Welcome to day three of the Winter Writing Challenge! Are you ready to get those creative juices flowing? I loved reading all your submissions yesterday. Let’s see what you come up with today!
Here’s your next prompt!
Write a short description for this character:
Think you’re up for the challenge? We can’t wait to see what sort of description you guys come up with. Remember, it’s time to work together to unlock some of those awesome prizes, so post your description in the comments!
(Keep in mind, your descriptions should be less than 300 words!)
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the poems and vignettes you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice.
2. Have fun!
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your story as an “answer” to this question. 🙂
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Happy Writing!
Alli Prince
Meet Fiesty, the head elf at Santa’s workshop who’s in charge of the Naughty List Division. Fiesty is currently headed to a location in the far northern point of Neverland in search of two rogue rascals who need a little elfin lesson of how to properly find and chop down the perfect Christmas tree. The two were last spotted scaring a few local girls with their viking like attire left from Halloween.
Fiesty, who is always up for adventure with a little challenge on the side, wants to help all children stay off the naughty list. Donning a vibrant red and puff ball white hat, that just happens to have a naughty child detector installed, thanks to her electronic elf coworker, Tracker, she is also wearing a striking white and black leather viking outfit that she found in an elf storage unit. No doubt left from a long ago adventure party. Finally, she has armed herself with a larger than life ancient Viking axe that she purchased for this special mission from the online workshop. Heading toward the last known location the boys were spotted, Fiesty realizes it’s in the Raging Red Forest of Mischief. Suddenly her hat pings and looking around she spots them and realizes they are already overcome with naughtiness from the scent of the Cinnamon Trees that are scattered throughout the Crimson Red Forest.
Fiesty prepares to assist these two and teach them a valuable lesson about chopping down the correct tree, Viking Style.
Will Fiesty scare the naughtiness out of the boys? Will she rally the boys back to the nice list? Be sure to stay tuned to see if Fiesty wields her larger than life Viking Axe for the good of the naughty list?
‘Axe’ident sees Noel Norty demoted to Elf Lost and Found.
Elf-in-training ‘Norty’ was playing with an axe
She ‘axe’identally chopped off Santa’s Sleigh gift racks
Presents tumbled everywhere, so she ran away to hide
And when asked about the incident Norty flat-out lied
She was sure the jolly bearded man would fire her on the spot
And then she’d have nowhere to go, so she conveniently forgot –
To tell the truth, to own up to, the calamity she had caused
Thus delaying the departure of good old Santa Claus
But security cams proved her guilt, so she decided to come clean
And was demoted to the warehouse and the ‘lost and found’ Elf team.
I love it!
Nicholas’s quill dipped the inkwell before returning to parchment, skating down the names until he found one–tragically–that needed a check mark in the NAUGHTY column. Tsk.
“Tell me about the new girl,” he said.
Twinkle, ever a staid and dependable elf, rubbed his hands over each other in faint distress.
“Oh. Ah. You mean Bauble?”
“Yes, that’s the one. You were so keen for a new helper… she must be settled in, by now. How’s her first Christmas going so far?”
Twinkle cast a long look across the workshop floor, a festive chaos of elves trafficking rapidly back and forth, arms laden with toys and tools. He knew them all as intimately as family: Sprite, with her unflaggingly cheerful disposition; Merry, always good for a knock-knock joke; Holly, forever with a cheerful whistle on her lips.
And then there was Bauble.
Six foot tall. Arms braced in grommeted leather. Crowned by a standard-issue red velvet hat with white tassel, curved at the HR-approved 45 degree angle.
…bearing a four-foot tall iron battle axe on one shoulder.
As if sensing the weight of Twinkle’s gaze, Bauble stopped at the center of the floor, casting a look back. Her grin spread wide.
His throat tightened. “Bauble, uh…is that a… is that an axe?”
She managed, somehow, to grin wider.
“For the trees. Someone’s got to chop down the Christmas trees.”
And off she went, though her gaze and her smile lingered on him for uncomfortably long.
Twinkle mopped his brow with the flocked cuff of his sleeve. Was the workshop always this hot?
“She’s…fine,” he answered Nicholas at last. “Just fine. No complaints.”
I’ve met a few people like Bauble before… they’re the ones that make life interesting. (:
This was so imaginative and vivid! I really love it 🙂
Delightfully dark twist.
Tree Slaught Day.
Once a year, the mild-mannered, PTA-smiling mothers of suburbia shed their kindness like winter coats and emerge as tree-slaying warriors. Tree Slaught Day. An unspoken competition woven into the fabric of holiday tradition. It demands that each mom hunt, claim, and drag home the most breathtaking evergreen she can find.
She arrives dressed for battle: black faux-leather pants that stretch for sprinting and strategic lunges, a crisp white blouse to keep things deceptively elegant, and a cherry-red sweater knotted at her neck like a warning flag. Leather forearm guards (useful for nudging rivals aside) glint beneath the winter sun. In one hand, she grips her weapon of choice: an aged, beautifully detailed axe. On her head, perched with unsettling charm, sits a jolly Santa hat… because photos. Always the photos.
The moms line up shoulder to shoulder, their usual soft smiles twisted into something sharper,. Hungrier. They sway like predators waiting for the gate to lift.
Then the whistle shrieks.
Elbows fly. Boots churn through slush. Snow sprays. Pine needles lash at bare cheeks as mothers barrel past one another, eyes scanning frantically for the perfect tree with the fullest branches, the straightest trunk. They imagine the dreamy scene waiting in their living rooms across town.
When discovery strikes, the forest erupts with the sound of steel meeting sap. Blades thwack, wood cracks, and triumphant shouts carry on the cold wind.
One by one, the mothers emerge from the snowy battleground, dragging (so gently) their evergreen trophies behind them. Their breath heaves white in the air; and their cheeks glow with victory. And as they march to the finish, each one carries not just a tree, but proof that this year, they conquered Tree Slaught Day.
Well done!
We think of elves as quaint little creatures—diminutive, jovial, full of cheer and devoid of any ill intention. An emblem of the Christmas season itself, even. But it was not always that way.
The traditions of Christmas are old—older than you, or me, or even that ancient relative of yours whom you can’t believe is still hanging on. And as the traditions of Christmas have changed, so too have those messengers of the yuletide season—the elves.
I am reminded of one particular intriguing tale—that of the Lyngarok, ancient Nordic tribe of the far north. A war-like people, they were. And so were their elves.
I recall one particular image of a Lyngarok elf I once saw: a woman dressed in red and white, with black leather bracers and belt of the same kind. An axe clutched in her hands, an expression of impish glee upon her face. The customary red-and-white conical hat was almost out of place upon the fearsome figure.
Yes, these elves were no cherubic merry-makers. They were warriors, skilled with the battle axe, not afraid to use it. The poor young Lyngarok children were motivated to be nice not by the promise of presents and candies, but out the fear conveyed by the dreadful elves. A Lyngarok elf on the shelf was not a pleasant tradition, but rather the cause for many a child’s nightmare.
It is not a surprise, then, that this version of the elf was embraced by few, and the traditions of the Lyngarok died out with the tribe itself. It was soon to be replaced by the much friendlier version of the elf that we know today.
And that, is something to be thankful for.
Author’s Note: The so-called “Lyngarok Tribe”, along with its traditions, is entirely fictitious.
The thief of Christmas cheer comes to the door. Her axe in her hand is raised to demolish the Christmas decorations that decorate the front porch. She waits until midnight in hopes of not being caught stealing Christmas cheer. To her right is a small nativity scene of the Savior’s birth, to her left is a sign that reads Joy to the World. She looks from left to right and focuses her attention back on the front door.
She turns to her right, set to destroy the scene that shows Light coming into this dark world, when suddenly she sees a car drive by. The headlights illuminate her dark and devious plan and she ducks behind the nativity scene to cover herself. The car turns into the driveway. A woman and a young girl inside. They are preoccuiped and she knows this is her only chance. She races down the stairs in the cover of night and makes a break for it. As she walks along the sidewalk and passes the car, she sees a bright light shining down on the mother and the child. In that moment she realizes the Light of the world has protected His children from the thief of Christmas cheer for yet another year. The thief walks away empty handed, defeated again by the Savior of the world.
Love love love this. Where there’s light darkness cannot pierce through but where there’s dark light will shine through.
Rosie hefts the intricately designed axe over her shoulder and glances behind her. So far, so good. She smiles at her own cleverness and imagines the shock on the other elves’ faces when they discover the amber haired prankster has recovered the stolen axe. Her talent for creating mayhem is finally coming in handy. By the time the thief realizes the axe is missing, it will be in the hands of its rightful owner.
“Santa’s Heated Helpers”
I think Myrna’s lost it again. I had hoped after the toy soldier incident she would have played it cool and gone to HR with her griefs. THAT was wishful thinking I see.
She’s stalking around the warehouse, her blonde hair frizzed with exertion from the last hour of sanding down rocking horses, cackling threats of impending judgement for the higher management team. At least she’s kept her employee red cape and Christmas hat on, unlike her last tirade, where the cape was found hog tying Blitzen, the hat stuffed over his poor head. Her pointed nose and maniacal grin, stretched tighter than an arctic fox’s, is giving everyone the willies. Oh, and did I mention the axe?
Yeah, some dingbat at the smithy left an axe unattended, it looks like one of the Nordic elves’ kind, and now Myrna’s toting it on her back like the Big Man would with his sack. Only she isn’t spreading joy and good cheer like he does. I think “fear and general consternation” would be the appropriate way to describe her general effect among the staff.
French Hens, does she have to wear her leather wristguards and belt like she’s a pillaging Viking? We do have standards here, and today is certainly not Cosplay Friday. That, along with her white frilled blouse, is completely out of line with our approved “Evergreen and Holly” company colours.
Alright, I’ve seen enough. Someone find a Nerf Gun and crossbow in the Toy Weapons aisle and we’ll corner Myrna before someone loses their job. Or their head.
The ginger-haired elf had had enough. She was aptly named Ginger, although the name was a little unimaginative. Her tiny figure, adorned with the festive red and white uniform of the North Pole, appeared non-threatening and saccharine sweet, but if you looked closely into her eyes, you could see that the cute façade was just that. As fake as it got. Look more closely. Yes, lean in and take a good, long look. Those merry-looking, twinkling eyes—they were not a window to the soul but to a dark and festering abyss.
Resting on her narrow shoulder was an axe—almost bigger than she was—but she bore the weight as if it were nothing. This wasn’t just any axe. It was the weapon that Yukon Cornelius had used to keep the abominable snowman in check.
Not that the Bumble needs it now that he’s a toothless joke, the elf reflected.
The axe was a beautiful instrument: etched and curved steel, burnished by time and use. On the handle were three red marks, depicting Cornelius’s conquests. Ginger had a plan for that axe—besides the joy of pulling one over on that loud and brash man, as wide as he was tall. He was always flapping his jaws about his great and mighty deeds. Just contemplating his reaction when he realized the weapon that gave him power was gone made Ginger titter with laughter.
She walked through the cave opening, immediately engulfed in darkness. As her malevolent eyes adjusted, she saw a red glowing light turning on and off. On and off.
Ginger turned the corner, and there, lying on the hay-lined floor, was Rudolph. That infernal red light pulsed with each sleep-ridden breath. That red glow had kept her up countless nights, and tonight would be the last. That nose had to go.
I get the VeggieTales reference. (:
Faelwyn the Nisse
No bigger than a child, wearing a pikhue, a soft brimless pointy red hat topped with white pom, Faelwyn peers around the corner of the barn. Watching as the guests arrive for the yule festivities. Her eyes are usually blue but now glow slits of green anger as she shifts from foot to foot. Bearing the great weight of the heavy, too big for her Dane Axe that is slung over her red shoaled shoulder. She watches and ducks for cover as the Nordic neighbors wrapped in fur blankets pull up in their horse drawn sleighs to unload their bundled family members, barrels of beer and mead and food to share.
During the winter solstice, the Danish gather and feast in celebration together. It is custom that Nisse are assigned to young children to protect them as household spirits, that help with farm and household chores in exchange for risengrod, a rice porridge topped with a generous pat of butter.
Faelwyn’s charge is ten-year-old Erik, that she helped cut, split and stack firewood all day. Keeping the young lad entertained and working side by side to get his chores done. Erik was to leave her a big bowl of the porridge with extra butter, but he forgot. And now he is in the longhouse having too much fun, enjoying sweets and playing with his neighbor friends by the warmth of the fires.
But Faelwyn is not warm, she shivers behind the barn. Her tummy is growling. She balks, “Nisses must be treated with respect and given due payment of porridge, and I have not.”
Faelwyn’s dry, calloused hand gripped around the handle, polished smoothly from decades of Erik’s ancestor’s hand holds. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, she turned with a flicker of a grin. She spoke in a whisper, “For disrespecting and neglecting his duties, I will hide Erik’s heritage treasure, only to be returned once he has shown he can be responsible and kind.
The new naughty list is out and Mrs. Kringle with her handy hatchet has the first review. Don’t let the cutesy holiday attire fool you, underneath that witty, charming demure is a fierce woman ready to cut yeah from the ‘nice’ list, that is. So, you better be nice for goodness sake. It’s just 22 days b4 the Big Guy comes to town.
They’d been nice. Politely listing their requests for sick leave, paid vacation, health care, and retirement benefits. Santa had ho-ho-hoed and said Mrs. Claus would look into it since she managed the business side.
But it had been years, decades, going on a century now, and nothing had changed. Elves hurt on the job still had to be nursed at home, and rely on friends and extended family for food during the days they missed. As little fae, elves only had small magics. Without the daily recharge from working in the toy shop, elf magic would only stretch so far. Keeping a home at the North Pole warm was more important to survival than food.
A recent order for Viking weapons had been the last straw. Elves were not built to manage war axes and massive hammers, let alone pack them for travel. When a tower of crates staged for the sleigh had toppled, dozens of elves had been severely hurt.
Overtime was at a record high as the healthy elves struggled to remake the order, leaving few available to care for the injured. Elves were hurting, their families were hungry, and instead of being merry and bright, attitudes were grim and dark.
It was time to be naughty. If the boss wouldn’t provide benefits, there would be no toys for Christmas.
I am the oldest in our kindergarten – a full 6 years. Our teacher is very good. Today she gave us a task. We had to make a picture, but not by ourselves, but with an artificial mind. We didn’t really understand how a mind could be artificial and made a bunch of assumptions that it was like a plastic bottle, a felt-tip pen or something like that, but after all, we are still young and don’t understand everything. When I got home, however, my eight-year-old brother quickly taught me how to work with this mind. I just had to say out loud what I wanted and the plastic one would do it.
But first I thought about what kind of picture to make, because I wanted to be praised, and so I gave the mind a picture of me from my fifth birthday. However, there I look very small and I told him to make me bigger, like my mother – I told him how old she is. Then I was wondering how to dress and told him to make me Snow White or a dwarf. I was wondering a lot about what else to order and then my brother appeared who really likes fighting games and he told me that me painting would need more variety. So he recommended an axe. But I didn’t want to. But he said to me:
„And you’re so small that you don’t even know how to pronounce it.“
But I proved to him and as soon as I did, the plastic mind immediately recorded it. But I found out about it later, because I sent the result to the teacher, and she printed it out straight away. So what you see came out. Do you like it? I don’t like it. I think that one day I’ll draw a better painting and most importantly – it will be real!
Suzy, the little elf of Christmas dread slips through the shadows of the joyous holiday season to ambush unsuspecting victims. Despite her festive red-and-white Santa hat flickers her fire-bright orange hair. Black leather pants hug her quick, silent steps, and a white ruffled shirt deceivingly softens the dangerous poise of the ancient, three-foot battle axe she causally drapes over her shoulder. A worn leather wrist brace hints at centuries of mischief and mastery. As she glances back, a wide, wickedly playful smile spreads across her face—half daring, half promise—before she slinks away into the night.
Everyone turned in unison when she walked through the door. A palpable hush rushed through the busy café, broken only by the jingle bells chiming from the door handle. Was it a costume from some sort of messed up holiday performance? Perhaps she was fulfilling a dare, or playing a prank? Or was she about to start wielding the battle axe resting on her shoulder? A couple standing near the door stepped back as she began to scan the room. She was focused, looking for something, or someone, with an unsettling intensity. Her eyes moved across the room like a hunter searching the tree line. She even scrunched her nose, sniffing for her prey.
If not for the menacing medieval-looking weapon with the 18-inch blade, she would easily pass for a soccer mom, maybe a teacher or a nurse. Well, the axe and the leather pirate sleeves wrapping each arm from elbow to wrist. The people in the café collectively held their breath, uncertain how to respond as she silently began walking around the room. None of it made sense. She wore a traditional Santa hat covering neatly styled, shoulder length blond hair. The black leather skirt and white blouse said hip marketing exec, while the red sweater draped over her shoulders hinted at a morning at the country club. Was she a jolly elf, or a crazed holiday shopper…only time would tell.
Give Macey a challenge, and she’d take it to the extreme every time. Mikey, an annoying, rotund elf with extra-big ears, had goaded her one too many times with his rhyming insults delivered in his signature sing-song voice –
“Macey-Tacey, ugly little facey, so weak and small, her elf name should be ‘La-zy!’”
That did it. Macey might be small-boned, but she was wiry! Although Santa had her working the “Small Fry” toys, each weighing ten pounds or less, she just knew she could handle more. MUCH more, actually. So . . . how to prove it? She could pick up one of the huge wooden sleds with runners, which had to weigh over twenty pounds each. Or maybe one of the already packed bags – if Santa himself had to huff and puff to heft one over his burly shoulders, they must weigh close to fifty pounds, at least!
But . . . that massive ax in the corner might make more of a statement. It appeared to be not just heavy, but menacing. Evil, even! Come to think of it, why in the North Pole was that weapon of destruction even in Santa’s Workshop in the first place?? Well, whatever, it would be the perfect prop to prove her true strength.
A tiny terror, that was Macey! It only took three tries, but after grasping the thick handle between her thin hands, she braced her legs, swung the ax over her shoulder, and stood. Making a (albeit staggering and unsteady) beeline for Mikey, she bellowed “Macey-Tacey, about to erase thee!!” The look of terror on Mikey’s “facey” was all the reward she needed.
There is a peculiar woman who, on December the third, every year without fail, goes out to chop down her Christmas tree. Some call her Red Riding Hood because she always wears a bright red Santa hat and cape that complement her strawberry blond hair. As she makes her way through the snow, she lugs around the biggest axe you’ll ever see. Mounted on a sturdy oak handle, the axe head’s strong, sharpened curve and intricate engravings suggest she somehow managed to pull it straight out of the Viking Age. A maniacal glimmer dances in her bluish-gray eyes.
Forget about chopping down one tree—she’s ready to level the entire pine forest.
Clarice was always up for a challenge. She’d ridden wild polar bears bareback. She’d broken the will of a killer whale pod with her bare hands. Then there was that time she convinced a kettle of peregrine falcons to provide her transportation for a month.
But this? Her unyielding sense of adventure might have gone too far this time.
She’d never even handled an axe before. But she and her fellow North Pole elves were wilting under the oppressive thumb of the Rat King. But what made her think she could take on his mighty automaton Nutcracker Army?
Oh, that’s right. The axe told her to do it.
Noelle slunk through the early evening fog. The axe handle bit into her slim shoulder and her arm felt numb. She wasn’t sure whether it was numb from cold or the heavy axe, which was meant for someone at least twice her size. She sighed, breath puffing in front of her. Having a warrior on your side supposedly made life easier. That great clumsy… She shifted the axe to her other shoulder. In what world did an itty-bitty elf have to rescue a trained warrior, with forearms as thick as Yule logs? And not the modern chocolate cake variety either, more like the burn a bonfire through winter type of Yule log. She stopped to catch her breath and tugged her hat over her pointed ears.
Olaf was St Nicholas’ new bodyguard and was supposed to stay by the sled while His Excellency made house visits. Noelle did not want a repeat of last year’s run in with Krampus’ gang. But Olaf had succumbed to the speculaas cookies and gluhwein at their first stop and passed out next to the sled. Luckily, she had managed to drag him into the back seat before His Eminency the Saint came out. But after the second stop, only his axe lay in the soft snow next to the sled. So here she was, trudging through the snow, hunting all manner of creatures to rescue St Nicholas’ bodyguard. She smiled grimly. At least a fight would warm her up.
Nell ,a five foot five inches tall elf , looks so beautiful with red hair but the shifty eyes and sinister look on her face would scare the hair off a bald man’s head. Nell is dressed in a red and white Santa hat, red shaw and black pants. Those shifty sinister eyes and that huge brown handle and gray sharp edged ax definitely puts her on the naughty list. I pray Nell is not thinking of chopping up a sweet little child’s gift wrapped in colorful paper and bows. I don’t think I want to know what this tiptoeing, mysterious Nell is up to. Do you?
Walking against a bright red wall of a book manufactory, an abnormally tall elf hauls a fantasy axe over her shoulder, ready to chop next year’s firewood. Her axe is of an older kind, evident by a crescent-shaped hole in the iron. (Due to the age, we can also tell the axe was forged by Mrs. Claus.) She hauls the axe by a bright green wall, a bright blue wall, and back to another bright red wall. Santa’s village is very well-lit today!
This elf’s velvet Santa hat drapes down towards a shoulder, as she leans to carry the axe’s weight. The hat is purely decorative: nobody needs warm clothes at the north pole. Standard-issue long sleeve shirts, leather pants, and archerer’s arm guards will always provide adequate warmth within the North Pole’s bubble of heating. It’s about 30° Fahrenheit today to celebrate the start of fall.
“You’d better not,” warned Finn the elf. “You know how he can be.”
“Go back to sitting on your shelf. He’ll not mind, since it’s me.”
And so, Santa’s prized axe in hand, Tinselina crept from the castle,
taking a brief respite from all the bustle and hustle and hassle,
And off into the forest to find the perfect tree.
Her Great Aunt Hilde had been sick and Tinselina wished to cheer her;
The least she could hope to do, since she was too busy to be near her.
She found a spruce, fat and green and chopped it to the ground,
And whistled up a reindeer, and to her aunties, bound,
Where the tree was trimmed and lastly, with a shining star, crowned.