Twas the night before the Giver, when all through the server
Not a creature was stirring, not even a char approver.
The dirt heaps were piled, in Port Hempstead with care
In hopes that donations of shield scrolls would soon be there.
The refugees were nestled, all snug in their tents,
And all the monsters slept, even the treants.
Zahid asked for balance; Argos, a knight of sorts,
Razeriem for more women, and for Steel, witty retorts.
When out on the battlefield there was a great clatter,
We looked to find the Dwarven Army out sorting the matter,
And then came the Angels, the Orc Bashers, too,
And all the other groups and guilds jumped into the stew.
They were saving the world, one day at a time,
From cults and cutthroats and gelatinous slime,
They were sorcs who cast, and bards who sing lyrical,
And fighters who want to de-nerf devastating critical,
There were druids who shift, and rogues who are shiftier,
They were wizards who solo, and whose pixies are thriftier,
They were gallant paladins, and rangers who track,
They were charging barbarians, and clerics had their back.
They were monks, so disciplined and so tame,
And they all rushed into action when the DM-run quest came.
The Narrator called out in his bright yellow text,
Roll me spot, listen, search, and hide checks.
The players obliged, and got ready to play,
The natural 20s could see Santa in the real-world, miles away,
They finished the quest, and used their remembering orbs,
And then logged off, and hit the forum boards.
Off Alazira, Hood!um, Off faedanz, and Gelooo
Off Hellblazer, Lord Dark, Off Andrew, and Tod Fellow.
They all got off to update their CDTs
And then time for bed, and a good night's sleep,
But wait, what's this? They've logged on again,
Just to finish up some crafting, for an hour or ten.
It's what makes them, and this server, dear to me,
Addiction, and then some, to the Layonara company.
Happy holidays!
