We have all heard of Him, but few and far between are those of us who know

what truly hides beneath the beard, the rotund shape and the forced jolliness of a "Ho, Ho, Ho!"

echoing through the coldness of the shopping malls where His unwitting worshippers gather.

Before Him they come, and unto Him they offer their children, their young voices trembling

in a strange semblance of prayers born from greed and the lust for material goods;

each hall where he appears immediately consecrated to Mammon.
And by their offering of youth´s splendour and by the remnants of belief in young and old alike

He is sommuned into the homes of all, summoned by boughs of green and the flames in the hearths,

by candle light and the silence of breath held in anticipation tinged with fear.

Then in the black of night the sound of dread bells grows slowly louder,

and as you and yours turn in fitful sleep, His unholy beasts, creatures from the far shores of Naggai,

drags through the night skies what might - for the sake of our minds - be called a sleigh wrought from ancient wood, and the less details mentioned the better.

And so He unfolds His considerable bulk from dimensions beyond mortal ken,

and by the laws of a science older than mankind He appeares not only in flesh but in spirit;

the spirit of Himself and also in the spirit of a being transformed by centuries of fickle mortal beings´

belief if a reality far different from His own.

Still. By prayer and by sacrifice, by boughs of green and by flames he has been summoned,

and far be it from Him to loose the Privilege of Flesh and a short escape from the realms of Ithaqua

for a single night.

We call, and He comes.

The Filler of Stockings; Lord of The Red and The White; The Lurker in Fireplaces;
Bringer of Greeds´ Reward... we salute thee!

The Many-named One has been called and awaits his due;
The King in Red has risen once more.

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