Merry Cryxmas!

So, there we were, in the northern realms of the world, icy gales blowing and frenzied snow whipping around our camp-fire. The ancient ritual of treasure-trading was well underway, as my mother looked at me, the hoar-frost sparkling upon her brow. Son! She exclaimed, her green eyes reflecting the flames of the fire, her rune-chains rustling softly. I hear you have been going to war without the proper tools of battle! No longer must you shame the family by bringing the near-blind Bushwhackers where you should have brought the eagle-eyed Nyss, and the weakling Sword Knights where you should have brought the indomitable Boomhowler and his trolls! The other members of my clan nodded sagely at her wisdow, and I could naught but obey. She reached into the fire and pulled out two boxes of magic figurines, strangely they were cool to the touch. I took them with trembling hands... was this a curse, or a blessing? Once I had taken them up, would I ever be able to put them down again?