Episode 0: Wintertide: A Documented History on IGNOLand's Christmas Traditions

[you gently wipe the dust off the worn and tattered cover of a very ancient book, revealing the title The Ancient Origins of Christmas Time.
Careful as to not tear the tattered pages, yellowed with age, you begin to read.]

(editor's foreword: the basis of the information in this book lies in a tale set many hundreds of years before the time of this writing - a period when IGNOLand was still full of untamed wilds, before the sprawl of civilization began to spread. Our story takes us to a continent just to the north of IGNOLand, to the icy regions known as the Nordlands.)

In true Nordic tradition, nature was to be revered. The harsh northern climates of the Nordlands were brutal and unforgiving to those without the proper respect. The cold winds blew down from the mountains year-round, but 'twas never a time so fearsome as the Nordic winter. Careful preparations had to be made to ensure the villagers had enough food to go around and keep them warm and energized through the frigid days and nights. If you ask a Nord, they will tell you that the reason their people are so hardy, and their warriors so fierce, is because they are grateful to the gods for providing them with plentiful crops to keep them hale and healthy in the coldest Nordic winters.

Festivals to honor the gods were a critical part of Nordic culture. Harvest festivals were held in Autumn as the leaves began to turn and fall, and the Nordic peoples prayed to their gods for a bountiful yield to carry them through the season. In the winter, one of the most culturally significant of Nordic festivals was held - the celebration of Wintertide. A traditional Nordic Wintertide stretched from what we now mark as the latter half of December, roughly spanning the middle to the end of the month. Wintertide was, at its core, a celebration to honor the gifts granted by the gods to keep the people safe through the unforgiving winter months, but it was also a time to honor togetherness and familial bonds. A famous Wintertide proverb, when translated, reads there is no better way to keep warm than in the arms of the ones most loved. Taken literally, this is a description of the way Nordic families did, in fact, keep warm in their homes during the rough winters nights, by huddling close together and sharing body heat. Figuratively, of course, it is symbolic of the spirit of togetherness and love that ties families together, and of thankfulness. Wintertide tradition held that the head of the tribe would bestow a gift to each household under their care - typically, this was either a large caribou or roast bird, as well as some loaves of bread, to be eaten by the whole family - which over time grew into what is now celebrated in the Nordlands as 'The Wintertide Feast'. This is where IGNOLand's tradition of Christmas dinner and the exchanging of gifts between loved ones originated. During the meal, prayers were offered to the gods in gratitude for bringing the family closer together.

However, in modern times, Nordic Wintertide - and Christmas in IGNOLand - have taken on many additional traditions that were not originally celebrated by the ancient Nords. The story behind these modern customs begins some 400-odd years ago, in a small village on the southern coast of the Nordlands. The following account is the most well-known version of the tale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Legends tell that a horrific wild beast, of matted fur and mangled tooth, had begun descending the mountain ranges to abduct villagers from its foot. When there were no longer any but young children and the elderly left, he would move on to a new village...though some of the more gruesome tales say he would not move on until none were left alive. As the problem began to spread from one village to the next, the people began to live in fear - will our home be next? And if so, when...? None could say for certain what would happen once you were dragged into the beast's horrific cave, for none returned to tell the tale - but that was enough to send the message that it wasn't anything good. It was said that this monster was immortal, but the Nords believed that there was nothing that lived which could not be killed. One village's matriarch (author's note: Nordic tribal culture was gender-neutral, with men and women both as likely to become leaders as warriors) had already sent dozens of her best warriors to slay the beast, yet they, too, did not return. Neither hide nor hair was ever seen again of those foolish enough to venture close to its lair...all that was ever left behind in its wake were long, raking claw marks in the blood-speckled snow. It was from this signature that the beast was given its name - Krampus, for 'claw'.

The Krampus had first begun to terrorize this most recent village in the late summer. By now, it was fast approaching Wintertide, and the monster had yet been slain. Villagers were growing more and more fearful of leaving their homes, and without regular hunting to supplement the Nord diet, the yield of crops from the harvest was already beginning to dwindle. It began to grow doubtful that the villagers would even survive the winter, between the harsh weather and Krampus' continued attacks...and with so many of their loved ones already lost, they could scarcely even huddle together for warmth on the cold nights. No matter how much they prayed to the gods, it seemed that they had been forsaken...that year, in the small Nordic village, the Wintertide spirit could be found.

One day, a traveling warrior had arrived in the village, asking for a bed to stay the night before continuing on his journey. The warrior was warned strongly to stay away, for the village was cursed by a terrible beast who had already claimed the lives of so many. The warrior declared that, in exchange for a warm meal and bed, he would slay the beast, and was again warned that so many before him had tried and failed. But this warrior was confident. He insisted that he would travel to the Krampus' lair and defeat the creature once and for all. All he needed was a meal to keep his body warm and full, and a bed to give him a proper rest - with that, he claimed, he was undefeatable. Left with no other options, the villagers accepted his proposal. Though food was scarce, a feast was prepared for this traveler who gave his name as Kristof Kringle, and prayer again offered to the gods that this man might succeed where all others had failed. He was given a bed in the village matriarch's home, and when she awoke the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. Tracks were found just outside the village, leading up to that unholiest of mountains. The storm raged with particular ferocity that day...would Kristof make good on his promise, or had he already become the next in line to be Krampus' meal? All they could do was wait and pray...

Young Kristof, with gleaming axe on back and striped traveling cane in hand, began the treacherous journey up the mountain. He was beset by all manner of wild beasts as he made his way, but he turned aside each one effortlessly. It was almost as though the gods themselves were testing his mettle as he made his way deeper through the raging blizzard with nothing but a pair of rusty shoulderpads and tattered clothing to protect him from the elements. Yet still, Kristof pushed ever onward, neither stopping nor looking back behind, drawing ever closer to the darkness of the Krampus' cavern.

Finally, after walking since dawn, young Kristof came upon the gruesome entrance to the Krampus' cave. Clean-picked bones littered the blood-mottled snow just outside its pitch-black maw, but Kristof was undeterred, and fearlessly stepped into the monster's lair.

What happened next in that deep dark cave, none can say. Legends tell that the clashing of claw and steel was transmitted along the wintry winds to the village below, raging on without stop for twelve days and twelve nights. When finally the clashing ceased, Kristof continued to stand bravely before his evenly-matched opponent. His armor had worn away to almost nothing, leaving his scratch-covered body unprotected. His trusty axe had cracked and splintered, and no longer would it be able to spill blood. Krampus, too, continued to stand - his breathing ragged, his fur matted and torn, but his eyes as fearsome and determined as ever. Both bloodied and broken, but neither defeated, they called an intermission to their battle and sat facing one another by the fire. With nothing left to do until they could recover their energy and resume their scuffle, the two began to talk.

Krampus commended young Kristof for both his bravery and combat prowess, but pointed out that his weapon was now nothing but kindling for the fire, and his armor had disintegrated to the point that he now sat nearly naked in the bitterly cold cavern.

Kristof, replied that this was no reason to give up, and remained confident that he would be the victor.

Krampus could only laugh, for he still had his claws, and his dark magic fueled by the pain and despair flowing into him from the village below. With so many of their loved ones lost and the desperation to outlast the harsh Nordic winter, they had all but given up hope, entrusting their last chance to young Kristof.

To Kristof, this was all the more reason he must return victorious.

Krampus sneered at this futile resolve, for as long as their despair continued to fuel his powers, Kristof would exhaust himself to death before he could win. Even now, the negative emotions of the villagers were healing his wounds and restoring his strength, while Kristof remained exposed and helpless.

But Krampus was a reasonable creature, more civilized than his wild brethren in spite of his shaggy appearance. It is said that he offered Kristof a choice - surrender now, and his life alone would be spared. As a wanderer, he had no connection to these people or reason to sacrifice his life to save them. Even if he were to somehow defeat Krampus, their food stores would no longer last them through the grueling winter. Their fates had already been sealed...and having eaten such a feast when food was in such dire straits, Kristof had a hand in that. He had already given them death, so why continue to fight? Krampus urged the young traveler to take this option - to leave the mountain and never again return.

Kristof thought long and hard about his situation. It was true that he had no ties to this village. And with his weapon and armor completely useless now, while Krampus was gradually recovering his full strength, there was no chance for him to win. There was no guarantee that the foul creature would keep his word and allow him to leave - but there was at least a chance he was telling the truth. Should Kristof instead take up arms and attempt to reengage him, however...death was all but a certainty. If he were to simply disappear, they would only think he too was killed and never know of his betrayal. It was a tempting offer, given by a silver-tongued deceiver.

Finally, Kristof threw up his hands in defeat. He had made his decision. He would surrender. His axe was split from head to haft, and his armor was naught but a few scraps of cloth and metal still clinging to his form. He hadn't eaten or slept in days. While Krampus' wounds were steadily healing, Kristof was already knocking on death's door. It would have simply been foolish to continue his attack in this state. Krampus was surprised...he was certain that Kristof would prioritize honor above survival, like all the other warriors who had fallen before him. Kristof smiled weakly and said that, while Nords are a stubborn and prideful people, it is a mistake to assume there are not clever ones among them.

However, Kristof asked Krampus to at least allow him to rest a while before continuing on. If he were to step out of the cave in his current state, into the raging blizzard, without food or sleep...he would certainly drop dead on the spot. Krampus was wary - certainly, Kristof could try to pull some kind of surprise attack when Krampus lowered his guard. Kristof laughed at the notion, reminding Krampus that he no longer had a weapon nor the strength to put behind it. Krampus agreed that it would be unlikely for Kristof to bring him physical harm in his state, and agreed to let the man stay the night, though he would be keeping a close watch over him. Krampus warned once more that should Kristof attempt anything suspicious, he would not only be killed on the spot but the villagers would be punished even more gruesomely for his transgressions.

And so, the sun sank beyond the horizon and night fell. Once more, the two sat on opposite sides of the warm fire. When the silence became unbearable, Kristof began to speak of how this night was to be the Wintertide feast. Krampus laughed and said that the only feasting would be his own, once Kristof had left and he could return to preying on the village. He christened this twisted take on the cherished Nordic holiday “Krampusnacht”, or “night of the Krampus”. Kristof told him there was no longer anything he could do to prevent this, but wished that Krampus could embrace the spirit of Wintertide instead of feeding off hatred and misery. Krampus was bewildered as Kristof talked at length of the Wintertide traditions, of spiced game roasts and mugs overflowing with mead, of boisterous songs filling the taverns and families huddled tightly in their homes by the fire. Most intriguing of all, however, was the custom of giving gifts. Krampus could not fathom why anyone would willingly share their bounty with another, and surmised that those who gave only did so because they expected a gift for themselves in turn. Kristof explained that this was not the case, as the joy was itself the act of giving to those less fortunate. He then said that in this moment, to him, Krampus - who fed upon sadness and pain, never knowing of love and joy - was the most unfortunate of all.

To that end, Kristof reached into his rucksack to pull something out. Krampus rose instantly to his feet, prepared to strike the man down for attempting a sneak attack...but was surprised to find that Kristof held in his hands a small bundle of wrapped cloth. Krampus remained suspicious that the wrapped object could be a weapon, but Kristof did not unwrap the cloth himself. Instead, he held it out for Krampus to take. Kristof explained that he did not expect a gift from Krampus in return. He did not even consider this in exchange for 'the gift of life', stating bluntly that he was fairly certain Krampus intended to kill him as soon as he made to leave the cave anyway. Krampus grinned, once more commending Kristof for his astuteness, but was all the more confused as to why Kristof not only did not make to fight back, but was actually giving his would-be killer a gift. Kristof said that he did not want to die, but if his death was inevitable, he at least wanted to know he had left an impact on someone, and was able to bring even the smallest amount of happiness into their life. Only then could he proudly stand before the gates of Verdhöll and face the gods.

What happened next, in that cavern, they say, is the Krampus' heart grew three sizes that day. He could not understand Kristof's seemingly genuine intentions to be kind to him, even though he already knew that Krampus would simply kill him come dawn and then continue to ravage the village below. Perhaps, Krampus began to wonder, this was not the way he had to live. Could he change his ways and learn to draw energy from kindness and joy, instead? For the first time in his life, Krampus was able to smile - not a devious smirk, but a genuine smile of happiness.

Krampus took the swaddled bundle from Kristof and made to unwrap it. And then...there was a great metal sound that echoed through the enclosed cavern. Krampus looked down to find his wrists had somehow been bound by shackles, each with a chain dangling from the end. However, the chains did not bind his wrists to each other, but instead...to Kristof's. His good mood was blown away as though it were a dream, like a gentle summer's breeze turned to howling winter's storm. As he flew into a rage and lunged at Kristof, he found himself unable to lay hands on his enemy. No matter how much he swung his arms and swiped his claws, his blows dissipated a hair's breadth before Kristof - he would never again be able to strike his flesh.

Kristof reiterated his words from earlier - Nords are a stubborn and prideful people, but it is a mistake to assume there are not clever ones among them. Kristof happened to be both. While his roughly-hewn armor and heavy axe had painted him to be a purely barbaric warrior, Kristof was, in fact, just as skilled in the Arcane arts. What he had just used was a spell to magically bind Krampus to himself. Truthfully, he had intended to sacrifice himself to put a stop to the beast from the very beginning, but required time...which he bought by fighting tooth and nail, further convincing Krampus that there was nothing more to him but a simple-minded Nord warrior. This was also the reason for Kristof's confidence and certainty that it was he who would be victorious from the very start. While Krampus had been continuously on guard that Kristof may still attempt a surprise attack, the idea that there was magic afoot had been the furthest from his mind and he never saw it coming. Kristof scorned Krampus, knowing that he would never have kept his promise to let him leave alive. A Nord fights with honor only when the opponent grants him the same, but if the opponent will use sneaky and underhanded lies and trickery then turnabout was fair play.

These magical shackles, fueled by Kristof's own life energy, would bind Krampus to Kristof for as long as he lived, sapping the beast of his otherworldly strength and keeping him weak. Furthermore, Kristof told, the Krampus would no longer be able to take the lives of the innocent with his terrible claws for as long as the shackles would hold. And though the chains were magical and not physical, they worked much in the same way, and would prevent Krampus from ever fleeing too far from Kristof's sight. He would never again be allowed to prey upon the weak.

Krampus was furious at this deception, but reminded Kristof that he was immortal. While Kristof would die one day, Krampus would live on, and on that day his chains would be severed and he would once again be free to terrorize the land. Kristof understood this, and had already come prepared with a countermeasure in mind...his descendants would be forever cursed to carry this burden in his stead. Of course, the fact that Krampus could no longer lay a hand upon Kristof was part of the spell. He would not be able to circumvent the rules and kill his captor before he could to father a child and carry on the burden. Kristof softly apologized to his unborn children for thrusting such an unreasonable task upon them, but knew that it would be the only way to truly put an end to the Krampus terrorizing his beloved homeland.

Krampus rampaged about the cavern, shaking the earth so fiercely that it could be felt by the villagers below the mountain. Yet nothing he did was able to sever the magical chains. He was stuck. And so, he decided that if he could not kill Kristof, or his progeny, he would instead devote his life to making them as miserable as possible, until so much of their built-up hatred and scorn seeped into him that he would become powerful enough to crush the chains. He would dedicate himself fully to corrupting the very ideals Kristof loved most - thus beginning his eternal crusade against Wintertide, now Christmas, itself.

Kristof returned to the village dragging Krampus behind him, explaining the situation. The villagers rejoiced, wanting to hold another feast in his honor, but Kristof declined. He asked only for a single ship, deciding to make the journey south to the then-untamed wilds of IGNOLand's Ice Plains.  As long as the chains kept them bound, the subjugated Krampus was unable to resist being dragged along with Kristof. By isolating themselves in a barren wasteland devoid of people, Kristof had hoped to further prevent Krampus from bringing harm to others, even in indirect ways, and feeding on their despair.

Word spread from the small village all across the Nordlands, telling the tale of brave Kristof Kringle and his sacrifice to vanquish the Krampus. However, as all tales are embellished by oral tradition and the passing of time, it is not known just how much of the account given here is true. By the villagers' testimony and numerous recorded accounts unearthed from Nordic ruins, all that is known is that Kristof was a real person who ventured to the lair of the beast where he remained for an imprecise (accounts vary), but lengthy, amount of time, before returning with the Krampus - bound and weakened through some means - and then departing by ship. And even then, there is no evidence that these written accounts speak the unembellished truth...

None but the two themselves can ever tell the tale of what happened in that cave, so we can only imagine. This is, however, the most popular rendition of the tale, and songs telling of Kristof's bravery remain customary during the Wintertide celebration to this day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, there are many tales of what happened after Kristof's departure, as well. They say that once Kristof and Krampus resettled in the wilds of IGNOLand's Ice Plains, Krampus built an ominous tower of ice high in the mountains, while Kristof lived as a simple hermit in a shack at its foot. Over time, Nords who had heard of Kristof's bravery began to make pilgrimages to the Ice Plains, settling in the northern regions of IGNOLand (primarily in the areas we consider the southern Ice Plains, parts of Blood Country, Knochenstadt, and IGNO City today). Kristof became a legendary and famous figure, but remained ever-humble. It is said that he would always have a gift on hand to bestow upon those who made the lengthy journey to visit him in his isolated shack. As such, in his later years, he was renowned more for his kindness and generosity towards strangers than the ribald tales of his viking past (author's note: though not very prevalent in IGNOLand, those adventurous tales still have a strong presence in the Nordlands come Wintertide). Eventually Kristof Kringle became known affectionately as 'Santa Claus' (author's note: the exact etymology of the term has been lost as language in IGNOLand has evolved, but it is surmised by scholars that it originally meant 'Saint of the Claws' - with 'claws' of course referring to Krampus. In other words, 'Santa Claus' could loosely have translated to something akin to 'The One Who Saved Us From The Claws' to the ancient peoples of IGNOLand). It may go without saying at this point, but the traditions of Wintertide that made their way to IGNOLand as the Nords began to settle in later took on the name of 'Kristmas' in his honor, eventually coming to its modern spelling of 'Christmas'.

Though his later years were spent in relative isolation, Kristof eventually took a wife who bore him children, and it was said by those who visited his shack that they were a happy family. When the day finally came that Kristof died, his destiny was passed down to his eldest son just as he had claimed. This child became the Krampus' new keeper, cursed to bear the chains of his father's burden. For hundreds of years, this cycle has been continuing, as his children, and their children, and their children's children, would all go on to take up the role of “the Santa Claus”. To this day, there is a Santa Claus, living at the foot of that mountain, ever vigilant over the Krampus and his evil attempts to ruin Christmas in revenge against the one who first bound him.

This duty has, however, been all but forgotten by the modern world, with the image of Santa instead bringing to mind the jolly toymaker who delivers gifts by reindeer-pulled sleigh to all of IGNOLand. This is the result of Kristof's reputation as a jovial elderly man who gave gifts to all who visited him, which his son and grandson continued to practice after his passing. Over time, the operation expanded beyond the humble hermit who gave to the needy into an entire toymaking empire, with Kristof's original shack transforming into the workshop Santa Claus is known for today.

Many modern Christmas traditions were not originally part of Wintertide, but were adopted after Kristof's story faded into legend. Santa's image of having a white beard originated from old Nordic paintings depicting the scene where Kristof returns to the village with Krampus in tow, his beard (and of course, the rest of him) caked with snow. This image is so prevalent in popular culture that most modern Santas actually dye their beards white, regardless of their age - and Rainbow forbid a Santa Claus be clean-shaven!! The red suit was originally a red robe which Kristof was said to have worn in his hermit years - and according to the testimonies of those who visited him, he sometimes wore green as well, leading to the colors becoming iconic of the season. Candy canes were originally modeled after Kristof's walking cane (which, according to some accounts was actually a magical staff, but the facts are inconclusive) which he used to scale the mountain in his fateful journey to defeat Krampus.

The origin of decorating trees in festive lights is scarcely remembered in modern times, but this practice originally stemmed from precautionary methods employed by early IGNOites to keep the Krampus at bay. Though he was bound to Kristof and his descendants and severely weakened as a result, he was not powerless - nor was the Santa Claus omnipotent. Krampus was still capable of luring victims to their icy deaths in the treacherous Ice Plains, and as he fed on fear and despair he could still gain power, if far less than he once had. Rather than live in fear of him (as fear and dismay fueled his powers), it was said that hanging bright lanterns in the trees outside the home would sting his eyes and blind him, cause him to become disoriented and lose his way, and force him to turn around and go back up the mountain. Carols have a similar origin. Though the settling Nords did sing songs at Wintertide, they were not originally holiday-specific - typically they were prayers in musical form, songs telling of adventure, or stories regarding the gods in their ancient pantheon. Wintertide Carols drew inspiration from this practice and expanded, as it was said that the joyous music was painful to Krampus' ears and would make him keep his distance. Young children of the Ice Plains to this day are strongly advised to sing traveling songs loudly when they leave their villages, lest they become easy prey for the Krampus to snatch up and beat with his horrible birch rod, feeding on their screams. The subject matter of modern Christmas Carols relating to snow, love, joy, and other Christmas imagery was something that evolved later on, though that is a tale for another time.

All in all, though a modern IGNOLand Christmas is quite distinct from both ancient and modern Wintertide celebrations in the Nordlands, they continue to have much in common. Kristof's legacy remains extremely iconic in both regions. Krampus himself is not as widely known anymore outside the Ice Plains - even in the Nordlands, many modern people wonder if he truly existed and was not just a made up figure of the old legends. However, Krampus is very real, and his centuries-old goal to corrupt the holiday and destroy Kristof's reputation even in death has not faded with time. Fortunately, as long as we have the Santa Claus to protect us, the world will never have to know a terror like his ever again.

(editor's note: the material in this book should not be taken as truth. Very little information about Kristof Kringle and Krampus can be verified as factual. While archeologists have since uncovered proof that a monster called Krampus did exist at one time, as did Kristof Kringle, and while Kristof's descendants do continue to live in the Ice Plains and practice the Santa Claus traditions we know today, the exact nature of the supposed curse, or whether or not it even exists, is unknown. Accounts as to how exactly Santa and Krampus are connected vary wildly and sometimes outright contradict one another. It is therefore best to take this particular book's information with a grain of salt, and treat it as a mythological, rather than historical, account.

[Having reached the end, you close the cover of the dusty book and return it to the shelf, wondering to yourself about the truth...]

.