"Is it not entertaining to hear the cries of the Christians who claim this season to be all about their fallen Christ, their beliefs and no others? Any other religion, any other proclamation of holiday greeting, and they cry blasphemy against the chosen and profess the so-called truths of the season and the birth of their Savior."
"Yet what these feeble minded simpletons fail to remind themselves of are many facts of history that contradict everything they hold fast to. Perhaps they are ignorant of these bits of information, or perhaps they know of them yet choose to ignore for the sake of their own beliefs. Who knows?"
"Hm? Ahhh. Perhaps you yourself are some of those 'believers', these men of whom I will be opposing soon in honor of the season. Well then, far be it for me to leave you allowing in your own self guided delusions of what is, and what has been."
"Christ was not born on December 25, even though this day is referred to as his birthday. No. That work of fiction known as the Bible never once mentions a specific date for the birth of Christ. And those morbid little traditions such as Santa Clause and Christmas trees? Oh for the woefully ignorant to face the fact that each of these 'Christian' traditions is Pagan in origin."
"The nativity scene, showcasing the birth of Jesus and his so-called 'virgin' mother, Mary, lies in the wake of the remembered mother-goddess and the birth of her child."
"Evergreen trees, because of their ability to remain green throughout the year, spring, summer, autumn and winter, have symbolized immortality, fertility, sexual potency, and reproduction, and were brought into homes and set up as idols."
"Ironically, mistletoe represented the false messiah. It was a sacred plant that slayed the beloved god Baldur. Ah I recall when that happened. Such expressions of remorse on the Norse when the one they loved fell dead at their feet.
"Santa Clause. Wreaths. Yule Logs. Even the simple candles lit. They each and all have their origins in Pagan worship, drafted by those in power in the Christian hierarchy to better subdue the blasphemers into the faith of the One God with ease but without giving up their own traditions."
"I do wonder how many of you ilk would continue to celebrate such a time if the truth were well known."</color>
Budapest in the year 1148
It was a misguided belief that the night of Halloween, or Samhain, was the only true night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead were at a weak point. Oh no. There was also the time of the Winter Solstice in many tales and beliefs, but in the days of old it was known simply as Koročun or Kračun.
What a far cry this day was compared to this time of year in which we know of now. Where now it is about gifts and candy and bright lights with the birth of the Christ Child remembered fondly by those of the Church. Yet back then, there was a darker, far more sinister time that instilled fear in those that believed.
And they believed for a reason.</color>
The woman traipsed hazardly through the snow, protected as best she could be the hard elements that rose around her. Warm in the furs wrapped around her body and yet still she shivered as she made for her home.</color>
The snow was everywhere in these parts. The thoughts of 'global warming' were not to be thought of for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands. Nature was often a cruel mistress for mankind, with biting winds that burned cold to the skin and heavy drifts of snow that fell from the gray heavens above, burying one in the home for untold of days until escape was possible or rescue, perhaps.
It was a time when preservation was planned beforehand, when food was cultivated by hand and nature and saved for when it would be needed most. There was no season of good will toward man in these times, at this time of year.
There was fear in the heart for those that walked this cold land.</color>
She should never had ventured so far away from the homestead, so late in the day. Especially in such harsh weather as their region of the hills was experiencing. This winter season was harder than most previous years. She simply should have planned better.
The light of the sun was growing fainter by each passing moment while she hurried as quickly as she possibly could in snow that reached well above her knees. She never would have risked leaving at all, had her precious Rosalie not taken ill, and the village's wise woman always had the cure for any ailment. The fever was mild but she would take no risk it worsening, not even when faced with risking the wrath of the cold night and what lurked within it.
Anja knew that the moon was up there, hidden somewhere behind the clouds, and the first of what would be countless stars twinkled high above while purples and grays replaced the days bright blues and yellows.
The shuffling of snow was heard somewhere behind her. A snap of a random twig underfoot. Perhaps not as far as she believed as the woods were all around her. It was enough to give her pause to stop and look around with eyes wide in fearful apprehension.
Her cheeks and nose were chilled a deep pink from the cold air and her breath was a mere fog as she drew in sharp breaths and exhaled them just as quickly. She glanced around but saw nothing to indicate an animal -- or worse. Not until her eyes cast over a small mound of stones that rose above the fallen snow. Stones that laid in a ring of trees that stretched so high that their dead branches seemed fingers that tickled the stars that came out. And a shadow that should not have been there.
No, more than a shadow. A wrongness. One of darkness that no light cast in its wake.
This made Anja draw in a sharp breath of fear and she turned and ran.</color>
This time of year, this one day in particular, was the one the people believed that the Black God walked the earth again and brought along with him death and decay. It was this very dark deity that they believed to be responsible for the untimely demise of the god of the sun, and why winter was a season most foul.
Silly superstition, that. Yet the legends of what walked amongst them this day were no less potent. Or true.</color>
She stole only quick glances over her shoulder as she ran, and this caused her to become careless. The new shadow, or darkness, seemed to be 'following' her if you could say that with credibility. In this fear she happened to misstep and her foot caught a root hidden in the snow and she fell over, half burying herself in the drifting white snow.
Crying in fear, the tears freezing upon her cheeks and stinging all the more, she rose up and knew immediately her ankle had been injured by the fall. But more importantly, the poultice she had carried in her dress pockets, the one that carried the relief for her sick child, had fallen out.
Frantically she dropped down to her knees and scavenged through the drifts of snow with her bare fingers, her fear of the shadows and night all but forgotten when faced with the far more pressing fear of losing the one thing that could make her child well. Her hand just happened to close on the clay vile when she thought she heard it again.
There! The sound of a brush covered in snow being forcibly moved. The sound of snow hitting the ground as a result. Yet it was what she did not hear that frightened her the most. She knew that there was something out there in the dark, yet no foot falls betrayed it. And the fact that nature itself halted the musical notes of its own existence was by far the worse.
Home was near,and the safety of the locked door and protective wards of mistletoe and lilac. She grasped the potion tightly in her hand that felt frozen by the snow that slowly melted from her warm grip and she ran as best she could on the tender foot beneath her weight. Fear was indeed a powerful motivator. Perhaps not for herself, but for the young that waited at the homestead and depended on the mother to watch over, care and protect.
The small shack was ahead, one that her dear husband was working to expand upon during the warmer periods of the year. The smoke rose from the chimney, and she knew that it meant her husband was home at the hearth, watching over their daughter.
"Nyissa ki az ajtót!" ("Open the door!") Anja cried out into the night, hoping, praying above all else that her husband would hear her over the shrill sound of the night wind.
Indeed he had, as just as she crossed the final stretch of their land, the door opened and his concerned face appeared with the dancing light of the hearth fire behind him, shimmered off of his dark toned flesh.
"Anja?" He called out as she pushed past him and almost fell to the wooden floor in a heap. "Mi történt?" ("What has happened?")
He helped her right herself and looked her in the eyes, his own concern reflected in her eyes.
"Történt-e valami?" ("Did something happen?") He asked but she did not answer him. Not at first and not as he expected.
Anja hurried past him and quickly dropped the board across the back of the door, sealing it shut against the night. She glanced quickly above the door to find the bouquet of lavender in place, and the protective sigils undisturbed. Only then did she sigh with relief and the tears of fear escape her.
Vladimiir took his wife in his strong arms, offering her comfort and reassurance. He asked no questions, knowing full well what fears might lie in the heart of anyone out on this night. After what seemed like minutes on end, Anja sniffled and drew back from the comfort offered her.
Her eyes fell to the far window and the pale face that gazed inside. The yellow eyes and black lips parted in a smile that sickened.
And she screamed.</color>
Clan Dalca
He had heard the tale many times, Andrei had, of the time his great grandmother many times over had witnessed the face of pure evil on this very day. He would often think and believe that it was her experience that very night so many hundreds of years ago, that ignited within his family the desire to hunt and exterminate what lie within the shadows.
He wished Nadya had paid heed to his caution and remained in the relative safety of he homestead, but she insisted on honoring her deceased this night as he did himself. They were her flesh and blood that the Pale One had slaughtered to bloody ribbons, and as she became his new family, they also became his own as well.
It was why he could not deny her company, and that of the babe, Nicolai II, as they left early in the day, just after the rising of the sun, to commence what need be done. The quicker they could honor their fallen, the sooner they might return to the warmth of their home and the safety that the walls provided.
There were no less than four crossroads that led from the forest area that their home was located, and led to more populated areas of the mountains and a handful of small villages. At each of these crossroads, Andrei laid wooden logs soaked in scented oils and lit them, leaving them to light the way for the dead that yet would walk the night.
The final task was to pay a visit to the area of Andrei's ancestral land where the bodied of Nadya's kin lay buried. At the 'foot' of each marked grave, Andrei laid another wooden log and then he took Nicolai II into his arms while Nadya herself set them alight to keep her family warm on this coldest of days.
Only then did the 'baptized' Clan Dalca return home to the feast that Nadya had spent the week in preparing, so that they could honor their passing family on both sides.
As Nadya served, the deaf and mute babe say happily in Andrei's lap as the man snuck sweets into the tiny fingers and mouth, much to the matriarch's disapproval -- and amusement.
"I have been told at length of what this time of year has become, and I find it rather difficult to prevent a smile from escaping me. I can recall when mankind first set foot upon this earth, and how much vast potential The One Above believed them to have above all others, even His Chosen at the time. And yet, to see them having fallen so hard, so fast, it would warm my heart -- if I were to have a heart."
"The darkness that hides within so many souls of the mortal coil for so much of the year, and yet it is this particular time of the seasons where they attempt to shield their hateful inhibitions in order to be more believable in professing towards others their own weaknesses. They lie and cheat, but sweep those fallen times under the proverbial rug, swept away like time itself, so that they can render their opinions against the lives and habits of others and make it so they can hold their heads up high while doing so."
"The children of these times are vile and cruel, bless them, and yet they hide their cruelties against each other with the misguided beliefs that some enchanted being from the frozen wastelands of the North will pay them visits and reward their 'good behavior' with toys and treats? Yet the very parents who misguide these urchins into behaving with such lies, reprimand those very same children whenever they themselves should tell a fabrication of the truth. Adults who once had it ever so rough in life and yet once they managed to crawl out from the bottom of the hole, look down at others who are now where they once were."
"How ... enchanting, to find such deceit and hypocrisy, in the souls of those He believed to be above all others. Angels fell from grace eons ago for their arrogance, and yet human kind just keeps chugging along without a care in the world. They hear that all the terrible things that happen in the world, yet believe that it can not happen to them. They believe that it can only happen to others."
"They forget that to everyone, someone else is that 'other'."</color>
Winterhaven
Winterhaven is a popular attraction in the metro area of Las Vegas, Nevada. It is what some might refer to as a higher class neighborhood that draws both tourists as well as the citizens of Las Vegas itself to see the artistic designs of the holiday displays. It was something that many waited on, a pleasant diversion or night out, to walk through this small neighborhood and enjoy the decorative displays of lights and displays set up in so many of the yards throughout. Some drove through with their families in their cars. Others paid the extra to make the most of the cool night air and they bought tickets for the hay rides provided by the neighborhood association. Others, however, opted to walk as it afforded them the leisure of their own pace and to linger at their favorites for however long thy should so choose.
It was two sets of feet that walked this street, void of all traffic, along with the many other spectators and holiday enthusiasts. Yet apart from them, as these two passed unseen by the eyes of those around them.
"Perhaps one day you would deign to explain exactly why you decided to drag me along on this insipid little jaunt of yours to look at baubles and false lights." The specter known in this existence as Brother Grimm, complained in a hushed growl as he walked side by side with the gray haired Baba Yaga, the ancient witch of mythological origins, and to whom he would refer to as his 'benefactress'.
Grimm wore his usual attire of black strapped leather, and the witch wore her usual gray dress and cloak around her shoulders. Their hair and clothes moved in the gentle winds, but neither seemed bothered by the cold air that had all others huddled together in their jackets for warmth and comfort. In truth, neither Grimm nor Yaga seemed to even feel it.
Baba Yaga answered, "A simple diversion. Old though I am, I am still a woman and enjoy the simple sights of the colorful lights." She paused and watched as a small group of young children ran past them and she said, "Although it would be preferable without the urchins."
Grimm leaned in over the back of her shoulder with a fiendish smile and whispered in her ear, "I thought you enjoyed children."
He stood upright again, his height towering over her own diminutive stature. her eyes followed him as he stepped past her and she answered simply, "Flame broiled, perhaps. But this? They are a bothersome breed."
"Then why?" Grimm stopped and turned to look her face on. "Why could we not have waited? Why did we come at all?"
Baba exhaled and shook her head. She answered, "You needed the distraction. You've been away for a long time and if I am not mistaken, this would be your first Yule since you're imprisonment all those years ago."
"I hope this is not about those feeble Saviors again." Grimm scoffed and shook his head with a feint display of disbelief. "I was beginning to wonder if the fools would ever bother to show their faces. Imagine my surprise when they grew a set and revealed themselves. believing themselves to be somebody."
Baba Yaga smirked and chuckled with a throaty effort. "I admit a touch of glee when they did. I knew from the start they were nothing. Druids indeed. The poor fools have no idea the trouble that they've instigated. Declaring a war on the entirety of that promotion you're in was foolhardy at best. Make names for themselves quickly they might, but they have clearly not contemplated the repercussions."
"You almost sound sorry for them."
"Hardly." The witch said. "They're unworthy of my concerns. Their own words betray their ignorance and weak wills. They lost any regard from me when they accosted Goth and lied against my words. I simply wish to see the fools burn."
"Then I trust this is not about my next match." Grimm stated. "I've been in many other encounters with better opposition. This will be a mere formality to further my standing in this mortal coil you take such an interest in."
Baba Yaga chuckled. "Of that I have no doubt. You've bested Casey Williams already. For all the bravado he declares, he's done relatively little to warrant it. A title here, a victory there, to be sure. Yet he's blinded by his own delusions of grandeur."
"Ohh." Grimm almost coos. "Does then the name Eric Steel fill you with false worry for my well being?"
"Who?" Baba Yaga asked.
"Yes." Grimm nodded. "I have the self same reaction when I hear of him. He's billed as a threat but he instills all the apprehension in his opposition as a puppy wrapped in a pretty bow on this holiday morning for a child to find."
Baba Yaga waved her hands idly as she spoke, "Then perhaps the masked one. I believe the name Frost is apt, given the season. I've watched this one in times past. He is a threat to those around him."
"To Casey and Steel, perhaps." Grimm shook his head. "Not to me. He is a skilled acrobat when he has the opportunity to present itself, but I have no intention of allowing that. I want to plant him in the ground. Break him in body and spirit, and then remove the mask."
"Remove the mask?" Baba Yaga repeated. "Why?"
Grimm paused to look at her. "I do so love the answer to a riddle. And what better modern riddle for me than why a man of such recognition, would not want to be recognized and hide his identity."
They continue to move on and Grimm goes on. "The tag team titles are gone. Goth and I could get them back at any point, but he is busy himself going after that heavyweight title. Win this and I target the second most prestigious champion in Sin City Wrestling."
"And succeed when the time comes."
Grimm nodded in agreement. "That I will. And again the gold will act as a beacon for the souls I crave. It has been awhile since I've feasted, after all."
Baba Yaga said, "Then perhaps it was a good thing for us to venture out this eve."
"I did not need to be up close to a dinner platter to be distracted from the fools around me." Grimm stated, and at her arched brow, he chuckled. "Present company excluded, of course."
They started their trek again and he continued on, "This fickle holiday, celebrating the birth of that zealot." He shook his head in disgust and sneered, "Son of God..."
He turned and spat, and a young woman flinched, clearly having felt it. She glanced around, her boyfriend at her side, but saw nothing.
Grimm went on, "That charlatan was as mortal as any of these around us. He was simply a wondrous liar with the added advantage of being surrounded by fools with delusions as grand as his own." Grimm nodded. "I knew the man. He was no Savior."
Baba Yaga paused briefly to stare at him and she observed, "There are times when I truly forget just how ancient a spirit you truly are."
Grimm scoffed and they fell into the familiar rhythm, walking past several people gazing in delight at the colorful displays of lights and such. One such yard had a full Santa display with reindeer and sleigh, each crafted of hollow plastic and lit from within.
"And to put such faith in an outlandish character such as this ... elf." Grimm seemed absolutely agitated at the prospect. A brief silence followed when that chilling smile crossed his face. "Although, the prospect does invite certain ideas I've never contemplated before."
"Oh yes?" Baba Yaga stated. "Such as?"
Grimm stopped and placed his snow-white hand on the witch's shoulder and he chuckled. "You have your secrets. I think I'll keep this one to myself this time."
And with that, Grimm simply walked away, leaving Baba Yaga watching as he simply faded into the masses.
Christmas Eve
Young Gregory Manson was laying in his bed, restless beneath the Spongebob Squarepants comforters, as he tried in vain to go to sleep, but it was a hopeless cause indeed. What child could manage to do so with any form of success on this night of nights, when at any point now, Santa Clause himself would be descending his family's chimney to delivery the presents he had written to the North Pole for? The bad thing was, of course, that if he didn't go to sleep, then his house would be passed over. Because everybody knew that Santa only came if you were asleep.
So he pulled the covers over his head and buried his head in the soft pillows once again in another effort to seek the comforts of sleep. And it was then that he heard the 'thump' on the roof above his head. Gregory gasped and bolted in an upright seated position, his eyes locked on the roof above his head where he clearly heard footsteps. He quickly threw the covers off and hurried for his door. After all, how many children would be able to claim to having truly laid eyes on the jolly old elf himself?
Downstairs, Gregory arrived at the bottom of the stairs and ran around the corner of the foyer and into the living room where the grand fir tree stood tall and bright, a beacon for Santa from within. His eyes fell to the coffee table where the plate of frosted sugar cookies and glass of milk sat, ready and waiting for a snack and 'thank you' for Santa.
He then heard a rustling noise and turned to see the black soot drifting down from the inside of the chimney, much like a soft, black snow. Eager to be the first to see the man himself, Gregory hurried over and peered up into the dark recesses of the chimney.
He never saw the burlap sack descend with such speed to entrap him.
Brother Grimm lifted the ancient sack of his, the struggling form kicking from inside and the soft sound of a child crying. He turned and extended his pale hands to take one of the cookies and proceeded to munch on it as he headed back toward the chimney, carrying the moving bag slung over his shoulder.
"Merry Christmas to me, indeed."</color>
