'Twas the night before Logosmas, when all through the land
Not a Viceroy was stirring, not even the Daemonic Hand;

The stockings were hung magically in the air,
In hopes that Ironbeard soon would be there;

The Eleusians were nestled all snug in their dens,
While phased in the shadows the Naga begin;

With Jhui in his Loincloth, and the Speaker in dress,
Unsuspecting, of the potential to ruin Logosmas

When out in the Ithmia there arose such a crash,
A Dart trap has launched with a zip and a flash

Into the Shadows where no one can find,
Trails of fabric and gift wrap littered behind.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the trail of the pilfered objects below,

When, what to my senses should happen appear,
But the smell of stale ale, and a belch in the air,

With a fat little dwarf, so lively and wierd,
I knew in a moment it must be Ironbeard.

More rapid than eagles his flagons they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Darkbrew! now, Whiskey! now, Cognac from a drum!
*belch*, Tequila! and Ale! oh, Obelito Rum!

Stumble to the porch! Prop yourself on the wall!
Merry Logosmas now Drinks for you all!"

So up to the house-top the giftbags they flew,
With the stockings of gifts, and ol' Ironbeard too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the alley
The slither of the Naga looking rather saavy.

As he reached in the giftbag, and was turning around,
Ironbeard belched and rushed in with a bound.

Dressed in his cloak, as it flows down his back,
A gasp of surprise, as hes caught in the act;

Ironbeard smirks and taps his nose twice,
I give out the gifts to the Naughty and Nice.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his smirk ever so scary!
His fangs gleamed in the moonlight, as he nodded contrary!

His droll little mouth smiled painfully so,
as Ironbeard gifted the Naga a brand new crossbow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

With wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

Alas I heard him exclaim, ere he vanished out of sight,
Merry Logosmas to all, and to all a good night

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Glacian, in the year 584 AF.