• 5

    posted a message on Confession thread

    Hm. Here are some of mine.

    I feel a little weird having past OT frequenters in the staff now. It's a bit odd to bring up something from before and have one of them respond from their point of view being a member. (Like spiney, and chat thread closing, and so on)
    I find it difficult to fulfill decent manners such as saying "sorry," "thank you," and "please" because I feel like there's no point if I don't really mean it/can't express my sincerity.
    I think I'm an attention seeking person, but I'm not entirely sure if that's an accurate description. Probably is tho, tbh.

    I hate horror movies and games because I honestly just don't like horror. I always imagine whatever the monster/whatever is is hiding in the dark, in my closet, outside my door, looking in my window and it creeps me out.

    I use one of my pillows as kinda like a stuffed animal. I used to just kinda visualize it as whoever was my crush atm but it's been a while since I liked anyone. So it's been a fictional character, one that I would definitely like if she was real, for the past few days.

    Posted in: Off topic, testing and misc. chat
  • 1

    posted a message on [Story]Unknown Consequences[Unfinished]
    Unknown Consequences

    I slip through the small crevice in the dark stone wall, once again leaving darkness behind. Water drips down the ceiling, joining the various puddles among the ground. The flame of my torch flickers as a fairly large drop of water falls directly upon it, challenging its existence.

    A tense moment passes before the flame comes back in full force. I sigh with relief. The torchlight breaks through the dense blackness and falls upon a disruption of the smooth stone floor. Iron shines back at me with a dull glare.

    Choosing a dry place, I dump dirt down and stab my torch into it. The dull thump of the impact echoes throughout the tunnel. I bring out a stone pickaxe from the pouch at my waist and swing it with dissolved passion, one that disappeared long ago.

    On the second ore, the stone head shatters into pieces, also taking the handle with it. The parts immediately disintegrate into a fine dust that blows away in an undetected breeze. With a depressed sigh, one of billions, I set down my backpack with mild force behind it. No point being too quiet, too dangerous to be rowdy. I withdraw a small cube and place it on the ground next to my dirt pile. It expands and grows in the blink of an eye to measure a meter on every side.

    I would know. I measured it.

    The grid of the workbench is worn out, just barely able to distinguish from the wooden back. However, there is no need for it. I know it as if it were a scar on my arm, as if it were my life, as if it determined life and death itself. I always see the grid in my dreams.

    As if it were a loved pet, I pat it affectionately.

    “Still in this crap hole together, eh? Don’t leave me now.” As always, there has never been a reply. There has never been an answer or a question. From anyone.

    I do hope those animals back at FAHOSS are still alive. I probably should have just let them go… They would have survived…or died an easier death.

    Drawing three iron ingots from my pouch with a repeated and tired motion, I drop them onto the workbench with two sticks in the shape needed. The grid twists, turns, and distorts into liquid. The five objects sink in as if it were some sort of powerful quicksand. I wait for a moment before plunging my arm in. The sensation is chilling but also gives my mind warmth, providing some sort of familiar anchor.

    My fingers close around the handle, sitting in the same place as always. As I withdraw my new pickaxe, the grid solidifies once again, slurping off of my fingers. I give a disgusted smile.

    “Always a freak. But that’s okay. You’ll always be my friend.” I mumble the last part.

    “My best friend…” I pick up the workbench and it shrinks down to its miniature model. I bounce it around in my hand before tossing it back into the backpack.

    I tug my torch out of the dirt and descend into the darkness once again.


    As I stalk through the darkness, light appears ahead.

    A dungeon? No, it’s too bright…People?! Perhaps.

    I begin to shake in anticipation. It’s been so long since I was thrown into this world.

    Will I act right? Okay, find out what they are doing, and if it’s good, calmly…calmly introduce yourself. Good. Good plan.

    I cup my hand around the torch’s head, darkening what’s in front of me while illuminating myself, and the cold stone behind me. Past my shaking, I listen intently for a sign. For voices.

    Just as my heart beat becomes the only sound in my ears, the signal appears. Talking.

    It’s not talking though. As I listen further, there’s a sort of rhythm to it, a sort of spirit that flows along with the words. It’s a chant of some sort. As meaningless as it is to me, I listen curiously. Suddenly, it hits me.

    This is a prayer.

    My thoughts are interrupted by a scream. The scream brings out the worst in my mind, bringing fingernails down on a chalkboard, yanking those same nails out with pliers, stabbing at my eyeballs, burning my flesh, drilling into my ears, and piercing my mind. I fall to the cold floor as the scream cuts off, leaving a bottomless impression behind. My torch clatters to the floor beside me, throwing an echo down the tunnel, toward the light.

    I scramble to my feet, propelled by the fear in my blood. Footsteps begin to answer my echo. Urgently, I grab my torch and extinguish it in a wet pile of dirt. After a split second thought, I thrust it into my backpack to leave no trail and then start running as silently as I can.

    Death pursues me.

    The footsteps are gaining and the tunnel around me brightens but then they stop for a bit, perhaps noticing something I left behind. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and I notice alcoves in the ceiling. They aren’t too high up and my pursuers will catch up to me in no time. I take the risk of detection and jump.

    Stone crumbles beneath my fingers and I freeze up. Pebbles clatter to the floor in slow motion. Dust arises from the ground, grasping to enter my eyes.

    It takes a few moments for me to realize that it has stabilized. I pull myself up and find a small sort of hole to the size. I crawl in and wait.

    The ringing of silence is quickly broken by footsteps. They are no longer running, but that only furthers my worry. Pebbles are kicked around. I don’t dare look out. The footsteps walk past and away.

    My ears can only hear the beating of my heart just masking the ringing of silence. Of emptiness.


    I stay silent and still as my body aches to move and stretch. Still taking care to be quiet, I slowly let myself down from the hole. Every little sound makes me wince and paranoia is just waiting patiently at my side, waiting for a chance to leap inside of me.

    The nerves throughout my body are screaming, pulling and twisting and turning, wanting me to turn back and run away, back to the simple life of farming and bread, back to the simple surface life. But my mind is running through so many thoughts, thinking, analyzing. People, and there’s the chance that not all of them are insane. Another scream curls my blood, but there is no longer a fear of dropping anything. My hands are held tightly in fists. Every second I hesitate is another second closer to another person’s death.

    If I walk away now, then blood, human blood will be on my hands.

    My right foot takes a step. Then my left. The tunnel behind me seems almost like the Devil, welcoming me into the dark depths. But I am not selling my soul. The backpack makes a little noise as it touches the ground, fabric on solid stone. My body moves along with some sort of rhythm, quickly placing the workbench, bringing out the materials, placing them in the grid, and then withdrawing a glinting sword.

    The torchlight illuminates the walls rushing by as I sprint toward the danger.
    Posted in: Literature
  • 3

    posted a message on Staff Quotes
    Quote from Opeth

    Pls stop ruining thread.

    It was ruined the moment it was posted.
    Posted in: Off topic, testing and misc. chat
  • 2

    posted a message on Staff Quotes
    Quote from Opeth


    [19:35] Jesonomi Retainers. Are terrible.
    [19:35] Opeth I'd retain you anyday.
    [19:35] Jesonomi It's less the pain and completely the smell/taste.
    [19:35] Jesonomi God dammit Opeth
    [19:36] Jesonomi EITHER WAY
    [19:36] Opeth Wait
    [19:36] Jesonomi JESUS ­ CHRIST
    [19:36] Opeth What
    [19:36] jefe323 ...
    [19:36] jefe323 T
    [19:36] jefe323 M
    [19:36] jefe323 I
    Posted in: Off topic, testing and misc. chat
  • 4

    posted a message on Staff Quotes
    [20:27:46] <Jesonomi> .ei Will you help me expose the pedophile industry?
    [20:27:47] <crow> Jesonomi: Will you help me expose the pedophile industry? My sources say no
    [20:27:53] <Jesonomi> Well...
    [20:28:04] <crow> Jesonomi: Will you help me expose pedophiles? Outlook not so good
    [20:28:16] <Jesonomi> .ei Pedophiles.
    [20:28:17] <crow> Jesonomi: Pedophiles. It is certain
    [20:28:20] <Jesonomi> WHAT THE ­
    [20:28:24] <Muserae> .ei Is Jesonomi a pedophile?
    [20:28:24] <crow> Muserae: Is Jesonomi a pedophile? Without a doubt
    Posted in: Off topic, testing and misc. chat
  • 3

    posted a message on PM box variety fun time
    PM response to a warning.

    Right below that, here's the signature.

    But hey, at least he loves my avitar. :)
    Posted in: Off topic, testing and misc. chat
  • 1

    posted a message on The Eye Project (Rewritten): A Demon's Conquest [Finished... Read Final Chapter]
    I think the writing itself is alright. Your grammar and spelling are decent. You might want to expand on your vocabulary.

    As for the plot itself, I think the whole Notch is God and there's a demon/Devil that created The Nether while Notch created the Overworld is very unoriginal. Of course, there is very little to be original about in Minecraft, but I find that Notch being God is probably one of the more overdone themes.

    Additionally, the deriving of a name from a word and including it within the story is rather iffy. In my opinion, I feel like the Devil/Derik should've just been the name to begin with, since Derik's name was only formed from people talking, which means that before they were created, it was literally Notch vs. Devil, which is a rather drab line.

    The writing portions from different perspectives is a nice technique, but it would be good if you were careful to not try and just write the same events over and over from different perspectives and instead use perspectives to move the story along at a good pace,
    Posted in: Literature
  • 4

    posted a message on [Story] A Hero's Sadness [Finished]
    A Hero’s Sadness

    Chapter 1

    The explosion follows quickly after the hissing. The force nearly sends me flying and I just manage to grab onto the ledge. All of my supplies tumble down and smash against the cliffs. Quickly glancing around, I hoist myself and start walking fast. It gets me where I want, while being quieter than running. And I need to sneak by, now that the explosion has alerted them all.


    An arrow impales itself into a nearby tree. Crap! I’ve been found! I would sprint away from the skeleton but it stands in the direct path to my house.


    No time to think. I run at a diagonal route, taking me dangerously near the skeleton. Still, I need to get home. If only I had looked, I would have seen the skeleton standing still, with an arrow already in its bow. Waiting.

    I sprint with all I have, only wanting to get past this thing and get home. An arrow flies through the darkness.

    There isn’t the sound of an arrow contacting resistance. Instead, the jagged tip tears into my thigh. I tumble to the floor, the pain crashing through my leg as my lips let out a cry, refusing to die silently.

    The abomination walks closer, smiling at me with its eternal grin and the moonlight reflects off of the bones, making them seem to glow. I start to black out from the pain when something happens. Parts flash before my eyes as I lie in my pain-induced state.

    An arrow ready to be released to end my life.

    An arrow in flight.

    The bow knocked to the ground.

    A dagger drawn but broken by a shining sword.

    And then the skeleton falls in front of me, still grinning that smile as it fades away.

    A hand appears in front of my face and I struggle to look up to see its owner. A sturdy man with eyes of courage. I pale in comparison. His hair is rough and it is ruffled by the cold, snowy winds. Stubble covers his chin. I take his hand after great hassle and struggle up.

    “What are you doing unarmed during the night? Here, take my sword.” He speaks briskly, wasting no time, and goes right to the situation at hand. I take the sword and glance at it. It’s shiny, iron perhaps? I was always killed after I found iron ores. Then I realize that he is still waiting for my answer.

    “One of those green things exploded. I lost all my stuff and was trying to get back home but that skeleton got in my way.” My voice is shaky from both pain and fear.

    “A Creeper, eh? Yeah, those things can really sneak up on you. We’d better get to your house so we can fix up your leg. I don’t want to get ambushed out here.” He hoists my arm in his shoulder. The pain is relieved, if only slightly.

    We make it back to my house without any events. I wince both from pain and embarrassment as he looks it over.

    “Not bad.” There’s approval in his tone, perhaps lessening the fact that I managed to lose all of my supplies at once. We get inside and I slide down against a wall to avoid my knees buckling out from under me. He gives me time to rest before giving me a wooden stick to bite and starting to take the arrow out.

    I scream through my teeth, nearly snapping the stick in half as the man wrenches out the arrow and bandages the open wound. He instructs to me rest and I manage to fall asleep through all of the pain.

    Chapter 2

    I walk back toward our house with a sack of logs bouncing on my back. It’s been a few months since I was saved by Darien. It had been years since I had anyone to tell my name.

    “Darien? …Nice…name… Mine’s Bryan.”

    He’s taught me all I need to know and more. Our environment, our food sources, our tools, and our enemies. I readjust my grip on the bag. We go out to harvest wood every once in a while, never having to travel too far out though, as we always replant what we reap. I’m about to turn the corner of the mountain to our home when I hear voices. Foreign voices. I take a few steps back and quietly place down the logs. Then I sneak back to the corner and peek around it. There are five people in cloaks, huddled in a circle, discussing something. I can see points poking out of their cloaks. Swords.

    All of a sudden, I spot Darien, just about to round the corner. A warning almost bursts out but it’s already too late. He’s in the view now and his smile drops as quickly as rain when he sees the five people. They quickly arrange themselves in a line and draw their swords in a casual position, making little effort needed to switch between offense and defense.

    “Darien of Parchejix, I presume?” The one in the middle speaks in a raspy voice.

    “You cannot presume anything, you filth.” Darien answers in a cold tone that surprises me. I’ve never heard him talk like this.

    “Arrogant words from a man. Especially one who's fate has already been decided.” Darien’s eyes narrow and he draws his sword. He starts to approach but then arrows sprout from his back and a blade appears from his stomach. No. No! NO!

    I burst out from hiding, drawing a knife from my belt and stabbing it into the closet person’s chest, splattering blood over me before I sweep the feet out from under the second one and stomp down on his face. The one who attacked Darien rushes over to help them. I intercept his strike and rip the sword from his grasp. I hear his wrist break.

    The sword goes unused, clattering to the floor as I attack, all of those vulnerable spots, stab stab stab stab with the fingernails. I finally stop, my chest heaving and I look around, somehow confused and distorted by my previous anger. Detached, even.

    Only one person remains, his cloak splattered with the blood of his allies. I approach, wanting to vent out the last bits of anger and finish him when he quickly sprouts out words.

    “Stop! We were simply hired! We have no personal grudge!”

    “Who?! Who hired you?!” My voice is unrecognizable, taken over by rage.

    “We, uh, I, I don’t know! We got a letter with gold one day! Here! Take the gold and letter! Please spare me!” He withdraws a package from his cloak and throws it at my feet. I kill him and glance around. The archers seem to have run. Good for them. The anger is finally spent and I run over to Darien. He’s still alive. Just for a tiny bit longer.

    “D-d-darien. No… no, no no nono-” He cuts off my stammering.

    “Stop. I’m going to die, and that’s that. This is where my journey ends. You have a life to live. Stop wasting it on me.” I take his hand and squeeze it tightly, needing to hold onto something as the world spins out of control. Tears start streaming down my face as reality takes hold.

    “Waste? No…I’ll…I’ll stay. Till the end. Whatdoyouneed? Anything to… lessen the pain?” I manage to choke out the words in intervals.

    “Just…Just do me one favor…” His voice is getting quieter and the pauses between his words are longer.

    “Anything.” I can just make out his face through my tears as he gives me his final request.

    “Make me a grave…Remember Bryan, you’re a hero. Show everyone what you can do.” Our positions are switched. Instead, he is the one looking up to me. But I can’t return the favor and save him. His hand goes limp in mine and I cry harder. Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. I compose myself and get a shovel from the building. It’s no longer a house. It’s no longer ours, nor is it mine. It contains memories that I can no longer feel happy recalling. My arms mechanically dig a hole, my mind gone, and I gently place his body into it. I fill it up and step back to look. It isn’t a grave. No landmark. I take some nearby soil and make a small pyramid. It’s the best I can do in this wrecked condition.

    I remember the package. Walk over to it. Pick it up. Break the seals. Find a paper. Unfold. Read.

    HEllO, BrOthErhOOd. ExcUsE OUr wrItIng As yOU rEAd. ThE gOld yOU rEcEIvEd, there Is sO mUch mOrE And wE’d bE hAppy to gIvE It tO yOU. HUnt down DArIEn Of PArchEjIx, And UsE hIs hEAd In thE fOllOwIng rItUAl. YOU’ll gEt yOUr sIlly gOld.
    ~ T.P.Z

    I skip past the instructions. Brotherhood and T.P.Z. Two names. Two groups. I will avenge Darien. I will hunt them down and they will die at my hands.

    Chapter 3

    Many Brotherhood members die at my hands, but T.P.Z. eludes me completely, I find not a word about them. My thirst for their blood only grows. I find the Brotherhood with tidbits of information, eavesdropping on conversations, hearing rumors, and other things. All while being invisible. No, I am not truly impossible to see. I do not disappear. Instead, I block myself from society. Nobody knows me. Nobody recognizes me. Even if they do notice, they see only a visiting wanderer. Essentially, to people, I am invisible. A nobody.

    But I suppose that brought my downfall. Slowly, my life of “Search and Kill” takes its toll on my humanity. I detach from my body. My reason, avenging Darien, fades away and dies along with my memories. I only have two purposes for my existence. Find T.P.Z. and Brotherhood members. Slaughter them. Painfully. I notice the toll on my mind but do nothing. Day by day, I fade further from society, truly becoming invisible to all. Week by week, I show less rage, or anything, while killing units of Brotherhood. Blood no longer has meaning. Just a red water. Month by month, I blank out more often, and wake up in a completely different place. There is always a pyramid next to me. And then, year by year, my conscious fades as well. Everything that makes me humane starts to tear away from my body.

    I try to prevent it but I can only slow it down. One of Darien’s lessons come back to me. “Make the most out of life. That way, you won’t regret anything.” It’s too late to avoid regret but I can at least have a personal win at the end of my life. Recall memories. Bear the pain, remember the joy and perhaps keep my identity. I start leaving a sort of calling card when I kill Brotherhood people. It’s nothing much. Just to let them know who they are dealing with.

    I am the Hero Bryan. I will find you. You will feel Darien’s pain. Start regretting your life and pray.

    But there is a problem with that. I don’t truly believe in it. Do I believe in it? Am I truly a Hero? No. I don’t think that it’s true at all. But it’s all I have left from my life. Fate didn’t want anything from my life. When I found out, everything of me died.


    One second, I charge into battle, screaming, “The Hero Bryan will have his revenge on all of you!” The next, I hear rumors in town about Herobrine. Brotherhood fighters scream that name as they flee. The only connection I had to this world was butchered. Everything I have shatters into pieces.

    “Remember Bryan, you are a hero to me.”

    My mind, my spirit, and my soul all cut their lines away from reality. I float aimlessly in space, a void of blue that stretches on forever.

    Who am I really? Bryan? Not anymore. A hero? I never was. The Hero Bryan? A grasp at reality. Herobrine? Maybe I am now.

    Two blobs of something rise up so that they have me in the middle. I glance at them for a second with a sad, tired look. I look away. They close the gap between them, encompassing me. Well. This is it.

    But fate refuses to let me rest with Death. I’m dragged through space and time. The first thing I see is the clock tower. I’m back at the town where I heard of Herobrine. Then I see that I am in the air. I’m suspended there. I look down to see the cause but then see the flames.

    What’s going on?! My being responds and I swoop down to the person who caused it all. Me. My body of flesh and bone. It. Him. Arrows are spread everywhere yet I see no blood on their tips. I see blood on his hands. A sword glints in the sky, a mix of iron, gold, and diamond. A teenage boy runs up with it in hand. He brings it down with skill and power but it merely passes through my body. What!? I thought that my body was made of flesh and bone but it seems that it has exceeded physical existence. It’s an entity now.

    My entity, the entity…is simply “It”. It turns its head and I scream both to myself and to the adolescent boy. My screams echo in my mind. I have no effect in the real world. NO! RUN! GET OUT OF THERE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

    Humanity no longer exists in that shell of my body. The pupils have completely disappeared, eaten by the insanity that has planted itself there. A blank expression has replaced my usual frown. The teenager whimpers and falls down. His blood splatters across the ground. His beating heart is in the hand of the entity. The sword is gone, thrown somewhere unknown. And then, as if bored of this chaos, my body drops the heart and runs off. It’s a leisure run, not a sprint of hurry. I follow from above.

    He continues to run. I continue to follow. He stops, I do as well. He scares explorers, sometimes killing them, and I watch in pain and sorrow. That is what I do now. Look at my body bringing death and fear to all. This is the result of my hate. Do not take the same fate as I did. Avoid it at any cost. I hope that you never meet me or my body. We are both monsters.



    If you like my work, you are welcome to give me a rep and/or an internet. I'd really appreciate it! Also, if you'd like to see my other work, go here: Click!
    Also, with my work, I go by this quote:
    Quote from Best of Bits and Pieces »
    Praise does wonders for the sense of hearing.

    So just leave a post, any post, really. All, whether harsh criticism, or, well, praise, are appreciated.
    Posted in: Literature
  • 3

    posted a message on [Oct 8] Coros Mods: ZombieAwareness for 1.10.2 with new improvements
    Very nice mod. Useful as hell.
    Posted in: Minecraft Mods
  • 1

    posted a message on Farmers Craft
    I would like to first say: I am a little disappointed. If you looked at the link, just briefly moved your cursor over it, you would see it leads to DeviantArt. Now, I am not a computer geek, so I might be wrong, but I also believe that to actually infect your virus, you would need to actually run the execution file, etc. But that's not the point. THIS IS NOT A VIRUS, JUST A LINK TO DEVIANTART.
    Deleting all virus accusation discussion.
    Posted in: Screenshots
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