Santa’s lodge was supposed to be the happiest place on earth.
Yet something was wrong. The jingle and joy that typically echoed through the halls had been replaced by a deep, haunting silence. It was as though the spirit of cheer had been vacuumed out. The fireplace, usually crackling with life and warmth, had fizzled out, casting the lodge in darkness. The only glow came from a string lights strewn over the Christmas tree; their feeble light cast shadows along the walls.
The dining hall, an authentic headquarters of holiday cheer, was now a courtroom of silence presided over by the Judge of Hush. Dressed in their festive finest, the elves were sprawled around the table like a collection of action figures in a child's untidy playroom. Amidst the remnants, the distinctive smell of cocoa could not sweeten the heavy scent of death that lingered in the air.
Within this deafening silence, a small emergency switch sprung to life.
A second later, a tiny golden mechanical figure flew into view. Darting about with a sense of purpose, this lively creature scanned the room, its movements quick and precise, as if searching for something—or someone—in the hushed, shadowy corners of Santa's lodge.
🎄 Emergency! 🎄
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S.E.R.G. Protocol initiated.
Loading: 100%
Uploading system to overwrite current reality uncertainty.
Upload Successful: 100%
Scanning…….
The creature whirled around. "Where is he? Where is he?" it spoke, its first ever words frantic.
Its panic grew, and it zipped, zoomed and zigzagged, but then the lively sprite came to an abrupt halt. A sharp gasp escaped its mouth as it faced the worst-case scenario.
It hovered mid-air, as it observed Santa's still figure.
🎄 Emergency! 🎄
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S.E.R.G. Protocol active.
Scanning……
Santa location: Father Christmas Found.
Santa status: Father Christmas deceased.
The golden creature, radiating with a sense of purpose, glided closer to the large motionless figure, surrounded by his smaller friends. It surveyed the scene, then, with a decisive nod, darted off towards a hidden nook in the wall, only to swiftly return with a device that glowed in festive red and green.
Landing deftly on Santa's chest, it pushed aside his long, white beard and tore open his shirt, revealing the ancient and somewhat scarred skin beneath. In one swift motion, it pressed the device firmly against Santa's sternum. The machine whirred into action, its tiny needles puncturing Santa's skin. A peculiar concoction of sickly green and red liquid then began to seep into Santa's body.
🎄 Emergency! 🎄
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S.E.R.G. Protocol active.
Reanimation progress: 0.01%
As the ancient oak grandfather clock struck midnight, its hands perfectly aligned, it began its sonorous chime. "Ding Dong!" rang out a cheerful voice from within. “Twelve days left until Christmas! Ding Dong!” echoed the announcement. In the quiet that followed the final chime, a solitary gasp resonated through the room.
🎅 NOTIFICATION: Santa has risen.
"What... what in the snowballs?" he muttered, his voice a grave echo of its former vitality.
Slowly, he sat up, his movements sluggish. As he turned, his gaze caught his reflection in the glass of the grandfather clock before him. He stopped, stunned. His face, traditionally rosy and full of life, had transformed. With a faint luminescence, his skin now appeared as if it had been lightly dusted with frost. His eyes, which had always sparkled with merriment, now held a deeper, more haunting look, their usual twinkle replaced by a mysterious, ethereal depth, and an unsettling red glow. Gazing more closely, he noticed his cheeks, previously plump and jolly, now seemed slightly sunken.
“What... What’s going on?”
A dark thought hit Santa like a sack of coal. He had always been able to see in the dark because of his innate Christmas magic. Yet there he was, blurry eyed and barley able to recognise his reflection within the dim light. It was if the power of Christmas had faded. In a panic, he reached inward, searching for that familiar festive energy, but gasped as he realised it was gone. "No."
He scanned the room through blurry eyes.
Even if he couldn't see in the near darkness, the room was familiar. The walls decked with stockings, a fireplace that used to crackle with magical flames—was now cloaked in a grim gloom. "This isn't right," he murmured, as a sense of panic gripped him.
He stumbled about until he flipped a switch, illuminating the grim reality.
Santa’s eyes popped at the devastating scene before him. “Oh, candy canes!” he blurted out. There they were—his loyal companions, as still as nutcrackers after Christmas. His heart stabbed with a surge of sorrow and uncontrollable rage over their unjust deaths. He raced by their sides, kneeling and clutched at their tiny forms, shaking them, pleading for them to wake. But in that moment, he received only bitter silence.
These were his friends, his family.
He yanked off his red cap and clutched it with trembling fingers and called out, “Hello? Please... Is there anybody there?”
As Santa surveyed the surrounding scene, he struggled to hold back tears. Every one of his beloved elves was still. He raced around the room, careful to check each of their pulses, but it was no use. They were all gone.
As he stood alone, panicking and shaking, a series of messages cascaded before his eyes, ethereal and glowing with a golden spectral light. “What?”
🎅Welcome, Player: Santa Claus!
Quest Initiated: Save Christmas.
Class Assigned: Pending...
"Player? Save Christmas?" Santa murmured as he read, his confusion burrowing deeper than the snowdrifts piling up outside. He took a step away from the odd golden light and continued his search for survivors.
Shuffling through his house, Santa's steps were heavy with the heartache of his friends' demise. A profound hush hung in every corner of the place—the elves' quarters were eerily silent, the stables unnervingly still, the kitchens cold and lifeless, and the workshop stood motionless. Tools lay abandoned, their owner's cheer long extinguished. "It's too quiet," Santa murmured, the weight of the stillness pressing down on him.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Hello? Rudy? Jingle? Mya? Tinselbyte? Twixy?" Santa called out, his voice cracking. But his call was met with nothing more than the echoes of his own hoarse voice.
Santa trudged through the snow-covered grounds outside his house, each step heavier than the last. His heart sank as he approached the reindeer pens, where the once lively reindeer lay motionless, their forms reduced to mere silhouettes against the pristine snow. Nearby, a heart-wrenching scene unfolded—scattered elves draped in snow, their tiny hands and feet barely visible under the frosty blanket. One elf lay with a mug of frozen cocoa still clutched in its lifeless hand. "Oh, my dear friends," Santa whispered, the sorrow in his voice echoing in the silent, wintry air.
Then he remembered—the supper, the laughter, the toast, the special delivery. And then, darkness.
Realisation dawned as heavy as a sack of toys: The cocoa! He bent down to the fallen elf with the frozen mug and sniffed at its contents. As he examined the drink, another box fluttered to existence.
💀 Frozen Mug of Cocoa
Delicious when hot.
Contains a hint of poison.
His lips trembled as he read, remembering how he told the elves to distribute the new shipment to everyone, even the deer. Which meant they were all gone —every single one—and he was alone.
Returning to the quiet dining room, Santa's tears streamed down his cheeks as grief overwhelmed him. Yet, amidst the tragedy, a bitter chuckle escaped. "Thank goodness Mrs. Claus wasn't here to see this," he murmured, wiping a tear with his mittened hand. In the bleakness, he found a small solace knowing she had been spared this heartache. "How in the North Pole can I explain this…?"
Santa's attention was drawn once more to the golden, glowing text. It flickered before him, a beacon of digital hope. Materializing before him was a small, pixelated figure, resembling a tiny elf with wings, hovering mid-air. It buzzed with a kind of artificial vitality.
"Ho, ho... hello?"
"Greetings, Sir Claus!" the apparition chimed, its voice tinkling like bells. "I am Santa's Emergency Reanimation Guide, but you can call me 'S.E.R.G.'" It bobbed jauntily in the air, buoyed by its own eagerness.
"'S.E.R.G.,'" Santa echoed, his undead eyes flicking between the creature and the floating text box, trying to grasp the situation.
"Exactly! I was created by Twixy for situations just like this," S.E.R.G. said, its pixelated form shimmering. "Given your... current predicament, my help seems warranted.”
Santa's thoughts turned to Twixy, the vibrant elf with a genius for tech and a passion for all things fantasy. Renowned for organizing epic game nights, she ran a decades-long Dungeons and Dragons campaign and even created a few computer games on her own.
S.E.R.G. seemed to be a last-resort safeguard for dire times. Santa's trust in his elves was unshakable, even greater than his self-trust. So, he decided to follow this creation's guidance with the same faith he had in Twixy.
"Am I... dead?" Santa asked, bewildered.
S.E.R.G. hovered before the large man, its lights flickering as it contemplated the question. "Well, you were, for a bit. But now you're back. Good for you!"
"Back? You mean, alive?" Santa's brow furrowed.
S.E.R.G. shook his head. "Not exactly alive, sir. More like reanimated. Your organs are functioning as before, but you might feel a bit... off."
"Off?"
"Yes," S.E.R.G. continued. "Some nerve damage is likely, which could mean a higher pain threshold. You might even find out that you're stronger than what you were before. But…”
“What about the others?” Santa interrupted. “Can you not revive them like me?”
S.E.R.G shook his head. "This protocol was designed specifically for you. To be honest, Twixy was under the impression you were only a few days away from a severe heart attack. And the only reason you could be revived this way was due to the special kind of magic that lingers in your body. That power was used to revive you, but it comes with a cost. From now on… you will not be able to access your Christmas magic."
Santa's heart sank as he let out a breath of defeat.
S.E.R.G. nodded sympathetically. "Afraid so. But don't worry, you can gain new festive powers! You're a player now.”
"And what, pray tell, is a 'player'?"
"You, Sir Claus, are now a player," S.E.R.G. explained with a tinge of excitement. "As of now, you're integrated into a magical game like system—a scheme conceived by Twixy to bolster your capabilities in such a crisis. As such, this system will allow you to gain levels and powers."
Santa gazed towards the golden text box.
Class pending…
"I see," Santa mused, nodding slowly. "I think… But it seems I find myself without a class... Whatever that means?” He pointed towards a glowing text box in front of him. “What do I do then?"
S.E.R.G. bobbed in the air, its light flickering with what looked suspiciously like impatience. "So, big guy," it said in a tone that suggested it was explained the rules of a board game rather than the fate of Christmas, "picking a class is kinda like choosing what kind of hero you want to be. Think of it as deciding whether to hand out toys with a sleigh or a jetpack — it's your style, your special flair! It's the foundation of all your epic hero deeds on the quest to get your ho-ho-ho back on track."
A flicker of hope sparked in Santa's eyes, igniting a newfound enthusiasm. "Maybe there's a way to help my friends," he pondered aloud, his voice tinged with a determined optimism. "Okay then, master S.E.R.G... Show me the options, and I will make my decision.”
The corresponding text box flashed before him.
🎄 Classes:
Yuletide Loremaster → Sage
Festive Enchanter → Wizard
Reindeer Ranger → Hunter
Nutcracker Sentinel → Warrior
Mistletoe Trickster → Rogue
As S.E.R.G. chirped through the catalogue of classes, detailing their perks with the enthusiasm of a caroller singing the final verse of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," Santa couldn't help but feel underwhelmed. They all sounded delightful in a mythical storybook, but as for saving Christmas and reuniting him with his jolly crew? The outlook seemed grim.
Santa, tapping his boot with impatience, cut in mid-description. "Hold the reindeer," he said, his voice slicing through the spiel. "These are all well and good, but how is being a 'Loremaster' supposed to help my fallen elves and put presents under the Christmas tree?"
"There's nothing more in the sack, I'm afraid," S.E.R.G. buzzed, the twinkle in its interface dimming slightly. "These are your options — tinsel, toys, and all."
Santa's heart sank as he contemplated a reality without his loyal elves and reindeer. "My helpers are gone; my sleigh grounded... Oh I wish I could bring them all back."
S.E.R.G. began to hum with a mischievous frequency. "Well, Santa, there may be a way. There's this spell, you see? Not your everyday hocus-pocus, but the real enchilada. It's wrapped up in a quest—a challenge, if you will. If you can tackle it, this spell can bring the jingle back into your bells and get your crew up from their unexpected nap.”
Santa looked at him puzzled.
“You know—revive the fallen," S.E.R.G. added.
“Revive?” The idea seized Santa's thoughts, clear and bright like a star piercing the night sky. "This power, can it truly revive the fallen?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
"In essence, yes," S.E.R.G. confirmed.
"In essence,” Santa huffed. “Is there any other power that leads to the same end?"
S.E.R.G. thought for a second, then gave a decisive shake of his head. "I’m afraid not, Sir Claus."
"Then the matter is decided. I shall pursue this spell thingy.” He rubbed his mittens together and looked expectantly towards S.E.R.G. “So, what do I do?"
S.E.R.G. eyed Santa for a short while in silent contemplation then spoke, "To begin, you must don the wizard's cloak and become a Festive Enchanter. Then you must prove your worth in a trial of both intellect and spirit. I can start you off with a series of quests that will lead you down the path of this spell… But be aware, this will not be just any walk in the snowfields. This will be dangerous.”
Santa thought of his fallen Elves and nodded solemnly. "I will do anything to help my friends. "
"Then you must ascend, facing challenges and honing your abilities to awaken allies from their eternal slumber... to gather the forces we need," S.E.R.G. replied, its golden face flickering with urgency. “To save Christmas.”
Behind a massive white beard, Santa’s wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his visage a blend of sorrow and ironclad determination. "To bring back the laughter, to rekindle the glow that once warmed these walls... I will face whatever is necessary."
Santa stood overlooking the slumbering Christmas Village, the tranquil homes beyond were unaware of the calamity that had unfolded just beyond their doors. A surge of determination swelled within him, a steadfast resolve to mend what had been broken. With the mantle of protector firmly upon his shoulders, he affirmed his vow to shield the innocent and restore what had been lost, for he was Santa – the guardian of joy and the harbinger of Christmas.
Santa pressed his hand on the Wizard class symbol. A smile unfurled across his face as he felt an exhilarating surge of energy flood through him. Accustomed to the mystical, having wielded the magic of Christmas for centuries, he was no stranger to enchantment. Yet this was different — a raw, potent force, distinct from the joyous power of Christmas. His mind sharpened, becoming acutely aware of the magic pulsating around him. It was an ancient, primal energy, far older and more elemental than the cheerful Christmas magic he knew so well.
🎅 CLASS HAS BEEN SELECTED!
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🎅Welcome, Player: Santa Claus!
Quest Initiated: Save Christmas.
Class Assigned: Festive Enchanter (Wizard) - Level One
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🎅 Santa: Festive Enchanter - level 1
STM: 7
INT: 7
WIS: 9
STR: 6
AGI: 1
CHR: 10
Spells:
Mistletoe Missile - Rank 1
Passives: 1