
Bishop the ranger, treading his track,
And slung over his back, an empty old sack.
Shouting foul carols at the top of his voice,
In his hand an empty bottle – his spirit of choice;
Swearing and stumbling along in his way.
Casavir scowled at the unseemly display:
"What is that scoundrel up to this time?
No doubt he's devising another heinous crime!"
'Twas then that the ranger was lost from our sight;
Naught but Jingle Bells echoing through the night.
And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the walls
Bishop's loud footsteps, and foul, jeering calls.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney he came with a bound.
Completely undressed, but for breeches and boots,
All black and tarnished with ashes and soot.
Around his neck tied a red ribbon bow,
His hair rendered white with little flakes of snow.
Looked up at me, drunken, and he grinned and he teased,
Old Cas drew himself up and seemed most displeased.
Bishop replied with a swearword most sweet,
Unsteady he swayed and rose to his feet.
The sack he was carrying he then began to fill:
He emptied my drawers and stole all my stockings,
He undid my corset with considerable skill;
Left Casavir dumbstruck, speechless and gawking.
He took all the trinkets he found on the table,
The gifts by the chimney and Casavir's left boot;
Took a swig from his whisky and, while he was still able,
Turned and stumbled out through the door with a salute.
He raided the castle, searched every nook and cranny,
Took all the garlands of holly off the walls.
He robbed Ammon Jerro and Grobnar's old granny,
Stole all the presents the gnome left in the halls.
His sack filled and bulging, he went out to the grounds
And once again left wherever he was bound.
The guards began stirring all along the walls
As cries of outrage echoed through the halls.
"Bishop stole Christmas!" they screamed and they yelled,
But where he had gone, not a soul could tell.
I watched from the window as he ambled out of sight,
Into the woods and the dark of the night,
And I heard him exclaim with his usual class:
"Merry Christmas to all, and you can shove it up your – "