Chatterbox: KYNGDOM™ RP Board

Far to the north of Kyngdom, where the blizzards were constant and it was always cold, a line of people stood, wrapped in furs. Through the swirling snow, a figure approached, dragging a smaller figure who was struggling to keep up. As they drew nearer, it was easier to make out their appearances. 

The taller figure was swaddled so tightly in furs that it was impossible to make out their face. All one could see was a snow-frosted beard, making the black hairs look white.

On the contrary, the smaller figure was a boy, dressed in rags, no older than 15. He was thin and had golden hair down to his chin. The boy stumbled; his bare fingers and toes were quite blue. 

When they reached the line of people, the taller figure tossed the boy with a grunt. The boy flew a few feet, then rolled to a stop, shivering uncontrollably. 

“I-I didn’t do anything wrong, uh, I-I swear!” The boy’s eyes were full of fear. 

A man at the end of the line stepped forward. “We’re building a new mess hall for our guards. You’re gonna clear the snow for this spot.” 

The boy’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates when the man told him how big. “I-I-I can’t! I’ll die! It’ll kill me!”

The man stepped forward, and his tone grew more threatening. “You will, no matter the cost. I swear I can make your life even more miserable than it already is. You will do it.”

The boy shrunk back, then lowered his head in submission, his hair blanketed with snow. He pressed his hands to the earth. A red glow emanated from the boy’s skin. The snow on his hair melted, and then the snow around him. The snow melted fast, but by the time the space they wanted was almost cleared, the boy was losing consciousness. When he finished, he slumped to the ground, unconscious, the tips of his fingers gray, and somehow looking way colder and thinner than before. 

The line of men broke and went to work, dragging boards and building. The man who had brought the boy over grabbed his arm again and began dragging him back. 

The man walked, hauling the boy through the snow until a large gray shape loomed up in front of them. It was a barbed wire fence, stretching around an encampment as far as the eye could see. 

A gate opened up in front of the two figures, letting the man walk inside, still towing the unconscious boy. 

The man walked. Past a large stone watchtower, with heat, light, and laughter pouring out the opened door. Past rows of large shacks, silent and cold. Past guards and beasts and sections of fence. 

They came to a large shack, identical to the one next to it, across from it, and the ones further down the rows. It was identical except for the metal plaque on the front, by the barred door. It had a number on it: 27. 

The man stopped in front of the dark door. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, letting the boy’s arm fall to the ground. 

He unlocked the door, letting a huge gust of bitter wind and frigid snow go inside as he stepped in, again dragging the boy with him. 

A large group of frightened boys huddled together in the middle of the darkened room. The man tossed the boy again, and he rolled floppily to a stop at the feet of the other kids. Then, without a word, the man walked out, slamming and locking the door behind him.

As soon as he left, the boys jumped to life. They pulled the unconscious boy into a more comfortable position and then started carefully layering any extra cloths that they could spare. A tall boy with black hair and brown eyes cupped snow in his hands and let it melt and dribble into the unconscious boy’s mouth. It did nothing to wake him. 

Time passed and eventually, the boy woke. He shivered and looked like he was on the brink of death. 

A click told the freezing boys that it was time to go. The door swung open, a guard waiting outside. They filed out silently, pressing together for warmth and shelter. They walked to the big courtyard by the gate, the tall, dark watchtower looming ominously over them. 

There were boys from other shacks too, waiting, scared silent as snow on a soft winter night. But it was no soft winter night. The wind howled, whipping at their clothes and faces, biting bitterly into their limbs. 

A large group of guards came out of the watchtower, carrying a very large metal container. It took fourteen men to lug out the frost-painted vessel. The swaddled men tipped the container over sideways, and food spilled out. 

Moldy, half-eaten, and stale, but the boys didn't care. They fell upon it ravenously, as eager and vicious as young, hungry wolves. They stuffed it in their mouths, desperate to put some meat on their skinny bones. In the blink of an eye, it was all gone; not a crumb was left. 

After they had eaten, the boys lined up in perfect, practiced lines. They waited, silently wishing they had more food, and that they weren’t out in the cold, harsh weather. 

Suddenly, the watchtower door flung open, landing with a crash against the icy stone wall. 

Out walked a new figure, unmistakably female, dressed in beautiful white fur. She made all the boys take an audible gasp as their worst fears came to pass. The woman had one hand on her hip, the other hanging by her side holding a sharp, black whip.

She had come.