'Twas the night before Class Wars, when all through the castle
Not a creature was stirring, not even a R2 mod.
Quiver bags were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Thethrell would soon be there.
The Eudaemons were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of golden sand danced in their heads.
And Mage with her spells, and I in my armor,
Had just drank the last of the wine;
While fighting in TOKNM.
When out on the Erandel there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my hyperbike to see what the matter was.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature iron cart and eight tiny steeds.
With an archer so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be Thethrell.
He whistled, and shouted, and called the steeds by name:
"Now, Pinches! Now, Kirin! Now Arthros and Epheros!
On, Chimera! On, Manticore! On, Icefyre and Abaddon!
So up to the top of the castle they flew
With the cart full of glory crystals, and Thethrell too—
Down the chimney Thethrell came with a bound.
He was dressed all in gold, from his head to his wings.
A bundle of glory crystals he had flung on his back,
He was slim and strong, a top-notch Archer,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
Thethrell filled all the quiver bags; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his iron cart, to his steeds he gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like balens on chests.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight—
“Happy Class Wars to all, and to all a good night!â€
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