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A Very Northrend Christmas: A poem filled with Yuletide
by Greg Mengel

Editor's Note by Linford Butler, Lead Editor:
With the first Christmas Season on Gamer's Guide to, I expected some hard-to-believe articles from our writing team which tried too desperately to weave gaming and Christmas into a neat package. However, I was by no means prepared for something quite like this.

Long-time GGTL wordsmith, Greg Mengel, took the mission upon himself to create what can only be described as the single strangest thing I have ever edited or published. That said, it's a wonderfully quirky piece of writing which has made editing work over my Christmas really, really worthwhile. Not only has Greg met the brief of creating festive gaming coverage for our Christmas Season, but he's done it in his trademark exemplary, ever-hilarious fashion.

Ladies and gentlemen, hold tight to your chairs as I present to you a piece by the gaming equivalent of William Wordsworth, Robert Frost, Edgar Allen Poe or any of the other poets. If you're a Warcraft fan, or a connoisseur of contemporary festive gaming-themed poetry, you ought to read this: it'll make your Christmas.

A Very Northrend Christmas
A poem filled with Yuletide
By Greg Mengel

Snowflakes falling lightly
upon the frozen king.
Hot chocolate in his mailed grasp,
and cookies for dipping.

All the halls, now long-since decked,
in Icecrown Citadel.
Cruel steeples topped with stars and wreaths;
a merried, Christmas hell.

Abominations dress in red,
great beards stitched to their face.
Nerubians spin sweaters;
make toys of silk and lace.

Cult members gather, all as one,
and teach their ghouls a dirge.
"Light rest ye merry gentworgen,"
and "Peace to all the Scourge."

Greatfather Winter'd be impressed
with this cheerful display.
But Bolvar eyes it with contempt;
a bitter lord's dismay.

"This is not what I said,
you fools!" He pointed to a tree.
"The hanging bodies of slain men
don't inspire season's glee."

"And when you bake great fruit-pie cakes
don't line frosting with lead.
You make me ashamed to be the king
of all the walking dead."

Not quite understanding,
his minions toiled away.
They wanted their newfound poobah
to have his Christmas play.

Bolvar knew they laboured:
his rotting motley crew.
To make their boss feel loved? How sweet.
His black heart beat anew.

Looking at his holly'd halls,
his snowy hanging tree,
the ghouls rehearsing carols,
young wights dancing with glee.

Our leader up in Northrend
- where light is all but dead -
Found the true meaning of Christmastime
inside his orange head.

"I hereby declare Christmas
the best day of the Scourge!
All who humbug its fine traits
will meet a fearsome purge."

"We'll burn their fields, plague their crops,
eat loved ones 'fore their eyes.
All living souls without goodwill
will meet early demise."

And with that Bolvar sent
out from his wintry pole
Dark caravans with presents,
for good men, young and old.

They travelled a great distance,
to many different lands.
The undead bearing presents!
For good small girls and lads.

Races were sometimes wary...
and sometimes they'd attack.
But Bolvar swore his troops to peace:
they rarely would fight back.

Soon every realm loud noted:
"Those zombies? They're alright!
But only in December.
...the other months, they'll fight."

And that was how our leader,
did a very noble thing,
Forever tying Christmas cheer
to Scourge, and Dread Lich King.


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- Greg Mengel

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