The snow was on the ground and sleigh bells were the only sound in the village--bar the calls of the children. Adults stayed in, fires in their hearths and drinks in their hands, while the children ran amok outside their windows. It was the holiday season, and all the boys and girls were being good. Stalls selling festive treats and hot drinks ran a brisk business, and the steam of many hot chocolate beverages curled around the drooping eaves of the small, white-washed buildings.
Suddenly, a new sound rose above the jolly, holiday noises customary this time of year. It was Chris Chrimbus, scourge of the happy, bane of the weak. The children stopped their play and dashed indoors, the parents craned out their windows and, seeing him, slammed their shutters into place. No one liked Chris Chrimbus, for he was mean even on the most joyous of holidays. He left fire crackers in stockings, blocked the chimneys with snow, and shaved the hair off the back of the wolf-hounds these people kept as pets. Soon, only the sound of Chrimbus walking was to be discerned.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he cried, his voice breaking the silence. Such a grim figure he was, striding through the idyllic streets! The children cowered, the mothers worried, and the fathers nursed disgust in their hearts. “Come out, little children! I have sweets, toys, dolls!” the children started, but their parents held them in check. Those peering through cracks in their windows saw Chrimbus bare his teeth in a snarl before he strode on, into the deserted centre of town.
This place, the people of the village had adorned with what decorations they could afford. Tim the Toymaker was in his shop, the concentration needed for his art preventing him from hearing the sounds of boots on snow, and curses snarled at the cowardly villagers. As he was putting the finishing touches to a rocking horse (a stroke of red here, festive green there, and varnish to make the eyes gleam and shine as if they truly held equestrian intelligence!) Tim finally heard the sound--his door banged open, a gale blew in, and with it came Chrimbus. Tim was soon man-handled into a sack, the struggle upturning tables crowded with cherished toys had made with skill and care. Tin soldiers stared in hate, but could not move their metallic limbs to help.With a cackle, Chrimbus disappeared through the door, his sack bulging with his ill-gotten holiday present named Tim.
~
In the weeks that followed more and more villagers vanished and, neither Tim nor the others would reappear. The villagers grew worried and, the children mourned the absence of their beloved Toymaker. Not long after, their fears were made palpable by the sound of familiar, yet empty voices singing a hollow song in the distance and the sudden appearance of the snow-men. Snow-men with a malevolent glint to their varnished eyes as if they held some spark of life fueled by an incendiary malice betraying their frozen forms. Panic began to set in, the villagers consigned themselves to speculate wildly over rumors that the abductees were being put to work in forced labor camps and the emergence of the snowy effigies represented a part of some sinister plot put into machination by Chrimbus himself. Now, more than ever, they needed answers or a sign--
some glimmer of hope. They needed someone willing to step up
and crash Chrimbus' party!
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Topic: Minecraft 1.8: Oceanic Ruins, Bunnies & More! - Survival Multiplayer (Read 18154 times)