The air here is heavy... with Christmas cheer! On a cushiony holly throne, in a hall oh so jolly sits a spirit who embodies the magic of gift-giving.

He is dressed in black armor from his head to his boots, with spikey shoulder pads that make him look sharp. A red hat with a white pom-pom rests atop his dark helmet, clearly showing who this is. And off to the side, those Elven-smiths—the Girwaith-i-Mirdain! Nowhere else could one find such fine toymakers.

He greets you merrily with a wave of his gloved hand, heaving a belly laugh so loud it'll make Father Christmas proud. "Ho, ho, ho! Happy holidays to thee! Santannatar is the name, that's what they call me. It has a nice ring to it, doth thou not agree?"

Santannatar's fiery eyes holds a bright twinkle, like lights on a tree or crackling embers in a chimney. Leaning forward, he says, "Now, the reason thou'rt here, I surely can guess. But I'd like to hear it myself, so go on, confess."