This is meant to be Diary of a Creeper's sister story, it occurs in the same world, but I havent really decided on the time relative to his yet. This story's a bit more detailed than his, so it may take longer to write.
Enjoy!
INTRODUCTION
My name is Marik. It is the name that I was given by the ones that found me when I entered this world so long ago, spawned into existence as a cursed skeleton by the dark and sadistic forces beyond. I have been alive so long that I can no longer remember that day.
That last statement was false, allow me to correct. I am not alive. I am not alive like the swine or the cattle that roam the lands. Sinew and muscle pull against their living bones. Hot, crimson blood runs through their veins, the substance that both keeps them alive and slowly kills them. They know that their days are numbered, so they fill them with meaning and activity.
My "life" is cold and unchanging; my bones are smooth and bleached from the journies of a lifetime. They creak and rattle as I move, as if they protested every action, as if they wished to finally lie cold and lifeless for the eternities. Neither I nor the rest of my kind can travel during the daytime. Our bones react violently to the sunlight, fizzling and popping, slowly killing us. Because of this, we make all of our ventures at night. When we do die, it does not last long. Our souls and bodies rematerialize in the dungeons deep underground, to begin our lives anew.
The creatures that live in the night are more akin to myself. Apart from my kind, there are the zombies, mindless creatures which roam the land in search of flesh. They are somewhat of interest, as cutting away their decaying flesh reveals a skeleton exactly like our own. There are also the spiders, which scuttle around on their eight legs looking for their next meal and nothing else. They are black and hairy, much like the cows, and they hiss when they feed. These creatures do not touch us, as even they can see the lack of sustenance we host.
The creature of the night which I find the most interest in, however, is the creeper. Like us, they do not have life. Their flesh is rubbery and firm and their veins are filled with a flammable dark powder. They seem intelligent, but there has yet to be a skeleton in our villiage to coax out a conversation from one, since they speak in a garbled language which we do not understand. They meander anxiously, possessed by something urgent and unknown. I once struck a creeper, out of morbid curiosity, and it began to follow me, hissing ominously. Once it had reached me, it seemed to be confused, as if it had suddenly realized it had made a mistake. It left silently.
We skeletons are a passive folk; we care very little about the goings of the animals. We are observers of nature, of the earth and its many forms. We have spent our endless time on this world as cartographers. We search and scour the land for every cave, mountain and ocean. We can sense the minerals deep under the ground. We record what we find on parchement made from the reeds that grow on the shore. Our records are many, since we have been here for an eternity. The maps that we make we store in chests. These chests are kept safe from the elements inside of the wood huts of our small villiage. Our maps are by far our most prized possessions, as they take many weeks to write and store.
I believe that is everything that you need to know so far, I merely wished to inform you of my world’s current circumstances to allow the next statement to have full effect.
My village has been ransacked.
The maps have been stolen.
My brothers have been slaughtered.
This is my tale.
CHAPTER 1
He came at night with his exploding blocks and glinting diamond sword. We had never seen anything like him. He was like the zombies, but his flesh was whole and alive. His stealth was admirable, as not one of us noticed his presense in the shadows. At the time, I was observing and recording the way that glass blocks refract light in my small house. None of us were prepared for his sudden attack. The assault began with a loud explosion of dynamite in the center of the villiage. I left my house, shocked by the sound, to see the human igniting our shacks with a flint, Some skeletons nearby attempted to apprehend him, but he had hidden explosives in their path, and my they fell in the power of the blast.
Many of us realized his power, and attempted to run, as we had no weapons. We were met by additional blasts of TNT, and the burning houses, which collapsed in our way. He began to pursue us, breaking the brittle bones of my brothers with his sword.
He had finished off a cluster of skeletons which were running out the south end of the villiage, and he looked about for more survivors. I began to flee and he sprinted through the villiage square, with a look of viscious excitement in his eyes, after me. I ducked into a house nearby. I was relieved to see this house belonged to a skeleton which had designed sand traps to ensnare animals. Behind his bed was the entrance to his basement, which was where he built his prototypes. The walls blackened and crackled under the encroaching flames as I leaped down the stairs. I was now in the basement, and massive amounts of sand were suspended above my head. I sprinted across the room a fast as I could.
In moments the human had come down the stairs and begun to dash across the chamber. I yanked at the lever on the wall which released the sand, but it did not budge. My mind flailed helplessly for a solution as I struggled with the lever. The human’s sword was swung back in preparation to strike, and in a reckless abberation of thought, I lunged forward into him. I grabbed his wrist and rammed into his chest with my shoulderbone, stunning him and knocking him onto the floor in the middle of the room. He instinctively reached back to break his fall, and realeased the sword. I saw my chance now.
I picked up the sword, and pivoting around for momentum, struck the lever with all my might. The lever was forced down, and broke off against the bottom of the socket. I spun around to see a door swing open, releasing volumes of water, which heaved and flowed onto the floor. The water had engulfed a torch, which broke under the torrent, releasing the sand above. Heavy sheets of sand collapsed onto the floor, surrounding the human, and I saw a final glimpse of him, shocked, and full of anger before the walls of sand encased him.
CHAPTER 2
My mind was still at unease, as the sand which I had released upon the human was not designed to kill, but to trap. The human had an abundance of tools strapped onto his body; I was sure he could easily escape the walls of sand given enough time. I remembered the carnal glee, as if reveling in the wholeness of his destruction, with which he destroyed the life’s work of my comrades and me, and felt a bitter rage inside.
I flung open the door into the next section of tunnel, and sprinted down the cold stone hallway. These tunnels under the village connected to a railway which traveled under the massive mount Dvonte to the north. My fellow skeletons and I had built it long ago, for ease of travel to the other villages.
As I approached the way station, I began to think about my fallen brethren. I knew they were safe somewhere, resurrected in a dungeon far away, but I could not escape the thought that I would never see them again. I did not call them my brethren as an idle formality. The inhabitants of my home village of Melostad were my family. For our entire lives, we have ventured together, explored together. I would miss them dearly, but for now I needed to focus on my flight from the monster I had left behind.
The way station that we had built was small, but efficient. Three ports lay before me, which connected to the main track, a lever activating each one. I took a quantity of coal from the chest which was nestled in the corner, and dropped it into the rear cart’s engine. I hesitated before igniting the coal in the furnace.
That creature won’t pursue me so easily. I thought as I broke down the two other carts, and stashed them away in my pack.
The ride was relaxing, in a detached sense, as it gave me time to plan and ponder my future. Melostad was demolished; there was no doubt of that. By now, all that would exist is several piles of charred wood and stone. The people there that I had once loved were now teleported far away, the village held no significance to me any longer, and nobody held the blame for this more than that wretched human. I would travel to Olafrad, the larger town northward, and plan my revenge against him.
I pulled up into the Olafrad station and stowed my carts. The chamber was just as I remembered it long ago; with simple, yet aesthetic panels of rich brown wood framed by solid rock pillars, and a tiled floor of cool stone. The elderly railroad administrator, Amero, accosted me from the service booth by the stairs.
“Ah, a traveler from Molstad, It’s been some time!”
“Sir, my business here is not of leisure, Amero, Molstad is no longer standing, it’s been destroyed, and it inhabitants killed” was my solemn answer.
The skeleton’s shock set in slowly, his face being washed over by a splash of emotion.
“What clan would do such a savage thing? They must be stopped!” He finally blurted out.
“It wasn’t skeletons who did this; it was a creature, a human.”
“A human? Humans are simply folklore, they do not exist!”
“But I know now that they do: the burnt remains of my home lie behind me to testify this.”
The humans were an old piece of legend told by the elder skeletons. They were described only as a race which lived in our world, but behaved as if they did not. Their sole motive in life was to build, to advance themselves. They toiled endlessly, never once ceasing to rest or sleep. Left alone, their structures would grow and grow to impossible sizesa and complexities. They were automatons; they felt nothing other than their work. The sun and heat would burn and blister their skin, and they would not cease to build, the cold would gnaw and bite at their fingers until they were black, and they would not cease to build. They could be killed, and from their place of resurrection, they would venture to their worksite, and continue to build. The legend of the humans, which disappeared long ago, was a haunting one, which chilled the souls of all who heard it.
“If you are sure of this, we must warn the delegates. Action must be taken to defend Olafrad. Come with me.”
He led me upward out of the rail station, and we walked protected from the noonday sun under a cloth canopy into the mass of buildings. I always admired Olafrad, as its neat architecture showed the organization and skill of its people. This town, along with the two other towns in the Dvonte mountain range, were led under the members of the aptly named Dvonte delegation, which contained wise representatives from each town under its jurisdiction.
The representatives were very thorough in hearing my report. They were disbelieving of my story, but after hearing the details, and hearing an official report over redwire that my town was, in fact, burnt down, they began to see the truth. Their course of action was to build a high stone wall around the town, and arm guards stationed on the wall with bows and arrows. This plan of action seemed good, but I began to doubt that it would hold back that human.
The construction would begin the next morning.
CHAPTER 3
Along with the other skeletons of Olafrad, I labored tirelessly to build up the great wall around the town. The entire construction was 10 meters tall and 5 meters wide. Along its length were built turrets and towers, allowing for a clear view of every bit of the landscape. Tailors draped up cloth canopies to protect the archers during the day, and skeletons less skilled in building were sent around the town to recruit sharpshooters.
As I placed stone after stone, I looked about at all this activity. The legend of the humans was clearly a frightful one.
Even with the volunteers in the subway sealing the tracks and creating a decoy tunnel to mislead the human, it struck me that even with these precautions; he would have surely attacked the town by now. I held an uneasy feeling in my spirit as I built.
With nearly every able-boned skeleton in the town helping, we were finished by sunset the next day. The archers took up their posts, prepared to defend against the attack to come, and I positioned myself in a tower overlooking the hills northward. After a time, I got tired of scanning the landscape, and looked up at the stars.
I had always enjoyed looking at the stars and seeing the way that they revolved in the sky. I remembered a group of mathematicians long ago that had lived in Melostad. They had studied the stars and the paths they took in relation to time, and they called their practice astronomy. Although their studies were originally looked down upon, they persevered and perfected their techniques. Now their methods are widely used throughout the lands to determine the calendar’s dates for recordkeeping.
Looking at the twinkling points of light reminded me of the item which I had taken from the human in our struggle. I had nearly forgotten about the diamond sword stashed away in my pack. Pulling it out, I examined its construction. The handle was mad of a fine wood wrapped in iron wire, and the hilt was molded leather. It bore no markings whatsoever, which made it look all the more fierce. Its blade was the most stunning, it was formed out of solid diamond, and its edges were wickedly sharp.
Overall, its design was entirely utilitarian.
The remainder of the night passed without incident. The next morning I was met by one of the delegates, named Ord. I remembered him from the delegation as one being skeptical and harsh about the truth of my story. He approached me as I was spinning yarn in between shifts.
“Marik, the delegates and I are becoming concerned about the reliability of your claims.” He bluntly stated. “I hope you realize that we will not punish you lightly, should you be proven to be lying.”
“Sir, my claims are entirely accurate, I saw the human with my own eyes, fought him with my own hands, and hardly escaped with my life. I would not lie about this.”
“Right, I will inform the other members of the delegation of your persistence on this story. If the human does not attack within a week, you will be held at a much higher level of punishment than before. Understood?”
“Yes, sir”
He turned about and returned the way he came, although with slightly less vigor, as if I had taken some in our conversation.
For the first time since my arrival in Olafrad, I began to worry for myself. If the human did not attack the town, my claims would be officially disproven in the eyes of the delegation, and as punishment, I would be sentenced to torture by sunlight for an amount of time equal to the combined work hours spent on the wall. Fifty people had labored to complete that wall, and the stories I had heard about sunlight torture usually ended with insanity.
The torture was brutal. The subject was placed in a cell, with absolutely nothing to protect himself. The ceiling consisted of shutters, which would open every minute, exposing the victim just long enough to cause intense pain.
I did not know if the human would attack. Olafrad was well protected, and he might have moved on. This thought plagued my mind for the entire remainder of the week, becoming more serious every hour.
NOTE
For a variety of reasons, I'm ending Memoirs of a skeleton.
1. It is not popular enough.
2. Jonnopon, my collaborator, has not posted a link in his story to mine or even replied to my PMs
3. I have design commissions to work on.
If anyone still checks this thread for story updates, and you want to hear more, PM me. If I get enough petitions, I will continue without posting the chapters individually, and then post the entire story at once.
The Skeleton moved to a brown storage box, and took some items.
“I...Farash....”
“That’s your name? I’m-“
“Jonno....Jonno is your calling....follow....”
That skeleton isn't Marik. It's a different one. Jonno and I decided not to have Marik in his yet. We're going to let mine get off the ground before the stories mingle.
Although I suppose Farash probably lived in a villiage whose people had learned the creeper language.
The Skeleton moved to a brown storage box, and took some items.
“I...Farash....”
“That’s your name? I’m-“
“Jonno....Jonno is your calling....follow....”
That skeleton isn't Marik. It's a different one. Jonno and I decided not to have Marik in his yet. We're going to let mine get off the ground before the stories mingle.
Although I suppose Farash probably lived in a villiage whose people had learned the creeper language.
Either way, I am loving the MineCraft Themed stories. Continue writing! Please!
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Oh, People and their Heroine Herobrine Addictions..
Some type of "Diary of a Creeper" ripoff? I think so. Not reading.
Seriously dude? Thanks to DoaC, people have the inspiration to be creative, yet you want to be a negative nancy and stifle creativity.
To the OP, nice work so far, keep it up! I wonder if someone will try to write a zombie version, you know, the intelligent zombie named Rugby from DoaC.
I'm amazed more stories are being made, any more and we might need a RP/story section of the Forums.
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Want to try something different? Try out these awesome textures with Kas's Painterly Pack.
Dude, don't trip off of somebody saying it's a ripoff. You gave credit where credit was due right up front, there is no such thing as a rip off in art when you do that. Only childish people with popularity contest obsessions would try to put you down after that.
The only rip off in art is when you take somebody else's work and try to pass it off as your own, you totally obviously didn't do that.
Interesting! Great job so far, I'll be keeping up with this one too. I'll bet these will inspire a lot of people to write Minecraft stories of their own... hopefully about something besides mobs. A couple are great, a billion would be tiring.
... I wish I could say more but I just woke up and I can't think clearly.
Some type of "Diary of a Creeper" ripoff? I think so. Not reading.
Seriously dude? Thanks to DoaC, people have the inspiration to be creative, yet you want to be a negative nancy and stifle creativity.
To the OP, nice work so far, keep it up! I wonder if someone will try to write a zombie version, you know, the intelligent zombie named Rugby from DoaC.
I'm amazed more stories are being made, any more and we might need a RP/story section of the Forums.
Now presenting... "Journal of a Zombie"! Here's a sneak peek...
Stay tuned for the FULL STORY, coming to a theater near you!
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Fire And Ice
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
I agree entirely. I love the writing style, and can't wait for it to tie into Diary of a Creeper. Bumping, too. Good luck mate!
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Fire And Ice
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
*EDIT - This is NOT a ripoff. This is a parallel story which Jonnopon and I have both decided I should write.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/viewtopic.php?f=35&t=29335
This is meant to be Diary of a Creeper's sister story, it occurs in the same world, but I havent really decided on the time relative to his yet. This story's a bit more detailed than his, so it may take longer to write.
Enjoy!
INTRODUCTION
My name is Marik. It is the name that I was given by the ones that found me when I entered this world so long ago, spawned into existence as a cursed skeleton by the dark and sadistic forces beyond. I have been alive so long that I can no longer remember that day.
That last statement was false, allow me to correct. I am not alive. I am not alive like the swine or the cattle that roam the lands. Sinew and muscle pull against their living bones. Hot, crimson blood runs through their veins, the substance that both keeps them alive and slowly kills them. They know that their days are numbered, so they fill them with meaning and activity.
My "life" is cold and unchanging; my bones are smooth and bleached from the journies of a lifetime. They creak and rattle as I move, as if they protested every action, as if they wished to finally lie cold and lifeless for the eternities. Neither I nor the rest of my kind can travel during the daytime. Our bones react violently to the sunlight, fizzling and popping, slowly killing us. Because of this, we make all of our ventures at night. When we do die, it does not last long. Our souls and bodies rematerialize in the dungeons deep underground, to begin our lives anew.
The creatures that live in the night are more akin to myself. Apart from my kind, there are the zombies, mindless creatures which roam the land in search of flesh. They are somewhat of interest, as cutting away their decaying flesh reveals a skeleton exactly like our own. There are also the spiders, which scuttle around on their eight legs looking for their next meal and nothing else. They are black and hairy, much like the cows, and they hiss when they feed. These creatures do not touch us, as even they can see the lack of sustenance we host.
The creature of the night which I find the most interest in, however, is the creeper. Like us, they do not have life. Their flesh is rubbery and firm and their veins are filled with a flammable dark powder. They seem intelligent, but there has yet to be a skeleton in our villiage to coax out a conversation from one, since they speak in a garbled language which we do not understand. They meander anxiously, possessed by something urgent and unknown. I once struck a creeper, out of morbid curiosity, and it began to follow me, hissing ominously. Once it had reached me, it seemed to be confused, as if it had suddenly realized it had made a mistake. It left silently.
We skeletons are a passive folk; we care very little about the goings of the animals. We are observers of nature, of the earth and its many forms. We have spent our endless time on this world as cartographers. We search and scour the land for every cave, mountain and ocean. We can sense the minerals deep under the ground. We record what we find on parchement made from the reeds that grow on the shore. Our records are many, since we have been here for an eternity. The maps that we make we store in chests. These chests are kept safe from the elements inside of the wood huts of our small villiage. Our maps are by far our most prized possessions, as they take many weeks to write and store.
I believe that is everything that you need to know so far, I merely wished to inform you of my world’s current circumstances to allow the next statement to have full effect.
My village has been ransacked.
The maps have been stolen.
My brothers have been slaughtered.
This is my tale.
CHAPTER 1
He came at night with his exploding blocks and glinting diamond sword. We had never seen anything like him. He was like the zombies, but his flesh was whole and alive. His stealth was admirable, as not one of us noticed his presense in the shadows. At the time, I was observing and recording the way that glass blocks refract light in my small house. None of us were prepared for his sudden attack. The assault began with a loud explosion of dynamite in the center of the villiage. I left my house, shocked by the sound, to see the human igniting our shacks with a flint, Some skeletons nearby attempted to apprehend him, but he had hidden explosives in their path, and my they fell in the power of the blast.
Many of us realized his power, and attempted to run, as we had no weapons. We were met by additional blasts of TNT, and the burning houses, which collapsed in our way. He began to pursue us, breaking the brittle bones of my brothers with his sword.
He had finished off a cluster of skeletons which were running out the south end of the villiage, and he looked about for more survivors. I began to flee and he sprinted through the villiage square, with a look of viscious excitement in his eyes, after me. I ducked into a house nearby. I was relieved to see this house belonged to a skeleton which had designed sand traps to ensnare animals. Behind his bed was the entrance to his basement, which was where he built his prototypes. The walls blackened and crackled under the encroaching flames as I leaped down the stairs. I was now in the basement, and massive amounts of sand were suspended above my head. I sprinted across the room a fast as I could.
In moments the human had come down the stairs and begun to dash across the chamber. I yanked at the lever on the wall which released the sand, but it did not budge. My mind flailed helplessly for a solution as I struggled with the lever. The human’s sword was swung back in preparation to strike, and in a reckless abberation of thought, I lunged forward into him. I grabbed his wrist and rammed into his chest with my shoulderbone, stunning him and knocking him onto the floor in the middle of the room. He instinctively reached back to break his fall, and realeased the sword. I saw my chance now.
I picked up the sword, and pivoting around for momentum, struck the lever with all my might. The lever was forced down, and broke off against the bottom of the socket. I spun around to see a door swing open, releasing volumes of water, which heaved and flowed onto the floor. The water had engulfed a torch, which broke under the torrent, releasing the sand above. Heavy sheets of sand collapsed onto the floor, surrounding the human, and I saw a final glimpse of him, shocked, and full of anger before the walls of sand encased him.
CHAPTER 2
My mind was still at unease, as the sand which I had released upon the human was not designed to kill, but to trap. The human had an abundance of tools strapped onto his body; I was sure he could easily escape the walls of sand given enough time. I remembered the carnal glee, as if reveling in the wholeness of his destruction, with which he destroyed the life’s work of my comrades and me, and felt a bitter rage inside.
I flung open the door into the next section of tunnel, and sprinted down the cold stone hallway. These tunnels under the village connected to a railway which traveled under the massive mount Dvonte to the north. My fellow skeletons and I had built it long ago, for ease of travel to the other villages.
As I approached the way station, I began to think about my fallen brethren. I knew they were safe somewhere, resurrected in a dungeon far away, but I could not escape the thought that I would never see them again. I did not call them my brethren as an idle formality. The inhabitants of my home village of Melostad were my family. For our entire lives, we have ventured together, explored together. I would miss them dearly, but for now I needed to focus on my flight from the monster I had left behind.
The way station that we had built was small, but efficient. Three ports lay before me, which connected to the main track, a lever activating each one. I took a quantity of coal from the chest which was nestled in the corner, and dropped it into the rear cart’s engine. I hesitated before igniting the coal in the furnace.
That creature won’t pursue me so easily. I thought as I broke down the two other carts, and stashed them away in my pack.
The ride was relaxing, in a detached sense, as it gave me time to plan and ponder my future. Melostad was demolished; there was no doubt of that. By now, all that would exist is several piles of charred wood and stone. The people there that I had once loved were now teleported far away, the village held no significance to me any longer, and nobody held the blame for this more than that wretched human. I would travel to Olafrad, the larger town northward, and plan my revenge against him.
I pulled up into the Olafrad station and stowed my carts. The chamber was just as I remembered it long ago; with simple, yet aesthetic panels of rich brown wood framed by solid rock pillars, and a tiled floor of cool stone. The elderly railroad administrator, Amero, accosted me from the service booth by the stairs.
“Ah, a traveler from Molstad, It’s been some time!”
“Sir, my business here is not of leisure, Amero, Molstad is no longer standing, it’s been destroyed, and it inhabitants killed” was my solemn answer.
The skeleton’s shock set in slowly, his face being washed over by a splash of emotion.
“What clan would do such a savage thing? They must be stopped!” He finally blurted out.
“It wasn’t skeletons who did this; it was a creature, a human.”
“A human? Humans are simply folklore, they do not exist!”
“But I know now that they do: the burnt remains of my home lie behind me to testify this.”
The humans were an old piece of legend told by the elder skeletons. They were described only as a race which lived in our world, but behaved as if they did not. Their sole motive in life was to build, to advance themselves. They toiled endlessly, never once ceasing to rest or sleep. Left alone, their structures would grow and grow to impossible sizesa and complexities. They were automatons; they felt nothing other than their work. The sun and heat would burn and blister their skin, and they would not cease to build, the cold would gnaw and bite at their fingers until they were black, and they would not cease to build. They could be killed, and from their place of resurrection, they would venture to their worksite, and continue to build. The legend of the humans, which disappeared long ago, was a haunting one, which chilled the souls of all who heard it.
“If you are sure of this, we must warn the delegates. Action must be taken to defend Olafrad. Come with me.”
He led me upward out of the rail station, and we walked protected from the noonday sun under a cloth canopy into the mass of buildings. I always admired Olafrad, as its neat architecture showed the organization and skill of its people. This town, along with the two other towns in the Dvonte mountain range, were led under the members of the aptly named Dvonte delegation, which contained wise representatives from each town under its jurisdiction.
The representatives were very thorough in hearing my report. They were disbelieving of my story, but after hearing the details, and hearing an official report over redwire that my town was, in fact, burnt down, they began to see the truth. Their course of action was to build a high stone wall around the town, and arm guards stationed on the wall with bows and arrows. This plan of action seemed good, but I began to doubt that it would hold back that human.
The construction would begin the next morning.
CHAPTER 3
Along with the other skeletons of Olafrad, I labored tirelessly to build up the great wall around the town. The entire construction was 10 meters tall and 5 meters wide. Along its length were built turrets and towers, allowing for a clear view of every bit of the landscape. Tailors draped up cloth canopies to protect the archers during the day, and skeletons less skilled in building were sent around the town to recruit sharpshooters.
As I placed stone after stone, I looked about at all this activity. The legend of the humans was clearly a frightful one.
Even with the volunteers in the subway sealing the tracks and creating a decoy tunnel to mislead the human, it struck me that even with these precautions; he would have surely attacked the town by now. I held an uneasy feeling in my spirit as I built.
With nearly every able-boned skeleton in the town helping, we were finished by sunset the next day. The archers took up their posts, prepared to defend against the attack to come, and I positioned myself in a tower overlooking the hills northward. After a time, I got tired of scanning the landscape, and looked up at the stars.
I had always enjoyed looking at the stars and seeing the way that they revolved in the sky. I remembered a group of mathematicians long ago that had lived in Melostad. They had studied the stars and the paths they took in relation to time, and they called their practice astronomy. Although their studies were originally looked down upon, they persevered and perfected their techniques. Now their methods are widely used throughout the lands to determine the calendar’s dates for recordkeeping.
Looking at the twinkling points of light reminded me of the item which I had taken from the human in our struggle. I had nearly forgotten about the diamond sword stashed away in my pack. Pulling it out, I examined its construction. The handle was mad of a fine wood wrapped in iron wire, and the hilt was molded leather. It bore no markings whatsoever, which made it look all the more fierce. Its blade was the most stunning, it was formed out of solid diamond, and its edges were wickedly sharp.
Overall, its design was entirely utilitarian.
The remainder of the night passed without incident. The next morning I was met by one of the delegates, named Ord. I remembered him from the delegation as one being skeptical and harsh about the truth of my story. He approached me as I was spinning yarn in between shifts.
“Marik, the delegates and I are becoming concerned about the reliability of your claims.” He bluntly stated. “I hope you realize that we will not punish you lightly, should you be proven to be lying.”
“Sir, my claims are entirely accurate, I saw the human with my own eyes, fought him with my own hands, and hardly escaped with my life. I would not lie about this.”
“Right, I will inform the other members of the delegation of your persistence on this story. If the human does not attack within a week, you will be held at a much higher level of punishment than before. Understood?”
“Yes, sir”
He turned about and returned the way he came, although with slightly less vigor, as if I had taken some in our conversation.
For the first time since my arrival in Olafrad, I began to worry for myself. If the human did not attack the town, my claims would be officially disproven in the eyes of the delegation, and as punishment, I would be sentenced to torture by sunlight for an amount of time equal to the combined work hours spent on the wall. Fifty people had labored to complete that wall, and the stories I had heard about sunlight torture usually ended with insanity.
The torture was brutal. The subject was placed in a cell, with absolutely nothing to protect himself. The ceiling consisted of shutters, which would open every minute, exposing the victim just long enough to cause intense pain.
I did not know if the human would attack. Olafrad was well protected, and he might have moved on. This thought plagued my mind for the entire remainder of the week, becoming more serious every hour.
NOTE
For a variety of reasons, I'm ending Memoirs of a skeleton.
1. It is not popular enough.
2. Jonnopon, my collaborator, has not posted a link in his story to mine or even replied to my PMs
3. I have design commissions to work on.
If anyone still checks this thread for story updates, and you want to hear more, PM me. If I get enough petitions, I will continue without posting the chapters individually, and then post the entire story at once.
Thank you for reading.
INVEDIT IS THE ****
I felt like I needed to say that...
Read the description! It's the sister story. As in WE'RE COLLABORATING.
Unfair.
If you took the time to read the story, you'd find it's a companion to "DoaC", telling the story of Marik.
Great first entry, by the way. One question, though; How does Marik learn to speak the Creeper tongue?
This has serious potential, describing Marik's descent into madness and gradual redemption through Creeperville.
That skeleton isn't Marik. It's a different one. Jonno and I decided not to have Marik in his yet. We're going to let mine get off the ground before the stories mingle.
Although I suppose Farash probably lived in a villiage whose people had learned the creeper language.
Either way, I am loving the MineCraft Themed stories. Continue writing! Please!
HeroineHerobrine Addictions..Seriously dude? Thanks to DoaC, people have the inspiration to be creative, yet you want to be a negative nancy and stifle creativity.
To the OP, nice work so far, keep it up! I wonder if someone will try to write a zombie version, you know, the intelligent zombie named Rugby from DoaC.
I'm amazed more stories are being made, any more and we might need a RP/story section of the Forums.
I'm curious as to how you become the "Master"
Quick, someone creative write Rugby's life story. I would, but I have writers block
The only rip off in art is when you take somebody else's work and try to pass it off as your own, you totally obviously didn't do that.
http://www.minerwars.com/?aid=640
Read the creeper story, I am zombie and the master of TEN zombies.
#1 in Crazy-ness
... I wish I could say more but I just woke up and I can't think clearly.
Journal of a zombie, anyone?
How would you like "Memoirs of a Skeleton" to be in Stories of Minceraft?
I'm sure that me saying that is getting a bit old now.
Now presenting... "Journal of a Zombie"! Here's a sneak peek...
"Chapter One: Aaaaauuuhhhhh, brrrrraaaaaaiiiiinnnnssssss!"
Stay tuned for the FULL STORY, coming to a theater near you!
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice