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A tale of Somieth: The Meaning of Santa
Dec. 8th, 2016 11:06 pmThis is a tale set in the world of Flight Rising. There is no in-universe explanation for why clans would do things like give gifts at midwinter or pick names in a "secret Santa" drawing. From outside the game, I know it is people sharing their love of the holiday inside the game. But inside the game, that's not so clear. This is a bit of the lore of my lair.
The Meaning of Santa
Alastair, Chymeria’s clan’s long-lost tundra progen, stood next to a huge bucket of stones, handing out one to each member of the clan. They’d been written on with magical writing, so each person could be the secret Santa to another dragon. One after one, dragons approached and took a stone.
Driochta, the clan’s loremistress, came up behind him, looking grumpy. “But what is this word, ‘Santa?’ It seems to be associated with the Night of the Nocturne every year, but where did it come from? I’ve asked all the nocturnes I know, and not one could tell me.”
“It means ‘gift giver’, teacher.” Jenny, the newest addition to the clan, volunteered, taking a rock from the bucket Alastair held.
“I know that’s what dragons use it to mean, but where did it come from?”
Jenny shrugged, which made her butterfly wing apparel shimmer beautifully. She shrugged again, admiring the effect. “It’s always been that way, as far as I know.”
Driochta sighed. “You’re, what, a month old now?”
Jenny nodded. “Ready for my first nest, even!”
“Well, nothing was ‘always that way’, things come from somewhere. Even the gods came from somewhere.”
Alastair nodded to Jenny to move on so the next dragon could take a rock. She swished her tail as she did so, setting both her dress and wing adornments to gleaming again.
“Well, they did!” Driochta grumbled.
“So they did.” Alastair nodded, and handed her a rock.
“I’m not in line to participate in this thing!” She glowered at Alastair.
He smiled back. “And yet you are here, and you have a rock in your hand. Now, be off so everyone else can enjoy the party. Picking a gift for whoever that is should distract you from being a sourpuss for at least a little while.”
She flounced off, setting her starlight cloak to fluttering gracefully. Her companion comet trailed after her.
At the other end of the cavern, Jenny watched the teacher leave, holding her stone. Jenny was worried—she was so new to the clan—how would she know what to get anybody? She turned her own stone over and breathed on it. Driochta’s name picked up the exhalation and gleamed briefly.
Slowly, Jenny smiled.
In the following weeks, Jenny was noticeably absent from the lair from early until late, and often overnight. A number of the dragons sought out Driochta to ask if she’d headed on to serve ShadowMama or if she was planning to leave for another clan, but Driochta had no answers for them. “She seems happy enough, when I do see her,” was all she could say, besides agreeing it was very odd that she had not yet had a chance to teach her any of the clan lore.
Finally, the night of the big party arrived, and people started to receive their gifts. Jenny was missing until late into the night, when she finally flew in, snowflakes swirling off of her still-shimmering apparel. She flew straight to Driochta, a book in her hand. “I flew to every corner of Somieth with your question. I visited many different clans, and while I could not get any definitive answer, this book holds one hundred tales about Santas, each one from a different clan. I bring it to you as my Santa gift—a compilation of Santa lore, of the tales told to hatchlings and sung at parties. I hope you will enjoy reading it.”
Driochta felt her eyes gleaming with emotion. “Oh, Jenny, it is a perfect gift for a teacher and loremistress! Thank you so very much!” She hugged the book to her and then, though the party was still going on, she sat down right where she was, opened the book, and started to read.
The Meaning of Santa
Alastair, Chymeria’s clan’s long-lost tundra progen, stood next to a huge bucket of stones, handing out one to each member of the clan. They’d been written on with magical writing, so each person could be the secret Santa to another dragon. One after one, dragons approached and took a stone.
Driochta, the clan’s loremistress, came up behind him, looking grumpy. “But what is this word, ‘Santa?’ It seems to be associated with the Night of the Nocturne every year, but where did it come from? I’ve asked all the nocturnes I know, and not one could tell me.”
“It means ‘gift giver’, teacher.” Jenny, the newest addition to the clan, volunteered, taking a rock from the bucket Alastair held.
“I know that’s what dragons use it to mean, but where did it come from?”
Jenny shrugged, which made her butterfly wing apparel shimmer beautifully. She shrugged again, admiring the effect. “It’s always been that way, as far as I know.”
Driochta sighed. “You’re, what, a month old now?”
Jenny nodded. “Ready for my first nest, even!”
“Well, nothing was ‘always that way’, things come from somewhere. Even the gods came from somewhere.”
Alastair nodded to Jenny to move on so the next dragon could take a rock. She swished her tail as she did so, setting both her dress and wing adornments to gleaming again.
“Well, they did!” Driochta grumbled.
“So they did.” Alastair nodded, and handed her a rock.
“I’m not in line to participate in this thing!” She glowered at Alastair.
He smiled back. “And yet you are here, and you have a rock in your hand. Now, be off so everyone else can enjoy the party. Picking a gift for whoever that is should distract you from being a sourpuss for at least a little while.”
She flounced off, setting her starlight cloak to fluttering gracefully. Her companion comet trailed after her.
At the other end of the cavern, Jenny watched the teacher leave, holding her stone. Jenny was worried—she was so new to the clan—how would she know what to get anybody? She turned her own stone over and breathed on it. Driochta’s name picked up the exhalation and gleamed briefly.
Slowly, Jenny smiled.
In the following weeks, Jenny was noticeably absent from the lair from early until late, and often overnight. A number of the dragons sought out Driochta to ask if she’d headed on to serve ShadowMama or if she was planning to leave for another clan, but Driochta had no answers for them. “She seems happy enough, when I do see her,” was all she could say, besides agreeing it was very odd that she had not yet had a chance to teach her any of the clan lore.
Finally, the night of the big party arrived, and people started to receive their gifts. Jenny was missing until late into the night, when she finally flew in, snowflakes swirling off of her still-shimmering apparel. She flew straight to Driochta, a book in her hand. “I flew to every corner of Somieth with your question. I visited many different clans, and while I could not get any definitive answer, this book holds one hundred tales about Santas, each one from a different clan. I bring it to you as my Santa gift—a compilation of Santa lore, of the tales told to hatchlings and sung at parties. I hope you will enjoy reading it.”
Driochta felt her eyes gleaming with emotion. “Oh, Jenny, it is a perfect gift for a teacher and loremistress! Thank you so very much!” She hugged the book to her and then, though the party was still going on, she sat down right where she was, opened the book, and started to read.