The Story of High Winter
T’was the night before High Winter, and all though the town, not a creature was stirring… well… maybe the drunken bastard who ran the orphanage.
On this night (after a heavy bout of drinking), Father Nickoli, patron of the Stillwater Orphanage, turned his attention back to the children in his care. Father Nickoli had lost his wife many years before, and the pain he endured drove him to the bottle and to cards. The children knew to dread what was coming next when he got that familiar look in his eyes. Tears and blood stained the orphanage floor. They huddled together and prayed, yet again, that this time the beatings would be over quickly. Many nights they entreated the gods for help and each night their prayers were unheard.
Tonight, however, was different. Tonight that prayer was heard – but not by any force of good.
Father Nickoli, blood still on his hands, eventually went to retire for the evening. This is when he heard the jingle of the bell at the door. He moved to the door of the orphanage to see who was calling so late on this cold winter night. Standing there, a fearsome blizzard raging behind him, was a mysterious stranger. The Frost Lord’s eyebrows were white and thick with ice. His skin was cold with a hint of blue. His chilled exhalations fogged the air as he stepped into the orphanage and held aloft his flask. He was a traveler, he said, a gambler who had been caught in the storm. He offered to share his mead if Father Nickoli would allow him to stay for a few short hours until the storm passed. Perhaps, he mentioned, they could wile away the time with a game of cards?
Father Nickoli agreed, and they began to play. The game they played was called “the Weeping Queen” in the common tongue, “La Reine qui Pleure” to the High Elves, and “Pandora’s Wrath” to the Einher. This game would not end until one man pulled the Weeping Queen. Whoever drew that card had to pay a price. Father Nickoli demanded his price, 1000 gold, and to his surprise the Frost Lord agreed.
The game started in Father Nickoli’s favour, but quickly turned sour. After an hour of play only two cards remained. It was the Frost Lord’s turn to draw, and draw he did: the 2 of diamonds. Tears ran down Father Nickoli’s face as he turned over the last card, the Weeping Queen.
Father Nickoli begged the cold stranger. He told him he didn’t have the money. He said he had even lost the orphanage in a wager. Lord Frost then told him that his life was forfeit, and his soul would belong to him for eternity. In a last attempt at salvation, Father Nickoli said, “I will give you the children. All of them. One for each card I drew. You may have their souls.”
Lord Frost thought for a moment, then agreed. He gave Father Nickoli one week, after which he would return for the bodies of twenty-six children.
Father Nickoli set to work the very next night, starting with all the children in his orphanage. With those children slain, he had only filled half of his quota. Desperate, he stalked outside to the houses and families of Stillwater. Donning a white suit and hat to blend in with the snow, Father Nickoli snuck down the chimneys of unsuspecting families. He crept, quick as a mouse, into children’s rooms and slit their throats while they slept. Placing their bodies in his large, white sack, he would move from home to home. Eventually his bag, heavy with the bodies of little children, turned crimson with their blood. The blood oozed from the sack and soaked his coat, pants, and finally his hat. The only clean spots were the white trim on his sleeves, and the black of his boots.
Father Nickoli was not unseen. The urchins of Stillwater were watching his horrific acts. They saw their friends disappear one by one. They saw the silhouette of a large, fat man on the rooftops, slipping down into fireplaces. They knew who was stealing away the lives of their friends, and they told everyone they could, but no one would listen. They told the sheriff, and adults of the town, only to be laughed at. Nobody believed them. Finally, they went to their only friend, the Clockmaker.
The Clockmaker, a wise and aged man, did not believe their story either, but to keep the children happy he made them a clockwork creature, a simple kobold made from old cogs and gears. The kobold would follow the children around making all sorts of clicks and whirs. One child, little Billy, remembered an old wooden sword his grandfather had up in the attic. His grandfather told him this sword had belonged to a powerful Wild Elven druid back when his grandfather was an adventurer, but little Billy didn’t believe him. Everybody knew adventurers used swords of steel. Little Billy borrowed the sword from his grandfather’s chest and gave it to the Clockwork Kobold. Something magical happened then, and the Kobold’s eyes gleamed with the light of intelligence. The children named him Ticker for the noises he made and for the ticking in his chest.
Unfortunately, as magnificent as he was, Ticker wasn’t much of a fighter. Try as he might, he could not save the children, and one by one they fell prey to the knife of evil Father Nickoli. On the last night, just before Lord Frost’s scheduled return, Father Nickoli had just one child left to go. He snuck down the fireplace of little Billy’s house and into the sleeping child’s room. He crept up to the bed and put his knife to Billy’s throat. He slit it quickly and quietly, and then threw the body into his bag. Moving as fast as he could, he ran back to the now-empty orphanage. It was very cold that night, colder than any night he could remember, so he set up a roaring fire and waited for Lord Frost’s return.
His wait was not long. Lord Frost stepped from the shadows and asked for the bodies of the children. Father Nickoli gave Lord Frost the bag and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. His soul was his again… or so he thought. Lord Frost’s lips formed an icy smile, and he laughed an evil cackle as he looked into the bloody bag. “You fool,” he said. “You were to bring me 26 children but instead you have only 25. This last child is not real. You were tricked.” Lord Frost reached into the bag and threw the corpse of little Billy at Father Nickoli. Father Nickoli stared at it in confusion before a look of horror crept across his face. It was not the body of little Billy that Father Nickoli held, but the Clockwork Kobold. Even with a slit throat its body made a click click whir. While he stared aghast, the door to the orphanage burst open and all the mothers and fathers of the town came rushing in bearing torches and pitchforks. Behind them followed little Billy. He had, hours before, been struck on the head by his friend the Clockwork Kobold. When he finally came to, he told the sheriff all that had happened. With so many children missing, this time the adults believed him. They followed Father Nickoli’s bloody footprints all the way back to the orphanage
The adults of the Stillwater descended on Father Nickoli as Lord Frost dissolved into the shadows. They cast his body, still clutching the Clockwork Kobold, into the fireplace, damning his soul forever. As Father Nickoli burned, he cursed the children and he screamed as his flesh melted from his bones. When it was over, nothing remained but the ash that flew up the chimney and into the cold night sky.
For the time being, all was safe in Stillwater, and all was safe in the world. However…
It is said that every year around High Winter, Father Nickoli’s spirit flies through the air like ash in the wind. Down the fireplace he slips and slits the throat of children who are bad. He then pours their blood on his hat, coat, and bag before stealing off into the night. But fear not children, for the Clockwork Kobold follows him still. He protects the children if they are good and rewards them not only with life, but also presents of toys and wooden swords.