Dear Me,
I have been a good boy this year, and for many years now in fact, despite these most difficult of circumstances. You know that as well as I do.
There is just the one present I would like. To go home, to the workshop, back to the old ways.
Here it is strange. Whatever they have in some of these places, they are not chimneys, and the air and gravity leave much to be desired too.
I have lost the last of our reindeer - our good, dashing runners! - and been compelled to leave the sleigh. It lies now overtaken by a drift, but not of any snow I have ever seen. I do my work out of the sack, as needs must, and you can imagine how that is. Indeed.
You tell those elves from me - no more experiments! No more of that funny dust. I did it the old way all those years, and the world in a day was a bracing ride. I should not have agreed. Well, the aches had multiplied... But it transpires instead that all of me has.
For I am not alone, that I now know. I recently met a furtive man whom I instantly took to be kin. He went by the jocular name of Slip van Kringle and spoke of having met one other on his travels, an Old Farther C. These suggestive monikers are not so different than mine of course - Insanity Clause - by which alias I make light of my predicament among so many strangers. This Slip chap was loathe to assume I was not simply one of our numerous grotto brethren; I trust on reflection that he was not; it seems I am many.
I am sundered, perhaps split, though not in mind - touch wood - or anything like wood - but in essence. I am cast like last year's must-have toy into the vast spaces of myth and legend, virtual auctions. Yes, for unseen presences act. As I gather it, these lands have a common thread, are lands my people and believers visited, made or imagined.
Not all I would sanction with the workshop stamp that much I will say, but it on reflection it is conceivable I bear some responsibility. A change of direction may be in order...
So go to work my good man, and set those elves to it. Apologies - I have been unable to find either mince pies or brandy for quite some time now, but I have left instead this blue produce. It has restored in me some of the old 'ho ho ho' and you shall see why.
Yours intrinsically,
Me
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If you're wondering what's going on, this is the second 'Transpluristemic', a festive entry for a series of transferrable characters. This one is fairly obvious of course, so you don't need my suggestions, but if you're interested, the basics are below in the format I'll be using all the way, stat-free so you can build the characters up in any game system.
Insanity Clause, Slip van Kringle and Old Farther C, among others, are each...
- a stout superhuman artisan entrepreneur of great age and jolly demeanour,
- able to traverse shafts by a tap of the nose and to produce objects to order,
- possibly travelling in a vehicle powered by quadropedal ruminant mammals,
- likely to be found in the midst of exchanges, encouraging good behaviour.
He's out there, but who knows how many he is exactly, and where in time and space...
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