Just outside Ottawa, Ontario, December 24, 1897
Sywyn Wennemein rose early that morning. As a holy knight of his home world, he went about his duties as he normally would. And just like he remembered from his time spent in Old Mexico, he could not hear but a whisper from his god. But there was something else. Another voice that penetrated through to his very soul. And it sounded like the song of angels.
His mind kept drifting back to the tale the boy had spoken of the previous night. How a land owner forced his family to work, and had given them notice that he would drive them from their land. Land, he found out from the other villagers, they had rightfully purchased. But they could do nothing. It seemed this landowner had a great deal of influence in the near by nation's capital of Ottawa, in particular with the government in power and the Prime Minister.
This tale, coupled with the joyful noise the people of the tavern had made, only troubled him more so. During a time of forgiveness, a time of joy and celebrations, one family would feel the wrath of a man who obvious did not have the spirit of this season in mind. Descriptions of the celebration hearkened back to a time during the winter months that many on his own homeworld would often celebrate. When winter's bite would become deep, the only way to fight back was not with the sword, but a sound of joy.
No matter the world, no matter the plane, Sywyn Wennemein knew his duty. He was a paladin, a holy knight. And even though his clothing may look like that of a gunslinger, he still carried the sword of his family at his side. He would do what he could to right the wrongs which had been done.
Shani Wennemein loped downstairs lazily, knowing that the Alow siblings had already made their way to breakfast. If there was one thing she had learned from her traveling companion Pania, she was an early riser. And her brother Mandrel was no different. Already the pair had been entertaining, as a throng of children from the village had been transfixed by their tales that they told. The master bards had been at work, and they worked their magic well.
Pania caught sight of Shani and gave her a wink and motioned her over. The lithe gunslinger moved slowly across the floor, her spurs jingling on her boots like the bells of a reindeer. Shani leaned against the wood of the bar and watched closely as Mandrel and Pania continued to work their magic.
“Now, we've tol' ye a few tales o' darin' an' such,” announced Mandrel to the children who seemed riveted to his every word. “Bu' me sister an' I, we've 'eard a lo' through our travels.”
“We know o' stories far an' wide, aye,” Pania said with a wide grin, as her most dramatic voice caught the attention of not only the children, but some of the adults that had come into the tavern. Word had spread quickly that these four were elves, and that there may indeed be some truth to the tale of good old Saint Nikolaus. “Bu' there's a tale, which I know is dear ta many a 'eart 'roun' these parts.” She gave a nod to the vicar, who had himself come to see this spectacle. “An' a lo' o' these 're no' jus' stories. There's a great deal o' truth ta 'em.”
“Tha's righ',” Mandrel picked up without missing a beat. “Twenty year back the four o' us travelled through Old Mexico, an' a padre in Santa Vega taught us this tale.” Mandrel gingerly picked up a guitar and began to strum, smiling as the gentle tune began to play. As he could hear nothing but the gentle strum of the strings, he began to sing. “Jesus our brother, kind and good, was humbly born in a stable rude, and the friendly beasts around Him stood. Jesus our brother, kind and good.”
Mandrel didn't miss a beat, as the smiling eyes of the vicar took in the lyrics of the song. “'I,' said the donkey, shaggy and brown, 'I carried His mother up hill and down; I carried her safely to Bethlehem town. I,' said the donkey, shaggy and brown.”
Without fail, Pania picked up the tune, letting her soothing voice add to the soft duet. “'I,' said the cow, all white and red 'I gave Him my manger for a bed; I gave Him my hay to pillow His head. I,' said the cow, all white and red.”
Mandrel took up the song once again as he strummed the strings, noting that Shani had moved closer to the duo from the corner of his eye. “'I,' said the sheep with curly horn, 'I gave Him my wool for His blanket warm; He wore my coat on Christmas morn. I,' said the sheep with curly horn.”
Without prompting, the elven gunslinger added her crooning voice to the duet, making a trio, and proving that the race of elves was indeed a musical and magical one. “'I,' said the dove from the rafters high, 'Cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry; We cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I. I,' said the dove from the rafters high.”
The three voices rang out in perfect harmony as they came together as though one voice. “'I,' said the camel, yellow and black, 'Over the desert, upon my back, I brought Him a gift in the Wise Men's pack. I,' said the camel, yellow and black.”
The musical notes of the guitar softened as Mandrel sang the final verse. The entire tavern was quiet as they listened intently to the old English tune. “Thus every beast by some good spell, In the stable dark was glad to tell, Of the gift he gave Emmanuel, The gift he gave Emmanuel.”
As the notes faded into the room, the gathered crowd applauded gleefully, as though a kind of magic had been born that Christmas Eve.
lyrics from Old English Christmas Carol, Written By Unknown
Sywyn Wennemein rose early that morning. As a holy knight of his home world, he went about his duties as he normally would. And just like he remembered from his time spent in Old Mexico, he could not hear but a whisper from his god. But there was something else. Another voice that penetrated through to his very soul. And it sounded like the song of angels.
His mind kept drifting back to the tale the boy had spoken of the previous night. How a land owner forced his family to work, and had given them notice that he would drive them from their land. Land, he found out from the other villagers, they had rightfully purchased. But they could do nothing. It seemed this landowner had a great deal of influence in the near by nation's capital of Ottawa, in particular with the government in power and the Prime Minister.
This tale, coupled with the joyful noise the people of the tavern had made, only troubled him more so. During a time of forgiveness, a time of joy and celebrations, one family would feel the wrath of a man who obvious did not have the spirit of this season in mind. Descriptions of the celebration hearkened back to a time during the winter months that many on his own homeworld would often celebrate. When winter's bite would become deep, the only way to fight back was not with the sword, but a sound of joy.
No matter the world, no matter the plane, Sywyn Wennemein knew his duty. He was a paladin, a holy knight. And even though his clothing may look like that of a gunslinger, he still carried the sword of his family at his side. He would do what he could to right the wrongs which had been done.
*****
Shani Wennemein loped downstairs lazily, knowing that the Alow siblings had already made their way to breakfast. If there was one thing she had learned from her traveling companion Pania, she was an early riser. And her brother Mandrel was no different. Already the pair had been entertaining, as a throng of children from the village had been transfixed by their tales that they told. The master bards had been at work, and they worked their magic well.
Pania caught sight of Shani and gave her a wink and motioned her over. The lithe gunslinger moved slowly across the floor, her spurs jingling on her boots like the bells of a reindeer. Shani leaned against the wood of the bar and watched closely as Mandrel and Pania continued to work their magic.
“Now, we've tol' ye a few tales o' darin' an' such,” announced Mandrel to the children who seemed riveted to his every word. “Bu' me sister an' I, we've 'eard a lo' through our travels.”
“We know o' stories far an' wide, aye,” Pania said with a wide grin, as her most dramatic voice caught the attention of not only the children, but some of the adults that had come into the tavern. Word had spread quickly that these four were elves, and that there may indeed be some truth to the tale of good old Saint Nikolaus. “Bu' there's a tale, which I know is dear ta many a 'eart 'roun' these parts.” She gave a nod to the vicar, who had himself come to see this spectacle. “An' a lo' o' these 're no' jus' stories. There's a great deal o' truth ta 'em.”
“Tha's righ',” Mandrel picked up without missing a beat. “Twenty year back the four o' us travelled through Old Mexico, an' a padre in Santa Vega taught us this tale.” Mandrel gingerly picked up a guitar and began to strum, smiling as the gentle tune began to play. As he could hear nothing but the gentle strum of the strings, he began to sing. “Jesus our brother, kind and good, was humbly born in a stable rude, and the friendly beasts around Him stood. Jesus our brother, kind and good.”
Mandrel didn't miss a beat, as the smiling eyes of the vicar took in the lyrics of the song. “'I,' said the donkey, shaggy and brown, 'I carried His mother up hill and down; I carried her safely to Bethlehem town. I,' said the donkey, shaggy and brown.”
Without fail, Pania picked up the tune, letting her soothing voice add to the soft duet. “'I,' said the cow, all white and red 'I gave Him my manger for a bed; I gave Him my hay to pillow His head. I,' said the cow, all white and red.”
Mandrel took up the song once again as he strummed the strings, noting that Shani had moved closer to the duo from the corner of his eye. “'I,' said the sheep with curly horn, 'I gave Him my wool for His blanket warm; He wore my coat on Christmas morn. I,' said the sheep with curly horn.”
Without prompting, the elven gunslinger added her crooning voice to the duet, making a trio, and proving that the race of elves was indeed a musical and magical one. “'I,' said the dove from the rafters high, 'Cooed Him to sleep that He should not cry; We cooed Him to sleep, my mate and I. I,' said the dove from the rafters high.”
The three voices rang out in perfect harmony as they came together as though one voice. “'I,' said the camel, yellow and black, 'Over the desert, upon my back, I brought Him a gift in the Wise Men's pack. I,' said the camel, yellow and black.”
The musical notes of the guitar softened as Mandrel sang the final verse. The entire tavern was quiet as they listened intently to the old English tune. “Thus every beast by some good spell, In the stable dark was glad to tell, Of the gift he gave Emmanuel, The gift he gave Emmanuel.”
As the notes faded into the room, the gathered crowd applauded gleefully, as though a kind of magic had been born that Christmas Eve.
lyrics from Old English Christmas Carol, Written By Unknown
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