The Weary Travel Because They Must, Not Because They May
Feb 9, 2015 16:31:23 GMT
2448jman, deweydopb, and 1 more like this
Post by DSNorth on Feb 9, 2015 16:31:23 GMT
Again.
The adventurer sighed deeply and forlornly, resting his right hand on the hilt of his iron sword which now stood upright, the point of its blade buried deeply into the dirt floor. His iron helm dangled loosely from his left hand; the weight and restrictive nature of its thin eye-slits gave him a headache and he had to remove it. He perched the heavy metal headgear atop his sword and rubbed exasperatedly at his temples.
Again.
The two cavities in the wall told their own story - they had even taken the pistons. Shattered stone blocks littered the narrow hallway behind what had once been a secret door. Torches lay splintered and charred amidst he rubble, their light extinguished for good. With an icy claw of fear gripping his guts, churning unpleasantly with the resignation swimming around his brain, he slowly ambled down the pathway, his hands feeling along the walls to ensure he did not misstep. Slowly he inched his way through the darkened passageway, down the polished diorite steps, into the still-lit room that had once been his underground farm and vault.
Everything was gone.
Again.
The crops had been pulled violently from the earth - potatoes, carrots and wheat all gone. A cursory and derisory potato plant clung to life, no doubt left as a mocking reminder of what had once been here. His lovingly crafted and cleverly devised system of hoppers and chests were gone. And worst of all his double-chests, crammed full of the exploits of multiple strip-mining and mob-hunting expeditions and containing his prized half-stack of diamonds, were absent.
They even took the chests.
All my work has been for nothing.
The adventurer felt sure that, had the house not been constructed from polished and shaped rock, they would've taken the flint and steel to it too. Perhaps they had even tried. There was no way to be sure - the construction had been thorough and well thought out. The foolproof security, however, had clearly underestimated the determination of the complete fools that roamed this land.
Another sigh cleared the cold from his stomach, filling it with steel. This place had been spoken of with pleasant words; a place where a man could make a home in peace, with local people who shared his ideals and had no interest in pillage and plunder. Clearly he had been fooled. Taken in by false promises of safety and assistance. Twice previously had he attempted to construct his homestead, and twice had it been ravaged by the wild settlers.
No more.
The man that emerged into the daylight was different somehow; his good nature blunted by the repeated raids on his homestead. Clearly he was no longer safe here, and that was fine. Safety was clearly for the weak and naive, and he vowed to never be that naive again. A loud hiss greeted him as he felt the sun kiss his cheek, and with a flourish the adventurer snatched his sword from the ground and ran through the green monster that had snuck up on him. With a mournful growl the creature keeled over, gunpowder spewing from the wound, and disappeared into a puff of smoke.
"U OK?"
The words of a passing local surprised him, but he was grateful for them. The adventurer slammed his war helmet back onto his head, his eyes already scanning the horizon. There was nothing left for him here, not anymore.
"You want this base, mate? It's all yours."
The passing traveller seemed bemused; here was a base constructed with love and care, and it was just being handed to him.
"u sure?"
"Yes," came the resigned reply, "I'm leaving this place."
With a nod the passer-by scampered into the hidden structure, leaving by way of thanks a few cooked potatoes. The adventurer offered the standard 'ty' of gratitude and snatched up the steaming food. A bleat caught his ear, and he smiled as he approached Nigel, his favourite sheep. At the very least, they had left the livestock alive.
"Nigel, you have a new master now. I cannot stay any longer. Your new owner will keep you well."
They would be the last words he uttered in this Godforsaken place, the realm known as EnderCraft. He sheathed his sword defiantly, took a bite of potato and turned, striking out into the mountains behind the valley he had once called his home. There was only one place left that he could turn to, a mysterious kingdom he had only heard tell of, and that he knew he would have to work hard to be welcomed by.
He moved once more, the wanderer known as DSNorth, and he hoped against hope there would be a place for him in the Realm of Survivors...
The adventurer sighed deeply and forlornly, resting his right hand on the hilt of his iron sword which now stood upright, the point of its blade buried deeply into the dirt floor. His iron helm dangled loosely from his left hand; the weight and restrictive nature of its thin eye-slits gave him a headache and he had to remove it. He perched the heavy metal headgear atop his sword and rubbed exasperatedly at his temples.
Again.
The two cavities in the wall told their own story - they had even taken the pistons. Shattered stone blocks littered the narrow hallway behind what had once been a secret door. Torches lay splintered and charred amidst he rubble, their light extinguished for good. With an icy claw of fear gripping his guts, churning unpleasantly with the resignation swimming around his brain, he slowly ambled down the pathway, his hands feeling along the walls to ensure he did not misstep. Slowly he inched his way through the darkened passageway, down the polished diorite steps, into the still-lit room that had once been his underground farm and vault.
Everything was gone.
Again.
The crops had been pulled violently from the earth - potatoes, carrots and wheat all gone. A cursory and derisory potato plant clung to life, no doubt left as a mocking reminder of what had once been here. His lovingly crafted and cleverly devised system of hoppers and chests were gone. And worst of all his double-chests, crammed full of the exploits of multiple strip-mining and mob-hunting expeditions and containing his prized half-stack of diamonds, were absent.
They even took the chests.
All my work has been for nothing.
The adventurer felt sure that, had the house not been constructed from polished and shaped rock, they would've taken the flint and steel to it too. Perhaps they had even tried. There was no way to be sure - the construction had been thorough and well thought out. The foolproof security, however, had clearly underestimated the determination of the complete fools that roamed this land.
Another sigh cleared the cold from his stomach, filling it with steel. This place had been spoken of with pleasant words; a place where a man could make a home in peace, with local people who shared his ideals and had no interest in pillage and plunder. Clearly he had been fooled. Taken in by false promises of safety and assistance. Twice previously had he attempted to construct his homestead, and twice had it been ravaged by the wild settlers.
No more.
The man that emerged into the daylight was different somehow; his good nature blunted by the repeated raids on his homestead. Clearly he was no longer safe here, and that was fine. Safety was clearly for the weak and naive, and he vowed to never be that naive again. A loud hiss greeted him as he felt the sun kiss his cheek, and with a flourish the adventurer snatched his sword from the ground and ran through the green monster that had snuck up on him. With a mournful growl the creature keeled over, gunpowder spewing from the wound, and disappeared into a puff of smoke.
"U OK?"
The words of a passing local surprised him, but he was grateful for them. The adventurer slammed his war helmet back onto his head, his eyes already scanning the horizon. There was nothing left for him here, not anymore.
"You want this base, mate? It's all yours."
The passing traveller seemed bemused; here was a base constructed with love and care, and it was just being handed to him.
"u sure?"
"Yes," came the resigned reply, "I'm leaving this place."
With a nod the passer-by scampered into the hidden structure, leaving by way of thanks a few cooked potatoes. The adventurer offered the standard 'ty' of gratitude and snatched up the steaming food. A bleat caught his ear, and he smiled as he approached Nigel, his favourite sheep. At the very least, they had left the livestock alive.
"Nigel, you have a new master now. I cannot stay any longer. Your new owner will keep you well."
They would be the last words he uttered in this Godforsaken place, the realm known as EnderCraft. He sheathed his sword defiantly, took a bite of potato and turned, striking out into the mountains behind the valley he had once called his home. There was only one place left that he could turn to, a mysterious kingdom he had only heard tell of, and that he knew he would have to work hard to be welcomed by.
He moved once more, the wanderer known as DSNorth, and he hoped against hope there would be a place for him in the Realm of Survivors...
