I think explaining it is a promo video in the original post would be good. I have no clue what I was watching during the video, lol. I'm interested to read the story though :-)
Yeah, sorry about that. It's at the blog but for some reason I didn't think to explain it more in-depth... I'll fix it now.
Thanks! Just so you know, it's not a series of videos, but rather a promotional video for a story. You can find the story at the link in the first post.
When a dangerous cult begins to threaten the world of Craftia, a man seemingly sent from above shows up. This story chronicles the journey of Joel and his companions as they attempt a great quest for the good of the land.
The Legend of Craftia is a fanfic/story that tries to explain, and assign a storyline to, the world of Minecraft. The video you see above is merely a promo, but if people are interested in the story, I'd contemplate making more videos. Currently, there are two parts to the story: A finished, reader-tested first book (The Legend of Craftia) and a WIP second story (The Shards of Testif). New posts on the blog will be new chapters of the story (as said, the current one is Shards of Testif).
Thanks for your time, and I hope you enjoy the stories.
You are a private investigator from Arkham, MA. A man named Boris Williams has been missing for four days and you have been asked to travel out to his house in order to find out where he has gone.
What starts out as a bona fide case soon starts to become very strange. You may just find yourself wrapped up in something much bigger than you had previously thought...
Based on concepts from the works of H.P. Lovecraft (with some Clark Ashton Smith thrown in for good measure, too).
Things you should know before downloading this map:
1.) This is not a hard map. Sorry.
2.) You need to play on peaceful. As in, seriously, play on peaceful. Not only are there areas where you would be completely overwhelmed by monsters, but it is on a flat world so there would be slimes everywhere. This map is more about the atmosphere. Having monsters would be illogical, anyway, given the scenario.
3.) All "notes" and rules are provided in-game as map items.
4.) No mods are required to run this map, though it shouldn't conflict with anything as far as I know.
5.) You can go off-course if you really want to, but that ruins the magic!
6.) If you can't already tell by my incessant rambling, this is my first ever map, so be kind!
Goo'mbaG'eek3 dis'li'kes th'is po'st. Can you decode my reply from the Ancient Elder Language it's written in?!
Which fantasy words with too many apostrophes?
You mean:
Ni Het M'Nae Fo Rogand, Ew L'liw Ned Et L'Al?
That's just a rearrangement of
In the name of Rogand, we will end it all.
Basically all the fantasy words in the story are just rearrangements of other things, if you didn't notice. Sorry if that somehow made it hard to read, even though it was mentioned, like, once.
Welcome to the world of Craftia. Craftia is a land with a strange history and an even stranger present. It is a broken land, a land in need of a hero. As an ancient menace grows stronger, the threat of total annihilation persists... and there is only one who can put a stop to it.
The Land of Craftia is my attempt at creating somewhat of a background canon for Minecraft, as well as providing an interesting story at the same time to tie everything together. I hope you enjoy the story that follows. Make sure to leave a comment and tell me what you think, and the chapters will keep coming.
Spawn.
The word came into his head so suddenly that he didn't have time to realize that he existed, and that he hadn't before. He sat upright and opened his eyes. He was sitting on what seemed to be a large patch of whitish-yellow powder which felt gritty under his hands. Sand, he thought, and that was when he realized that not only did he exist, he hadn't before, and he figured out that he had a head for the word spawn to come into. At this time he also realized that he had hands with which to feel the gritty sand. Spawn.
That word had meant something, and somehow he knew what it meant. It was this process that he had experienced, the process of not existing and then suddenly being there as if he had always been there, the process of realizing that he had a head and hands and that the sand was gritty and that blue things called waves made out of a substance called water were crashing monotonously into the patch of sand which he knew was called a beach.
He knew what these words meant. He grasped all these concepts, and more, but somehow he felt new to this world, as if he had just awoken from a dream. But that's not the case, he thought, he had been born. Or, rather, spawned.
This wasn't how all things were born. There was a different process through which other things were born, and he knew of this too, but he was not born in that way. He was born through spawn and somehow that was different, although it was entirely the same thing in another way which he could not quite place because he was too busy thinking about the fact that he existed and wondering what he had been before he had been spawned.
Slowly and nervously, he got up and stared at the waves that were crashing into the beach. He had described the crashing as monotonous in his head and somehow he also knew what that meant, even though it had nothing to do with existing or sand or spawn. That was how he knew that he knew about the world, even though he had never experienced it.
His placid first thoughts were interrupted by a calling of words. "Jason!" someone screamed from behind him. "I think this man down here just spawned!"
A belated voice answered the first one, decidedly deeper: "How can you know? He could just be out for a walk."
"He's looking at the waves in that way. They all do that. I remember it very clearly, and you know you do too."
"Mmhmm." The deeper voice seemed to approve of the thought process. "He's probably wondering about spawning right about now."
No, he wasn't wondering about that right now, but he was shocked at how well these two voices knew what was happening to him. He turned around and faced the source of the voices.
A young man and a woman - he knew what these were, people, just like him - stood on the beach. They were holding hands, a sure sign of affection. He recognized affection, although he hadn't felt it before.
The man looked like he was in his mid-twenties. He wore jeans and a plain T-shirt, both made of simple cloth. The woman wore shorts and a patterned T-shirt, also as simple as the man's clothing, and looked about the same age as him. He laughed inwardly at the fact that he had gone from wondering about what sand was to being able to describe people in his head in a matter of minutes.
He had a pang of realization, and decided to check his own clothes. He was wearing something even more simple than the two strangers - a stained blue T-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans, both covered in sand - and felt a bit of shame, even though he couldn't help how he had shown up. How he had spawned. He wondered for a moment what he looked like.
"By Theren!" the woman said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "He's wearing the clothes of Steven!"
"It's not a big deal," scoffed Jason. "Maria, there's been numerous reports of people spawning with similar getup. It's just chance."
"I don't know..." Maria looked thoughtfully at him, and then said "Oh! You must be so confused right now. I'm sorry. I'm Maria. This is my husband, Jason."
"We were walking along the beach," Jason said somewhat obviously, "and I guess this is where you spawned. Lovely place, isn't it? Season's Tide, they call it."
"Who am I?" he wondered aloud, more to himself than them.
"We're thinking the same question," Maria smiled and told him. "You have a name. We all spawn with one. It'll just take a few minutes to (Joel)
remember."
"Joel!" he said, again more to himself than to Maria and Jason. "My name is Joel!"
"See?" Jason chuckled. "She knew you'd remember. Joel, there's a town not far from here. We'd like to take you there."
"Yep," Maria said. "It's a place called Nopsit, and it's lovely, just like this beach. There are plenty of people there who will be able to help you."
"Help. Right. Okay, I'll go." Joel stated awkwardly. "Where is Nopsit?"
"Follow us." Maria and Jason started off away from the beach, and Joel walked after them.
The town of Nopsit was incredibly tiny. Joel knew this in his mind, for although he had never seen a town, he knew there were far bigger ones called cities, and Nopsit was not a city. It consisted of only a few public buildings - what appeared to be a forge and a workshop, as well as a moderately large, industrial-looking building made of cobbled stones - and a disorganized village of living quarters. A few of the houses appeared to be apartments, with multiple living spaces inside a single building, while others were quite obviously one-person shacks. Some of them were quite shabby, and others were relatively beautiful.
"Maria?" Joel asked, still conscious of his odd clothes and what might have been his odd appearance. "Why are some of the houses far smaller than the others?"
"Oh, most people like to build their houses. Some people build well, and others don't. Many prefer to stick to a small living area."
"They built these houses?" Joel looked around again, and suddenly even the shabby houses seemed impressive. "Normal people?"
"Well, yeah. After the Great Convenience it became a lot easier for people to build. I'm sure that's confusing to you, but after you talk to Markus it'll make a lot more sense."
"Markus? Who's he? Is that where we're going?"
"Yup. He's a wise old man. I'd tell you more but he's far better at explaining these things."
They were heading out of the housing district now and towards another building made of cobblestone, but this one wasn't like the first, or the houses. It was taller, and rounder. A tower. It wasn't as tall as most towers, his mind told him, but it was still taller than the other buildings. He wondered faintly why he hadn't noticed it before.
Maria knocked gently on the door, and after ten seconds with no answer, she rapped harder. "Markus!" she yelled. "We've got another Blessed!"
The door opened up to reveal an old man. He wore robes and a strange sort of hat that looked like it was carved from the top of a pumpkin long ago and dried. Eccentric, his mind filled in for him.
"Yes, Maria, I know. I have seen it. He comes from Season's Tide, does he not?"
"Of course. I'll leave you to it, then."
"Thank you for bringing him, Maria. Farewell. Come on in, Joel."
"Joel? How did you know my name?" Joel stepped into the tower as Markus shut the door. He looked around to see that the tower's interior was a conventional sitting room. This floor, at least. There had to be more floors because the tower was much taller than the room itself was.
"I know many things, dear boy. You have plenty of questions, I know, but I ask you to be patient and let me answer them in due time. Come, sit." He led Joel over to two soft chairs facing each other, and as Joel sat down, Markus sat in the other.
"You have appeared on a beach called Season's Tide. It was named that way for the way the waves come in only in the summer and the winter. In the spring and fall, the sea is much more still. You appeared on the beach because you spawned there, but you already know that, don't you?"
"Yes," Joel answered, already impressed by the old man. "Yes, I do."
"They all do."
"Were you spawned, Markus?"
"Ah, no. You spawned because you are Blessed. Those who are Blessed wake up one day on the beach, and that is how they begin their existence. I remember hearing tales of the first of the Blessed. That one showed up on a beach not far from Cida, a port city on the island of Michtes. At the time, it was considered a major miracle, from Steven himself. But as the ages have gone on, more of the Blessed have shown up, and much more frequently, so for many it has lost its charm. But to me, all Blessings are beautiful in their own way."
"Steven? Who's Steven?" Joel blurted out, too late in remembering being asked to be patient with the old man.
Markus sighed. "I suppose if I am to explain Steven, and everything in general, it would be best to start at the beginning. We live in a realm called Craftia. It was created long, long ago by an ancient force called Theren. First Theren created the Nether, a realm where many things were possible - many more than are possible here. In a way, Theren was the Nether itself. But as fantastic as it was, the Nether was still limited, and Theren longed for company in the eternity he lived in. So Theren created Rogand.
"Rogand was a force much like Theren. Although he created him, Theren viewed Rogand as more of a brother than a son. Theren had longed to share his creations with another, and Rogand gave him just the opportunity to.
"But there was a problem. While Theren's forte, and addiction, was creating things - bringing empty space to life, making something out of nothing - Rogand got the same delight from destroying. And just as how Theren created, and creates, endlessly, Rogand could not control himself in his destruction, and thus he began to destroy the things that Theren had created. Theren tried to reason with Rogand, but it was no use - Rogand was unable to stop, and would not listen to his brother. Theren and Rogan fought a long and hard battle, and in the end Theren won. Because he could not bring himself to destroy Rogand, as he could never destroy a creation of his own, Theren did not kill his brother. Instead, he created a small, cold pocket of time and space far away from the universe we know, and sealed Rogand inside.
"Learning from his past mistake, the next life that Theren created was much simpler, and much less powerful; though he still longed for companionship, he did not wish to have his creations put in danger, or to be forced into sealing away others in the same awful way he had needed to do to Rogand. We do not know exactly how the world ended up the way we came to know it. However, we do know that Theren must have a very beautiful mind."
The cave was dark and cold. Moisture hung around the walls and wafted through the air into Horace’s nose. Ganymede sniffed the air, also noticing how thick and nasty it was.
Horace reached into his pocket and produced a piece of flint and a shaved down iron ingot, worn with ash and age. He had no torches. This would have to do.
He struck the flint and iron together several times in order to make a stable spark. The air was visibly foggy, and he caught a particularly rancid scent, causing him to cough. Ganymede looked at him again, and Horace reached down to pet the wolf’s head. He wouldn’t have brought Ganymede along on such a dangerous task, but the dog had refused to leave his side, as if he had known that he would need all the help he could get.
Using the spark as a guide, Horace reached into his pack. He ruffled around through a pile of tree saplings, strings extracted from a slaughtered spider, and some stones, he finally found the book. He brought it out of the pack and leafed through its dusty pages by the dim light of the spark. I was here once, he thought, poring over the carefully mapped representation of the cave. They brought me here for initiation. Why can’t I find my way back?
A strange little growl, almost musical, came from behind him. Horace knew that growl. He knew all of their noises. Horace dropped the flint and tinder in panic and ran, ran as fast as he could away from the thing that was chasing him by the tiny sliver of light that was implaceable but always there, running alongside Ganymede, and when he thought he might make it out of the thing’s grasp it suddenly appeared on a dirt patch in front of him and snatched his pack away from him. He tripped and fell as the creature looming over him examined his inventory.
It saw something it didn’t like and immediately smacked a button on the recording device that Horace had brought along. “You little ****,” it said in its strange, raspy voice that would have almost been beautiful were it not so terrifying. “You were recording!”
“Ranem!” Horace gasped, and was hit by a wave of emotion a mile high. “By Theren, Ranem, you let them do it to you!”
“You know,” Ranem squeaked out inhumanly, “If I were how I used to be, I might tell you not to say the name of that disturbed god of yours. I might tell you that it was offensive in every aspect and ask you whose side you were on. But I can tell whose side you’re on now, and clearly, it’s not mine. It’s not our side. Not to mention, this process has... changed me, for certain. Life is much easier when you’re not bound by the constraint of emotion.”
“What happened to you?” Horace screamed at the shadowy shape, which was holding the recording device it had found menacingly above his head, as if to tease him. “What happened to us?”
“You little ****,” it repeated, purple eyes vividly glowing in the cavern’s darkness. “I can’t believe you. But then again, I guess I can. I’ve always doubted you. You never meant anything to me.”
With that, the thing that was once Ranem brought down the recording device swiftly on the head of Ganymede, who had been growling furiously at the shape ever since it had appeared. The wolf gave out a cry and fell down, perishing immediately.
“Ganymede!” Horace howled. “Ranem, I hate you, I hate you, you used to love Ganymede, I used to l-”
Ranem brought down the recorder again, only this time, it was on Horace’s head. The man was quickly silenced by death.
The tall shape, darker than the cave it was in, particles of dry ectoplasm floating off its inhuman skin, did not mourn. It simply laughed and kicked the body of its lover aside. With one scraggly hand, it ripped off the top of the recording device and brought the record out from it.
The record, labeled in some far off place with a painted 11, had not survived the ordeal well. In the thrashing around and chaos, parts of it had been peeled up. Other parts were scratched and broken.
Ranem laughed again and tossed the record away. Even if anyone found it, which they were never likely to - the caves were guarded, and how Horace had managed to get past the forces was beyond him - it would never work. Not after all that.
Content with its work, the shape closed its pearly eyes and muttered a few words in its strange language. It was suddenly gone. Where it had been, only a few particles of ectoplasm fluttered to the floor of the cave. They buried themselves in the dirt like a strange plague might infest its victims, and they were gone too.
"So, Markus, where does Steven come into this?" The name was very familiar to Joel, like the name of a long lost friend, but unlike the other concepts of the world, and its history, he could not recall where it came from.
"Patience, my dear boy. It will all be explained soon. Eventually, Theren created the first humans, as primitive as they were. They called themselves the Testificates. Why did they call themselves that? We don't know, and will never know. Some words, such as spawn, come naturally to those who look for them. The Testificates set up the Order of the Stone, a primitive government, and eventually they created the Testificate Empire. At the time, they looked much like you or I, but if you were to seek them out now, they look much different."
"Why do they look different?" Joel asked, entirely unashamed of his childlike questions due to his burning curiosity. "Did it have anything to do with Steven?"
"Not quite, but I suppose it did, in an indirect sort of way. Again, patience. It will all be explained in due time.
"The Testificates were a glorious people, and they made some of the greatest advances of all time in the period of their Empire. But eventually, they were consumed by the greed and power that nabs all great societies, and their state fell into turmoil. Instead of fixing the Empire's problems in the face of rebellions, they simply imposed harsh restrictions and laws to try and quiet the people, creating more rebellions in turn. Soon the harsh laws turned to killings. Some Testificate sages predicted that a man would come along and end the turmoil once and for all, saving the people from their tyrannical rulers.
"A man named Steven, born in the year 159, fulfilled this prophecy. Steven was of Theren, and by the age of nineteen he had gathered a huge following known as the Sect of Steven. They rejected the ways of the Empire and sought separation from the cruel Testificate government.
"Steven was a prophet in his own right. He was the one who bestowed upon us the Great Convenience, and he predicted the coming of the Blessed.”
Joel, again unashamed, interrupted. “The Great Convenience,” he said thoughtfully. “You keep referring to it. What is it?”
“The Great Convenience? Well... it is not easy to explain, so I would rather show you.”
Markus picked himself up off the chair, and Joel followed him over to an aged chest that lay to the side of the two chairs. Markus fumbled with the latch of the container and opened it up to reveal a mess of odds and ends. He reached into the mess and pulled from it a stick of wood and what appeared to be two rectangular ingots of iron.
“This,” Markus began, “is not only a lesson. It is a gift to you. I’d like you to bring the things that I’ve just given you to that table-” Markus nodded his head in the direction of a lowered benchlike structure to the other side of the two chairs - “and make a sword from them.”
Even though these directions made little sense, Joel walked obediently to the bench and squatted in front of it. It was a dusty old thing, but the dust was cleared away in spots, as if it had been used recently. He placed the stick and the two iron ingots upon it, and then something odd happened.
In his mind, blueprints ran like waterfalls. He saw exactly how he could connect the ingots to the stick and the stick to the ingots, and the ingots to each other, and what the best way would be and what the worst way would be and what else he would need and before he knew it there were not two ingots and a stick in front of him but a sword, a sharp sword of iron that could have been mistaken for a sword made by a skilled craftsman if he had not known better.
Only a few seconds had passed.
Joel looked in awe at Markus, and Markus smiled. “Do you see what I mean, Joel? That, that right there, is the essence of the Great Convenience. It’s how normal people can build houses like they’ve been doing it all their lives. It’s a blessing of Steven. The Great Convenience was his first blessing. The appearance of the Blessed was his second. And the blessing of the waters was his third, which is why water runs infinitely in this world. After his last blessing, Steven told his masses that he would be back again one day, and swam off into the waters to disappear.”
“This Steven guy...” Joel shifted nervously. “I overheard Maria and Jason talking about him. About me. About how I apparently have his clothes.”
“Of course you do,” Markus said, as if pointing out that the sky was blue.
“But... why do I have his clothes?”
Markus chuckled, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s getting awfully late. I have much work to do. I have told you a bit, but you still have a lot to learn. Why don’t you go see General Michael? Maria will help you find his home. He knows about many things.”
“Thank you, Markus, but I’m still confused. Won’t you just tell me why-”
“I am an old man, Joel. Remember what I told you when you came in? You must be patient. In time, things will explain themselves, and you will understand everything.”
Markus sat himself down in one of the chairs again, an obvious cue for Joel to leave.
“Remember,” the old man said as Joel walked to the door. “General Michael.”
"Hello," Ranem said as he shut the door to Horace's cabin. "You're never going to believe this."
"Hey. Why, what happened?" Horace laughed as Ganymede ran to greet Ranem.
"I just saw some graffiti posted on a rock near the forum." Ranem reached down and ruffled the fur on the dog's head.
"Graffiti? In Steven's Hold?" Horace laughed. "I've never heard of such a thing. I bet it'll be cleaned up in the morning."
"No," Ranem said. "It's not just the graffiti. It's what it was about."
"Why?" Horace asked. "What did it say?"
"Apparently," Ranem stated matter-of-factly while pouring himself a cup of cocoa, "there's a new cult. An actual cult. They call themselves the Enders."
"A cult? Please. The last cults I've seen, the government shut them down almost immediately."
"This one's different. They claim that they have special powers, and if you join, they'll give you the same powers. And they promise immortality, too! Imagine it. Being Blessed!"
"Are you forgetting the Books of Steven? Whoever is Blessed is meant to be that way. We're not Blessed because that's part of Theren's plan."
"I know, but just think about it... how amazing would it be to see the ages go by?"
"The ghasts in the Nether see the ages go by, too. In their own way. A way even better than we see them."
"Jeez, would you stop quoting those old books?" Ranem chuckled. "I just think it's something worth checking out."
"A cult?" Horace had been thumbing through a book, but now he let his gaze up from it and gawked at Ranem. "You want to join a cult?"
"Well, no, not exactly..." Ranem was backpedaling. "I mean, I just think it would be cool to go see what they do. If their abilities are as great as they claim."
"Yeah, whatever." Horace. "If you really plan on going, then I'm going with you. Just to make sure you're safe. Some of those hyper-religious people can get pretty wacky."
"It's a deal, then," Ranem grinned.
"He didn't tell you about the Testificate/Pigman war!?" General Michael seemed awed, shocked, and somewhat disappointed by this revelation. "In Steven's name! What did he tell you?"
"Not too much," remarked Joel. General Michael's house had been easy enough to find with Maria's help, though he doubted he would have needed it if he had really tried; a large sign was nailed on to the outside of the two-story cabin with the words "Michael: Ex-General of the Craftian Civil Conflicts Militia" written on it (inked perfectly in as if they had been written by a fine scribe - in fact, Michael had designed the cabin, sign and all, from scratch). "He told me enough, though."
"Enough?" remarked the General, as if it was the most ridiculous accusation in the world. "How could that ever be enough? When I was spawned on a beach on the island of Theren's Palm, a different sage was in charge of explaining everything to me, and he explained damn near everything! It just isn't like Markus to be irresponsible like that... unless he withheld it on-" Michael made a face that indicated that this idea was not a very likeable one, and immediately changed the subject. "Kid, do you have anywhere to sleep for the night?"
"Well, no," Joel responded. "I was thinking of asking Maria-"
The General gave a hearty chuckle at this. "Wow, you must have spawned with a bunch of emotional information missing. How do you think Jason would feel about that?"
"Oh. Good point." Joel felt kind-of stupid at this new idea that, for some reason, had not occurred to him before. Joel and Maria were married, after all.
"Look, kid, tell you what. I got a spare bedroom upstairs. I'd be willing to let ya borrow it for the night, since it's getting real late, and though you're blessed, you'd still get a fright from dying on your first day-"
"Dying!?" Joel was horrified. "I'd certainly get a fright from THAT!"
"That's true," said Michael, slightly confused. "That's what I just said. You'd wake up on the beach all disoriented. Quite something to get used to."
"Wake up on the beach?" Now it was Joel's turn to be confused. "That's what happens when I die?"
"Of course," Michael said. "That's what happens to all the Blessed; after they die they wake up right where they started. Or, if they've made a place their home, they wake up there instead."
"Markus never told me about any of that!" suddenly realizing he was functionally immortal, Joel gave out a squeal of laughter, to which General Michael responded with a smirk.
"Wow, that old man really left out that whole ordeal?" Then, remembering: "I still need to explain the wars to you."
"Yeah, sure. Let's hear it."
"So eager," the General remarked, and began the tale.
"The Testificates used to be snot-nosed little brats. Granted, they're a lot quieter now, and they always have been brilliant - we owe some of our best magicks to them, and pretty much all of our technology. But they were still a pain in the ass, and they were real self-centered. That's why they took the Pigmen as such a threat."
"The Pigmen?" Joel asked. "Who are they?"
"The Pigmen," the General continued, "were a race of piglike men. They popped up in the lands outside Testif - that's the Testificate capitol, or was - and all this superstition got around, that these Pigmen were made by bolts of lightning strikin' regular pigs and turnin' them smart. And of course this scared the Nether outta the Testificates. They didn't like anyone challenging their empire. But for the time being, they just watched the Pigmen build up their own little community.
"The Pigmen, they were never too bright, but they could build mean mines - why, one of their mines goes on right under our very feet, in the caves of Nopsit itself. They weren't too economical - they liked things that were shiny, and they built all their tools outta gold. Anyone who knows anything about rocks and gems knows that gold is worthless for much but lookin' at, and nowadays some kinds of wires or somethin' - I hear they make watches out of the stuff up north in Onestred. But anyways, despite all their shortcomings, the Pigmen were gettin' to be pretty powerful. Powerful enough to finally get the Testificates to get into gear. After the Sect of Steven had broken off and formed its own state, they weren't about to take any chances. They really didn't like the Pigmen, never had - they thought they were more pigs than men, some kinda abomination. They thought it would be worth it to hunt 'em all down, and that's what they did.
"The Testificates raided not just some, not just many, no, they raided and burned and detsroyed EVERY Pigman establishment in the world. They wiped the Pigman Empire right off the face of Craftia, and they took no mercy. At first they just killed Pigmen, Pigwomen, and Pigchildren on sight, but then I guess there were some protests so they decided to be 'humane' about it. The Testificates built huge underground strongholds and brought thousands of Testificates as prisoners to them. They lied to the public about everything that went on in there - it's a miracle we even know today, and that's only because of the Ghasts. Jeez, as freaky as the Ghasts can be, they know so much... it's hard not to respect them. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself... where was I?"
Joel was so engrossed in the story that it took him a moment to respond. "The public, they lied to the public about the strongholds."
"Oh! Right. So in the strongholds, they did all these experiments on the Pigmen, and tortured the daylights out of 'em. But soon they decided the strongholds were more trouble than they were worth, and one day slaughtered all the captured Pigmen and extinguished the population."
"Just like that!?"
Michael nodded sadly. "Just like that. And to add insult to injury, they dumped all the bodies into the Nether like they were trash. Now this got the attention of the Ghasts. The Ghasts, if you didn't know, are the spirits of the dead. They occupy the Nether, which if you didn't know, is a dimension that's real scary. Real scary to us, at least - the sages say that the Ghasts see it different, and that the only reason we see it as so frightenin' is because we're alive and we can't understand its beauty 'til we pass. But anyways, the Ghasts got real angry, because of what the Testificates had done. First, the Ghasts, they wept their life-giving tears on the corpses of the Pigmen. Some kinda power from Theren, I guess, and they brought all the Pigmen back to life. They were all rotted and nasty, and that's why if you go to the Nether you'll see it full of undead Pigmen. They still carry around their gold tools, poor fellas. After that, the Ghasts had a bone to pick with the Testificates. They ended the Order of the Stone, that was for sure. The Ghasts invaded Craftia and demolished most of the Testificate Empire in rage, and put a curse on all the survivors. The Testificates were known for their beauty at the time, and the Ghasts came down real hard on that. They made the Testificates and all their future generations look real ugly - big noses, big heads, all that. They used psychic force to make them strict pacifists - so much to the point they could barely defend themselves, as to put them through the torture they put the Pigmen through. These days they rely on these enchanted iron golems they make for protection, and even those only work half the time. When you've got big, rusty giants defending you from monsters, it's not exactly the most perfect-"
"Wait," Joel said with a vague feeling of mortal dread that pierced his soul. "Monsters?"
"In Steven's name!" Michael said. "He didn't tell you about the MONSTERS!?"
"To explain the monsters to you, I first have to start with the Ender War. And I can tell you about that accurately enough. I lived through that. In fact, I was the leading general of basically every assault they staged."
"How long ago was that?" Joel inquired.
"I was born in the year 352," remarked Michael, "and the war happened when I was 32. I'm 58 now, so..." the General counted on his fingers. "I guess that makes it 26 years since the war started."
"You're 58?" Joel said.
"Yep. But I don't look a day over 35 or so, right?"
"Right."
"Exactly. That's because the Blessed don't age unless they want to. And it can't just be a spur of the moment kind of thing - we have to want it with all our soul."
"If you looked as young as me when you spawned," Joel said, somehow sure of this fact, "then why did you want to age?"
General Michael smiled in a melancholy way. "You'll understand as you get older. Sometimes, living forever isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"You mean... the Blessed can die?"
"Well, sure. It's happened plenty of times. But again, it has to be something that you really want to happen. Just experimenting and thinking 'Oh, I'll die now' doesn't do the trick."
"Why would anyone do that?" Joel asked.
"You'd be surprised. But anyway... where was I?"
"The war. 26 years ago. The monsters."
"Right. So, what happened is in the years following the disbanding of the Order of the Stone, the State of Theren experienced almost a century of prosperity. Just when things seemed to be going great for us, trouble came in a strange form."
"A strange form? You mean the monsters?"
"Not yet," Michael said. "Before the monsters, before any of the woes started, they took root in the form of a cult."
In the year 410, Joel and General Michael were discussing the events of the Ender War. On the same day of the year 371, Horace and Ranem were sitting in a damp cave complex during a rainstorm, listening to the sermon of a hooded man who claimed to be the head of the Cult of the Enders.
"My children," the man said, his voice contrasting with the distant sound of rain slapping itself against the sides of the fresh, gentle world that Horace, Ranem, and a group of varying people had left for this new, exciting, dangerous one, "you are all here for the same reason - destiny has bound us together to weave a marvelous fate. Destiny has brought us all here in order to appeal to a soul lost by time - to appeal to the true master of the Universe, one forgotten by most and respected by none."
Horace knew what the man was talking about, and he did not like it at all. Still, his heart was beating fast in his chest, and although he didn't want to see or hear any more of this, he couldn't look away, either.
"This force," the man shouted to the small crowd, "is more powerful than anything we could ever imagine. It is not a kind force, but the truths of the world are not kind - which means, this force is closer to the truths of the world than any other myth, any other lie construed by other forces that wish to simply cover up their own deeds in order to hide the true meaning of it all. The truth is that the End is coming - the End of All Things will happen, regardless of what we do.
"But what we may do," he said, a grin visible under the dark hood of his robe, "is help it to get there. And in return, we will be granted power and fortune beyond any Craftian concept - we will be gods in our own right, and we will come out fine in the End. We will outlive the Blessed. We will truly live forever."
The man brought forth from his pocket a primitive stone knife, and struck it across his palm. A stream of blood oozed from it, but if it pained him, he reacted little. The man mashed his hand against the wall of the cave, painting a mockery of a symbol into the wall. At this moment Ranem realized with a pleasant, terrible feeling that wasn't quite fear that this was how the graffiti advertising the cult had gotten on the rock - written in the man's blood, please, Theren, hopefully his own blood and not another's, for that was unthinkable.
The symbol, dripping in the fresh liquid, looked like an eye with a crude imitation of some sort of monstrous beast instead of a pupil. The man cackled and raised his hands into the air. The symbol suddenly began to glow a deep red, deeper than the bowels of the earth, and all of its observers were too entranced to hear the distant screams of the wind, the terror of the natural world at this insane blasphemy which broke everything it believed in.
"Ni Het M'Nae Fo Rogand, Ew L'liw Ned Ti L'al!" he screamed, and the newly formed cult of Ender began to laugh with him, all except Horace, who stayed silent with complete and utter horror. "In The Name Of Rogand, We Will End It All!"
Sighing as he crossed the room, Markus retrieved the old book from its spot on the shelf. He was getting old - very old - and soon even his magicks wouldn't be enough to keep him from tottering around. The simple lack of dignity would have paralyzed him with fear had it not been for his knowledge - he was a sage, after all, and he knew many things that ordinary people did not.
For one, he knew that this dusty old book was a gateway to a world beyond the material realm of Craftia. Even beyond the Nether, as a matter of fact.
And he knew that the things that lived in that realm were wise; they were of Theren.
Sometimes Markus heard Theren, but mostly he heard the Far Ones. Well, not quite - nobody really heard the Far Ones. The way they expressed themselves was different for everyone - some never heard from them at all, or at least never realized they were, while others such as himself felt them everywhere he went and in everything he experienced. He supposed that was why some were destined to be sages while others lived rather ordinary lives. How unburdened they are, he thought, but followed it up with: But what a lovely burden it is.
Carefully, he walked down the stairs into his basement. That was where he did most of his alchemical experiments and tasks, and that was where the table was located. It was a lovely thing, made of obsidian and diamonds, and likely one of the more valuable items he owned. But no, he thought. It might be very valuable to one who doesn't care for more than materials, but for one who pays attention to the world, this book is far more valuable than the table. But then again, he did know that the table seemed to be the only medium through which the Far Ones would speak.
He set the book down upon the table and opened it up to somewhere in the middle. Blank, of course. The whole book was blank, but that was the magic of it.
"Hello," Markus said, seemingly to thin air. "I've seen the boy. I believe you were right - he truly is the one we believe him to be."
Slowly, gently, and smooth as silk, the words began tracing themselves out on the pages in that strange, alien language that was Theren. Of course he is. These words showed up in green. So it was the green one that was speaking to him. Of course, it wasn't an actual green entity - to think that the Far Ones had form was beyond ridiculous. But that was the way it liked to personify itself to mortals. The other was a sort of deep greenish-blue. That one was more cynical than the green one. I see that you did not tell him everything, the bluish one piped in, erasing the other's writing in the process. You were a wise man to send him to Michael. That man has experienced much, and has seen the threat first-hand.
"Yes," Markus said. "He has indeed, and I knew that was the place to show him to. I knew it was the next step in the path that Joel must follow." Joel. The names of humans are odd to me, green mused. I suppose, though, that in the end they all come from Theren, and that is what matters.
"Certainly. What do you see in this young man's future?" His path will be hard, for certain, blue remarked somewhat harshly. But it is a path that must be taken. For the good of us all, past, present, and future.
"Do you believe that he can follow it?" It is impossible to say, but I must. I suppose the only thing left to do is believe.
"We are on the edge, aren't we?" Indeed. We near the End. The hour is growing short. We can only hope to Theren that he does what has been foretold. We must hope, or it will be the end of hope itself.
OP will likely encounter dozens of people with tales of setting the poor iddle biddle Testificates on fire and burning their houses, killing every last one of them.
I know I'm a bit late, but I thought of these and couldn't resist posting them.
O Come all Ye Monsters
O Come all ye monsters,
Creepers, spiders, zombies,
Come all ye skeletons
And all Endermen.
Come Enderdragon,
Bringing with you chaos,
O Come let us defeat them,
Although we can't deplete them,
We might as well delete them,
With swords and bows!
From depths of caverns,
Slimy things bounce forward,
Pigmen chase horrid ghasts
Deeper yet still.
Dungeons are guarded,
By silverfish and blazes,
O Come let us defeat them,
Although we can't deplete them,
We might as well delete them,
With swords and bows!
Creepers we Have Heard on High
Creepers we have heard on high,
Sweetly hissing in the night.
And the people in their way,
Killed by walking dynamite.
Since Survival-Test-Point-Two,
They have come for you,
Maybe one or more than two.
Your house they will get through,
Hiss, hiss hiss hiss hiss boom!
Under a cold moon
They will make you swoon, with fright.
In a foggy moon, lit, night!
Away in a mob trap
Away in a mob trap,
Not far from my house,
Spawns a creepy zombie
And his ugly spouse.
The rushing of water,
Blocks out their gross moans,
As they wander blindly
Upon cobblestones.
The currents have swept them,
Away from their spawn,
And through some hot lava,
And onto my lawn.
I walked over to their,
Pathetic remains,
A pair of rotted chunks
Upon the fair plains.
My Wolf got Ripped Open by a Spider
My wolf got ripped open by a spider,
Walking home from a trip in the mine,
You may say that there's no fright in Minecraft,
But it scared me when it bit me from behind.
Spot was in no state for combat,
And I saw his tail was low,
But he rushed right up to my assistance,
And he gave that hissing bug a nasty blow.
There was no way I could save him,
And it happened all too fast,
I saw a giant eight-legged flurry,
Come and kick my poor 'ol puppy's little ass.
So I made a grave of smooth stone,
And I topped it with a sign,
I just hope that no more spiders,
Try to hit me in the moonlight from behind!
I'm Dreaming of a Snow Biome
I'm dreaming of a snow biome,
Just like the ones I used to know,
Since this newest patch,
A new update batch,
They don't seem to be here, ya know!?
I'm dreaming of a kind snowfall,
One that just doesn't wreck my builds,
Oh Notch, this seems like a shame!
There's odd snow, and you're the one to blame!
Hey, alot of people don't know that it's there. What are your thoughts?
Actually, there are dozens of these topics made every month and all of them are answered the same way as above. The reason is, TONS of people are very much aware of its existence, and anyone who isn't can simply go on the wiki.
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Yeah, sorry about that. It's at the blog but for some reason I didn't think to explain it more in-depth... I'll fix it now.
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How did it all come to be? And how will it end?
When a dangerous cult begins to threaten the world of Craftia, a man seemingly sent from above shows up. This story chronicles the journey of Joel and his companions as they attempt a great quest for the good of the land.
This is the story of Minecraft.
http://legendofcraftia.tumblr.com/
The Legend of Craftia is a fanfic/story that tries to explain, and assign a storyline to, the world of Minecraft. The video you see above is merely a promo, but if people are interested in the story, I'd contemplate making more videos. Currently, there are two parts to the story: A finished, reader-tested first book (The Legend of Craftia) and a WIP second story (The Shards of Testif). New posts on the blog will be new chapters of the story (as said, the current one is Shards of Testif).
Thanks for your time, and I hope you enjoy the stories.
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You are a private investigator from Arkham, MA. A man named Boris Williams has been missing for four days and you have been asked to travel out to his house in order to find out where he has gone.
What starts out as a bona fide case soon starts to become very strange. You may just find yourself wrapped up in something much bigger than you had previously thought...
Based on concepts from the works of H.P. Lovecraft (with some Clark Ashton Smith thrown in for good measure, too).
Things you should know before downloading this map:
1.) This is not a hard map. Sorry.
2.) You need to play on peaceful. As in, seriously, play on peaceful. Not only are there areas where you would be completely overwhelmed by monsters, but it is on a flat world so there would be slimes everywhere. This map is more about the atmosphere. Having monsters would be illogical, anyway, given the scenario.
3.) All "notes" and rules are provided in-game as map items.
4.) No mods are required to run this map, though it shouldn't conflict with anything as far as I know.
5.) You can go off-course if you really want to, but that ruins the magic!
6.) If you can't already tell by my incessant rambling, this is my first ever map, so be kind!
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Thanks!
If I get a bit more feedback I'll start on chapter eleven. I'm just getting so little, it's not very motivating.
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Which fantasy words with too many apostrophes?
You mean:
Ni Het M'Nae Fo Rogand, Ew L'liw Ned Et L'Al?
That's just a rearrangement of
In the name of Rogand, we will end it all.
Basically all the fantasy words in the story are just rearrangements of other things, if you didn't notice. Sorry if that somehow made it hard to read, even though it was mentioned, like, once.
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The Land of Craftia is my attempt at creating somewhat of a background canon for Minecraft, as well as providing an interesting story at the same time to tie everything together. I hope you enjoy the story that follows. Make sure to leave a comment and tell me what you think, and the chapters will keep coming.
Spawn.
The word came into his head so suddenly that he didn't have time to realize that he existed, and that he hadn't before. He sat upright and opened his eyes. He was sitting on what seemed to be a large patch of whitish-yellow powder which felt gritty under his hands. Sand, he thought, and that was when he realized that not only did he exist, he hadn't before, and he figured out that he had a head for the word spawn to come into. At this time he also realized that he had hands with which to feel the gritty sand.
Spawn.
That word had meant something, and somehow he knew what it meant. It was this process that he had experienced, the process of not existing and then suddenly being there as if he had always been there, the process of realizing that he had a head and hands and that the sand was gritty and that blue things called waves made out of a substance called water were crashing monotonously into the patch of sand which he knew was called a beach.
He knew what these words meant. He grasped all these concepts, and more, but somehow he felt new to this world, as if he had just awoken from a dream. But that's not the case, he thought, he had been born. Or, rather, spawned.
This wasn't how all things were born. There was a different process through which other things were born, and he knew of this too, but he was not born in that way. He was born through spawn and somehow that was different, although it was entirely the same thing in another way which he could not quite place because he was too busy thinking about the fact that he existed and wondering what he had been before he had been spawned.
Slowly and nervously, he got up and stared at the waves that were crashing into the beach. He had described the crashing as monotonous in his head and somehow he also knew what that meant, even though it had nothing to do with existing or sand or spawn. That was how he knew that he knew about the world, even though he had never experienced it.
His placid first thoughts were interrupted by a calling of words. "Jason!" someone screamed from behind him. "I think this man down here just spawned!"
A belated voice answered the first one, decidedly deeper: "How can you know? He could just be out for a walk."
"He's looking at the waves in that way. They all do that. I remember it very clearly, and you know you do too."
"Mmhmm." The deeper voice seemed to approve of the thought process. "He's probably wondering about spawning right about now."
No, he wasn't wondering about that right now, but he was shocked at how well these two voices knew what was happening to him. He turned around and faced the source of the voices.
A young man and a woman - he knew what these were, people, just like him - stood on the beach. They were holding hands, a sure sign of affection. He recognized affection, although he hadn't felt it before.
The man looked like he was in his mid-twenties. He wore jeans and a plain T-shirt, both made of simple cloth. The woman wore shorts and a patterned T-shirt, also as simple as the man's clothing, and looked about the same age as him. He laughed inwardly at the fact that he had gone from wondering about what sand was to being able to describe people in his head in a matter of minutes.
He had a pang of realization, and decided to check his own clothes. He was wearing something even more simple than the two strangers - a stained blue T-shirt and a pair of tattered jeans, both covered in sand - and felt a bit of shame, even though he couldn't help how he had shown up. How he had spawned. He wondered for a moment what he looked like.
"By Theren!" the woman said, bringing him out of his thoughts. "He's wearing the clothes of Steven!"
"It's not a big deal," scoffed Jason. "Maria, there's been numerous reports of people spawning with similar getup. It's just chance."
"I don't know..." Maria looked thoughtfully at him, and then said "Oh! You must be so confused right now. I'm sorry. I'm Maria. This is my husband, Jason."
"We were walking along the beach," Jason said somewhat obviously, "and I guess this is where you spawned. Lovely place, isn't it? Season's Tide, they call it."
"Who am I?" he wondered aloud, more to himself than them.
"We're thinking the same question," Maria smiled and told him. "You have a name. We all spawn with one. It'll just take a few minutes to
(Joel)
remember."
"Joel!" he said, again more to himself than to Maria and Jason. "My name is Joel!"
"See?" Jason chuckled. "She knew you'd remember. Joel, there's a town not far from here. We'd like to take you there."
"Yep," Maria said. "It's a place called Nopsit, and it's lovely, just like this beach. There are plenty of people there who will be able to help you."
"Help. Right. Okay, I'll go." Joel stated awkwardly. "Where is Nopsit?"
"Follow us." Maria and Jason started off away from the beach, and Joel walked after them.
The town of Nopsit was incredibly tiny. Joel knew this in his mind, for although he had never seen a town, he knew there were far bigger ones called cities, and Nopsit was not a city. It consisted of only a few public buildings - what appeared to be a forge and a workshop, as well as a moderately large, industrial-looking building made of cobbled stones - and a disorganized village of living quarters. A few of the houses appeared to be apartments, with multiple living spaces inside a single building, while others were quite obviously one-person shacks. Some of them were quite shabby, and others were relatively beautiful.
"Maria?" Joel asked, still conscious of his odd clothes and what might have been his odd appearance. "Why are some of the houses far smaller than the others?"
"Oh, most people like to build their houses. Some people build well, and others don't. Many prefer to stick to a small living area."
"They built these houses?" Joel looked around again, and suddenly even the shabby houses seemed impressive. "Normal people?"
"Well, yeah. After the Great Convenience it became a lot easier for people to build. I'm sure that's confusing to you, but after you talk to Markus it'll make a lot more sense."
"Markus? Who's he? Is that where we're going?"
"Yup. He's a wise old man. I'd tell you more but he's far better at explaining these things."
They were heading out of the housing district now and towards another building made of cobblestone, but this one wasn't like the first, or the houses. It was taller, and rounder. A tower. It wasn't as tall as most towers, his mind told him, but it was still taller than the other buildings. He wondered faintly why he hadn't noticed it before.
Maria knocked gently on the door, and after ten seconds with no answer, she rapped harder. "Markus!" she yelled. "We've got another Blessed!"
The door opened up to reveal an old man. He wore robes and a strange sort of hat that looked like it was carved from the top of a pumpkin long ago and dried. Eccentric, his mind filled in for him.
"Yes, Maria, I know. I have seen it. He comes from Season's Tide, does he not?"
"Of course. I'll leave you to it, then."
"Thank you for bringing him, Maria. Farewell. Come on in, Joel."
"Joel? How did you know my name?" Joel stepped into the tower as Markus shut the door. He looked around to see that the tower's interior was a conventional sitting room. This floor, at least. There had to be more floors because the tower was much taller than the room itself was.
"I know many things, dear boy. You have plenty of questions, I know, but I ask you to be patient and let me answer them in due time. Come, sit." He led Joel over to two soft chairs facing each other, and as Joel sat down, Markus sat in the other.
"You have appeared on a beach called Season's Tide. It was named that way for the way the waves come in only in the summer and the winter. In the spring and fall, the sea is much more still. You appeared on the beach because you spawned there, but you already know that, don't you?"
"Yes," Joel answered, already impressed by the old man. "Yes, I do."
"They all do."
"Were you spawned, Markus?"
"Ah, no. You spawned because you are Blessed. Those who are Blessed wake up one day on the beach, and that is how they begin their existence. I remember hearing tales of the first of the Blessed. That one showed up on a beach not far from Cida, a port city on the island of Michtes. At the time, it was considered a major miracle, from Steven himself. But as the ages have gone on, more of the Blessed have shown up, and much more frequently, so for many it has lost its charm. But to me, all Blessings are beautiful in their own way."
"Steven? Who's Steven?" Joel blurted out, too late in remembering being asked to be patient with the old man.
Markus sighed. "I suppose if I am to explain Steven, and everything in general, it would be best to start at the beginning. We live in a realm called Craftia. It was created long, long ago by an ancient force called Theren. First Theren created the Nether, a realm where many things were possible - many more than are possible here. In a way, Theren was the Nether itself. But as fantastic as it was, the Nether was still limited, and Theren longed for company in the eternity he lived in. So Theren created Rogand.
"Rogand was a force much like Theren. Although he created him, Theren viewed Rogand as more of a brother than a son. Theren had longed to share his creations with another, and Rogand gave him just the opportunity to.
"But there was a problem. While Theren's forte, and addiction, was creating things - bringing empty space to life, making something out of nothing - Rogand got the same delight from destroying. And just as how Theren created, and creates, endlessly, Rogand could not control himself in his destruction, and thus he began to destroy the things that Theren had created. Theren tried to reason with Rogand, but it was no use - Rogand was unable to stop, and would not listen to his brother. Theren and Rogan fought a long and hard battle, and in the end Theren won. Because he could not bring himself to destroy Rogand, as he could never destroy a creation of his own, Theren did not kill his brother. Instead, he created a small, cold pocket of time and space far away from the universe we know, and sealed Rogand inside.
"Learning from his past mistake, the next life that Theren created was much simpler, and much less powerful; though he still longed for companionship, he did not wish to have his creations put in danger, or to be forced into sealing away others in the same awful way he had needed to do to Rogand. We do not know exactly how the world ended up the way we came to know it. However, we do know that Theren must have a very beautiful mind."
The cave was dark and cold. Moisture hung around the walls and wafted through the air into Horace’s nose. Ganymede sniffed the air, also noticing how thick and nasty it was.
Horace reached into his pocket and produced a piece of flint and a shaved down iron ingot, worn with ash and age. He had no torches. This would have to do.
He struck the flint and iron together several times in order to make a stable spark. The air was visibly foggy, and he caught a particularly rancid scent, causing him to cough. Ganymede looked at him again, and Horace reached down to pet the wolf’s head. He wouldn’t have brought Ganymede along on such a dangerous task, but the dog had refused to leave his side, as if he had known that he would need all the help he could get.
Using the spark as a guide, Horace reached into his pack. He ruffled around through a pile of tree saplings, strings extracted from a slaughtered spider, and some stones, he finally found the book. He brought it out of the pack and leafed through its dusty pages by the dim light of the spark.
I was here once, he thought, poring over the carefully mapped representation of the cave. They brought me here for initiation. Why can’t I find my way back?
A strange little growl, almost musical, came from behind him. Horace knew that growl. He knew all of their noises. Horace dropped the flint and tinder in panic and ran, ran as fast as he could away from the thing that was chasing him by the tiny sliver of light that was implaceable but always there, running alongside Ganymede, and when he thought he might make it out of the thing’s grasp it suddenly appeared on a dirt patch in front of him and snatched his pack away from him. He tripped and fell as the creature looming over him examined his inventory.
It saw something it didn’t like and immediately smacked a button on the recording device that Horace had brought along. “You little ****,” it said in its strange, raspy voice that would have almost been beautiful were it not so terrifying. “You were recording!”
“Ranem!” Horace gasped, and was hit by a wave of emotion a mile high. “By Theren, Ranem, you let them do it to you!”
“You know,” Ranem squeaked out inhumanly, “If I were how I used to be, I might tell you not to say the name of that disturbed god of yours. I might tell you that it was offensive in every aspect and ask you whose side you were on. But I can tell whose side you’re on now, and clearly, it’s not mine. It’s not our side. Not to mention, this process has... changed me, for certain. Life is much easier when you’re not bound by the constraint of emotion.”
“What happened to you?” Horace screamed at the shadowy shape, which was holding the recording device it had found menacingly above his head, as if to tease him. “What happened to us?”
“You little ****,” it repeated, purple eyes vividly glowing in the cavern’s darkness. “I can’t believe you. But then again, I guess I can. I’ve always doubted you. You never meant anything to me.”
With that, the thing that was once Ranem brought down the recording device swiftly on the head of Ganymede, who had been growling furiously at the shape ever since it had appeared. The wolf gave out a cry and fell down, perishing immediately.
“Ganymede!” Horace howled. “Ranem, I hate you, I hate you, you used to love Ganymede, I used to l-”
Ranem brought down the recorder again, only this time, it was on Horace’s head. The man was quickly silenced by death.
The tall shape, darker than the cave it was in, particles of dry ectoplasm floating off its inhuman skin, did not mourn. It simply laughed and kicked the body of its lover aside. With one scraggly hand, it ripped off the top of the recording device and brought the record out from it.
The record, labeled in some far off place with a painted 11, had not survived the ordeal well. In the thrashing around and chaos, parts of it had been peeled up. Other parts were scratched and broken.
Ranem laughed again and tossed the record away. Even if anyone found it, which they were never likely to - the caves were guarded, and how Horace had managed to get past the forces was beyond him - it would never work. Not after all that.
Content with its work, the shape closed its pearly eyes and muttered a few words in its strange language. It was suddenly gone. Where it had been, only a few particles of ectoplasm fluttered to the floor of the cave. They buried themselves in the dirt like a strange plague might infest its victims, and they were gone too.
"So, Markus, where does Steven come into this?" The name was very familiar to Joel, like the name of a long lost friend, but unlike the other concepts of the world, and its history, he could not recall where it came from.
"Patience, my dear boy. It will all be explained soon. Eventually, Theren created the first humans, as primitive as they were. They called themselves the Testificates. Why did they call themselves that? We don't know, and will never know. Some words, such as spawn, come naturally to those who look for them. The Testificates set up the Order of the Stone, a primitive government, and eventually they created the Testificate Empire. At the time, they looked much like you or I, but if you were to seek them out now, they look much different."
"Why do they look different?" Joel asked, entirely unashamed of his childlike questions due to his burning curiosity. "Did it have anything to do with Steven?"
"Not quite, but I suppose it did, in an indirect sort of way. Again, patience. It will all be explained in due time.
"The Testificates were a glorious people, and they made some of the greatest advances of all time in the period of their Empire. But eventually, they were consumed by the greed and power that nabs all great societies, and their state fell into turmoil. Instead of fixing the Empire's problems in the face of rebellions, they simply imposed harsh restrictions and laws to try and quiet the people, creating more rebellions in turn. Soon the harsh laws turned to killings. Some Testificate sages predicted that a man would come along and end the turmoil once and for all, saving the people from their tyrannical rulers.
"A man named Steven, born in the year 159, fulfilled this prophecy. Steven was of Theren, and by the age of nineteen he had gathered a huge following known as the Sect of Steven. They rejected the ways of the Empire and sought separation from the cruel Testificate government.
"Steven was a prophet in his own right. He was the one who bestowed upon us the Great Convenience, and he predicted the coming of the Blessed.”
Joel, again unashamed, interrupted. “The Great Convenience,” he said thoughtfully. “You keep referring to it. What is it?”
“The Great Convenience? Well... it is not easy to explain, so I would rather show you.”
Markus picked himself up off the chair, and Joel followed him over to an aged chest that lay to the side of the two chairs. Markus fumbled with the latch of the container and opened it up to reveal a mess of odds and ends. He reached into the mess and pulled from it a stick of wood and what appeared to be two rectangular ingots of iron.
“This,” Markus began, “is not only a lesson. It is a gift to you. I’d like you to bring the things that I’ve just given you to that table-” Markus nodded his head in the direction of a lowered benchlike structure to the other side of the two chairs - “and make a sword from them.”
Even though these directions made little sense, Joel walked obediently to the bench and squatted in front of it. It was a dusty old thing, but the dust was cleared away in spots, as if it had been used recently. He placed the stick and the two iron ingots upon it, and then something odd happened.
In his mind, blueprints ran like waterfalls. He saw exactly how he could connect the ingots to the stick and the stick to the ingots, and the ingots to each other, and what the best way would be and what the worst way would be and what else he would need and before he knew it there were not two ingots and a stick in front of him but a sword, a sharp sword of iron that could have been mistaken for a sword made by a skilled craftsman if he had not known better.
Only a few seconds had passed.
Joel looked in awe at Markus, and Markus smiled. “Do you see what I mean, Joel? That, that right there, is the essence of the Great Convenience. It’s how normal people can build houses like they’ve been doing it all their lives. It’s a blessing of Steven. The Great Convenience was his first blessing. The appearance of the Blessed was his second. And the blessing of the waters was his third, which is why water runs infinitely in this world. After his last blessing, Steven told his masses that he would be back again one day, and swam off into the waters to disappear.”
“This Steven guy...” Joel shifted nervously. “I overheard Maria and Jason talking about him. About me. About how I apparently have his clothes.”
“Of course you do,” Markus said, as if pointing out that the sky was blue.
“But... why do I have his clothes?”
Markus chuckled, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s getting awfully late. I have much work to do. I have told you a bit, but you still have a lot to learn. Why don’t you go see General Michael? Maria will help you find his home. He knows about many things.”
“Thank you, Markus, but I’m still confused. Won’t you just tell me why-”
“I am an old man, Joel. Remember what I told you when you came in? You must be patient. In time, things will explain themselves, and you will understand everything.”
Markus sat himself down in one of the chairs again, an obvious cue for Joel to leave.
“Remember,” the old man said as Joel walked to the door. “General Michael.”
"Hello," Ranem said as he shut the door to Horace's cabin. "You're never going to believe this."
"Hey. Why, what happened?" Horace laughed as Ganymede ran to greet Ranem.
"I just saw some graffiti posted on a rock near the forum." Ranem reached down and ruffled the fur on the dog's head.
"Graffiti? In Steven's Hold?" Horace laughed. "I've never heard of such a thing. I bet it'll be cleaned up in the morning."
"No," Ranem said. "It's not just the graffiti. It's what it was about."
"Why?" Horace asked. "What did it say?"
"Apparently," Ranem stated matter-of-factly while pouring himself a cup of cocoa, "there's a new cult. An actual cult. They call themselves the Enders."
"A cult? Please. The last cults I've seen, the government shut them down almost immediately."
"This one's different. They claim that they have special powers, and if you join, they'll give you the same powers. And they promise immortality, too! Imagine it. Being Blessed!"
"Are you forgetting the Books of Steven? Whoever is Blessed is meant to be that way. We're not Blessed because that's part of Theren's plan."
"I know, but just think about it... how amazing would it be to see the ages go by?"
"The ghasts in the Nether see the ages go by, too. In their own way. A way even better than we see them."
"Jeez, would you stop quoting those old books?" Ranem chuckled. "I just think it's something worth checking out."
"A cult?" Horace had been thumbing through a book, but now he let his gaze up from it and gawked at Ranem. "You want to join a cult?"
"Well, no, not exactly..." Ranem was backpedaling. "I mean, I just think it would be cool to go see what they do. If their abilities are as great as they claim."
"Yeah, whatever." Horace. "If you really plan on going, then I'm going with you. Just to make sure you're safe. Some of those hyper-religious people can get pretty wacky."
"It's a deal, then," Ranem grinned.
"He didn't tell you about the Testificate/Pigman war!?" General Michael seemed awed, shocked, and somewhat disappointed by this revelation. "In Steven's name! What did he tell you?"
"Not too much," remarked Joel. General Michael's house had been easy enough to find with Maria's help, though he doubted he would have needed it if he had really tried; a large sign was nailed on to the outside of the two-story cabin with the words "Michael: Ex-General of the Craftian Civil Conflicts Militia" written on it (inked perfectly in as if they had been written by a fine scribe - in fact, Michael had designed the cabin, sign and all, from scratch). "He told me enough, though."
"Enough?" remarked the General, as if it was the most ridiculous accusation in the world. "How could that ever be enough? When I was spawned on a beach on the island of Theren's Palm, a different sage was in charge of explaining everything to me, and he explained damn near everything! It just isn't like Markus to be irresponsible like that... unless he withheld it on-" Michael made a face that indicated that this idea was not a very likeable one, and immediately changed the subject. "Kid, do you have anywhere to sleep for the night?"
"Well, no," Joel responded. "I was thinking of asking Maria-"
The General gave a hearty chuckle at this. "Wow, you must have spawned with a bunch of emotional information missing. How do you think Jason would feel about that?"
"Oh. Good point." Joel felt kind-of stupid at this new idea that, for some reason, had not occurred to him before. Joel and Maria were married, after all.
"Look, kid, tell you what. I got a spare bedroom upstairs. I'd be willing to let ya borrow it for the night, since it's getting real late, and though you're blessed, you'd still get a fright from dying on your first day-"
"Dying!?" Joel was horrified. "I'd certainly get a fright from THAT!"
"That's true," said Michael, slightly confused. "That's what I just said. You'd wake up on the beach all disoriented. Quite something to get used to."
"Wake up on the beach?" Now it was Joel's turn to be confused. "That's what happens when I die?"
"Of course," Michael said. "That's what happens to all the Blessed; after they die they wake up right where they started. Or, if they've made a place their home, they wake up there instead."
"Markus never told me about any of that!" suddenly realizing he was functionally immortal, Joel gave out a squeal of laughter, to which General Michael responded with a smirk.
"Wow, that old man really left out that whole ordeal?" Then, remembering: "I still need to explain the wars to you."
"Yeah, sure. Let's hear it."
"So eager," the General remarked, and began the tale.
"The Testificates used to be snot-nosed little brats. Granted, they're a lot quieter now, and they always have been brilliant - we owe some of our best magicks to them, and pretty much all of our technology. But they were still a pain in the ass, and they were real self-centered. That's why they took the Pigmen as such a threat."
"The Pigmen?" Joel asked. "Who are they?"
"The Pigmen," the General continued, "were a race of piglike men. They popped up in the lands outside Testif - that's the Testificate capitol, or was - and all this superstition got around, that these Pigmen were made by bolts of lightning strikin' regular pigs and turnin' them smart. And of course this scared the Nether outta the Testificates. They didn't like anyone challenging their empire. But for the time being, they just watched the Pigmen build up their own little community.
"The Pigmen, they were never too bright, but they could build mean mines - why, one of their mines goes on right under our very feet, in the caves of Nopsit itself. They weren't too economical - they liked things that were shiny, and they built all their tools outta gold. Anyone who knows anything about rocks and gems knows that gold is worthless for much but lookin' at, and nowadays some kinds of wires or somethin' - I hear they make watches out of the stuff up north in Onestred. But anyways, despite all their shortcomings, the Pigmen were gettin' to be pretty powerful. Powerful enough to finally get the Testificates to get into gear. After the Sect of Steven had broken off and formed its own state, they weren't about to take any chances. They really didn't like the Pigmen, never had - they thought they were more pigs than men, some kinda abomination. They thought it would be worth it to hunt 'em all down, and that's what they did.
"The Testificates raided not just some, not just many, no, they raided and burned and detsroyed EVERY Pigman establishment in the world. They wiped the Pigman Empire right off the face of Craftia, and they took no mercy. At first they just killed Pigmen, Pigwomen, and Pigchildren on sight, but then I guess there were some protests so they decided to be 'humane' about it. The Testificates built huge underground strongholds and brought thousands of Testificates as prisoners to them. They lied to the public about everything that went on in there - it's a miracle we even know today, and that's only because of the Ghasts. Jeez, as freaky as the Ghasts can be, they know so much... it's hard not to respect them. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself... where was I?"
Joel was so engrossed in the story that it took him a moment to respond. "The public, they lied to the public about the strongholds."
"Oh! Right. So in the strongholds, they did all these experiments on the Pigmen, and tortured the daylights out of 'em. But soon they decided the strongholds were more trouble than they were worth, and one day slaughtered all the captured Pigmen and extinguished the population."
"Just like that!?"
Michael nodded sadly. "Just like that. And to add insult to injury, they dumped all the bodies into the Nether like they were trash. Now this got the attention of the Ghasts. The Ghasts, if you didn't know, are the spirits of the dead. They occupy the Nether, which if you didn't know, is a dimension that's real scary. Real scary to us, at least - the sages say that the Ghasts see it different, and that the only reason we see it as so frightenin' is because we're alive and we can't understand its beauty 'til we pass. But anyways, the Ghasts got real angry, because of what the Testificates had done. First, the Ghasts, they wept their life-giving tears on the corpses of the Pigmen. Some kinda power from Theren, I guess, and they brought all the Pigmen back to life. They were all rotted and nasty, and that's why if you go to the Nether you'll see it full of undead Pigmen. They still carry around their gold tools, poor fellas. After that, the Ghasts had a bone to pick with the Testificates. They ended the Order of the Stone, that was for sure. The Ghasts invaded Craftia and demolished most of the Testificate Empire in rage, and put a curse on all the survivors. The Testificates were known for their beauty at the time, and the Ghasts came down real hard on that. They made the Testificates and all their future generations look real ugly - big noses, big heads, all that. They used psychic force to make them strict pacifists - so much to the point they could barely defend themselves, as to put them through the torture they put the Pigmen through. These days they rely on these enchanted iron golems they make for protection, and even those only work half the time. When you've got big, rusty giants defending you from monsters, it's not exactly the most perfect-"
"Wait," Joel said with a vague feeling of mortal dread that pierced his soul. "Monsters?"
"In Steven's name!" Michael said. "He didn't tell you about the MONSTERS!?"
"To explain the monsters to you, I first have to start with the Ender War. And I can tell you about that accurately enough. I lived through that. In fact, I was the leading general of basically every assault they staged."
"How long ago was that?" Joel inquired.
"I was born in the year 352," remarked Michael, "and the war happened when I was 32. I'm 58 now, so..." the General counted on his fingers. "I guess that makes it 26 years since the war started."
"You're 58?" Joel said.
"Yep. But I don't look a day over 35 or so, right?"
"Right."
"Exactly. That's because the Blessed don't age unless they want to. And it can't just be a spur of the moment kind of thing - we have to want it with all our soul."
"If you looked as young as me when you spawned," Joel said, somehow sure of this fact, "then why did you want to age?"
General Michael smiled in a melancholy way. "You'll understand as you get older. Sometimes, living forever isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"You mean... the Blessed can die?"
"Well, sure. It's happened plenty of times. But again, it has to be something that you really want to happen. Just experimenting and thinking 'Oh, I'll die now' doesn't do the trick."
"Why would anyone do that?" Joel asked.
"You'd be surprised. But anyway... where was I?"
"The war. 26 years ago. The monsters."
"Right. So, what happened is in the years following the disbanding of the Order of the Stone, the State of Theren experienced almost a century of prosperity. Just when things seemed to be going great for us, trouble came in a strange form."
"A strange form? You mean the monsters?"
"Not yet," Michael said. "Before the monsters, before any of the woes started, they took root in the form of a cult."
In the year 410, Joel and General Michael were discussing the events of the Ender War. On the same day of the year 371, Horace and Ranem were sitting in a damp cave complex during a rainstorm, listening to the sermon of a hooded man who claimed to be the head of the Cult of the Enders.
"My children," the man said, his voice contrasting with the distant sound of rain slapping itself against the sides of the fresh, gentle world that Horace, Ranem, and a group of varying people had left for this new, exciting, dangerous one, "you are all here for the same reason - destiny has bound us together to weave a marvelous fate. Destiny has brought us all here in order to appeal to a soul lost by time - to appeal to the true master of the Universe, one forgotten by most and respected by none."
Horace knew what the man was talking about, and he did not like it at all. Still, his heart was beating fast in his chest, and although he didn't want to see or hear any more of this, he couldn't look away, either.
"This force," the man shouted to the small crowd, "is more powerful than anything we could ever imagine. It is not a kind force, but the truths of the world are not kind - which means, this force is closer to the truths of the world than any other myth, any other lie construed by other forces that wish to simply cover up their own deeds in order to hide the true meaning of it all. The truth is that the End is coming - the End of All Things will happen, regardless of what we do.
"But what we may do," he said, a grin visible under the dark hood of his robe, "is help it to get there. And in return, we will be granted power and fortune beyond any Craftian concept - we will be gods in our own right, and we will come out fine in the End. We will outlive the Blessed. We will truly live forever."
The man brought forth from his pocket a primitive stone knife, and struck it across his palm. A stream of blood oozed from it, but if it pained him, he reacted little. The man mashed his hand against the wall of the cave, painting a mockery of a symbol into the wall. At this moment Ranem realized with a pleasant, terrible feeling that wasn't quite fear that this was how the graffiti advertising the cult had gotten on the rock - written in the man's blood, please, Theren, hopefully his own blood and not another's, for that was unthinkable.
The symbol, dripping in the fresh liquid, looked like an eye with a crude imitation of some sort of monstrous beast instead of a pupil. The man cackled and raised his hands into the air. The symbol suddenly began to glow a deep red, deeper than the bowels of the earth, and all of its observers were too entranced to hear the distant screams of the wind, the terror of the natural world at this insane blasphemy which broke everything it believed in.
"Ni Het M'Nae Fo Rogand, Ew L'liw Ned Ti L'al!" he screamed, and the newly formed cult of Ender began to laugh with him, all except Horace, who stayed silent with complete and utter horror. "In The Name Of Rogand, We Will End It All!"
Sighing as he crossed the room, Markus retrieved the old book from its spot on the shelf. He was getting old - very old - and soon even his magicks wouldn't be enough to keep him from tottering around. The simple lack of dignity would have paralyzed him with fear had it not been for his knowledge - he was a sage, after all, and he knew many things that ordinary people did not.
For one, he knew that this dusty old book was a gateway to a world beyond the material realm of Craftia. Even beyond the Nether, as a matter of fact.
And he knew that the things that lived in that realm were wise; they were of Theren.
Sometimes Markus heard Theren, but mostly he heard the Far Ones. Well, not quite - nobody really heard the Far Ones. The way they expressed themselves was different for everyone - some never heard from them at all, or at least never realized they were, while others such as himself felt them everywhere he went and in everything he experienced. He supposed that was why some were destined to be sages while others lived rather ordinary lives. How unburdened they are, he thought, but followed it up with: But what a lovely burden it is.
Carefully, he walked down the stairs into his basement. That was where he did most of his alchemical experiments and tasks, and that was where the table was located. It was a lovely thing, made of obsidian and diamonds, and likely one of the more valuable items he owned. But no, he thought. It might be very valuable to one who doesn't care for more than materials, but for one who pays attention to the world, this book is far more valuable than the table. But then again, he did know that the table seemed to be the only medium through which the Far Ones would speak.
He set the book down upon the table and opened it up to somewhere in the middle. Blank, of course. The whole book was blank, but that was the magic of it.
"Hello," Markus said, seemingly to thin air. "I've seen the boy. I believe you were right - he truly is the one we believe him to be."
Slowly, gently, and smooth as silk, the words began tracing themselves out on the pages in that strange, alien language that was Theren. Of course he is. These words showed up in green. So it was the green one that was speaking to him. Of course, it wasn't an actual green entity - to think that the Far Ones had form was beyond ridiculous. But that was the way it liked to personify itself to mortals. The other was a sort of deep greenish-blue. That one was more cynical than the green one.
I see that you did not tell him everything, the bluish one piped in, erasing the other's writing in the process. You were a wise man to send him to Michael. That man has experienced much, and has seen the threat first-hand.
"Yes," Markus said. "He has indeed, and I knew that was the place to show him to. I knew it was the next step in the path that Joel must follow."
Joel. The names of humans are odd to me, green mused. I suppose, though, that in the end they all come from Theren, and that is what matters.
"Certainly. What do you see in this young man's future?"
His path will be hard, for certain, blue remarked somewhat harshly. But it is a path that must be taken. For the good of us all, past, present, and future.
"Do you believe that he can follow it?"
It is impossible to say, but I must. I suppose the only thing left to do is believe.
"We are on the edge, aren't we?"
Indeed. We near the End. The hour is growing short. We can only hope to Theren that he does what has been foretold. We must hope, or it will be the end of hope itself.
1
Let me guess, you start punching it brutally until it breaks into pieces, somehow becomes whole again, and is set down elsewhere?
0
OP will likely encounter dozens of people with tales of setting the poor iddle biddle Testificates on fire and burning their houses, killing every last one of them.
This is not an irregular occurance.
0
0
O Come all Ye Monsters
O Come all ye monsters,
Creepers, spiders, zombies,
Come all ye skeletons
And all Endermen.
Come Enderdragon,
Bringing with you chaos,
O Come let us defeat them,
Although we can't deplete them,
We might as well delete them,
With swords and bows!
From depths of caverns,
Slimy things bounce forward,
Pigmen chase horrid ghasts
Deeper yet still.
Dungeons are guarded,
By silverfish and blazes,
O Come let us defeat them,
Although we can't deplete them,
We might as well delete them,
With swords and bows!
Creepers we Have Heard on High
Creepers we have heard on high,
Sweetly hissing in the night.
And the people in their way,
Killed by walking dynamite.
Since Survival-Test-Point-Two,
They have come for you,
Maybe one or more than two.
Your house they will get through,
Hiss, hiss hiss hiss hiss boom!
Under a cold moon
They will make you swoon, with fright.
In a foggy moon, lit, night!
Away in a mob trap
Away in a mob trap,
Not far from my house,
Spawns a creepy zombie
And his ugly spouse.
The rushing of water,
Blocks out their gross moans,
As they wander blindly
Upon cobblestones.
The currents have swept them,
Away from their spawn,
And through some hot lava,
And onto my lawn.
I walked over to their,
Pathetic remains,
A pair of rotted chunks
Upon the fair plains.
My Wolf got Ripped Open by a Spider
My wolf got ripped open by a spider,
Walking home from a trip in the mine,
You may say that there's no fright in Minecraft,
But it scared me when it bit me from behind.
Spot was in no state for combat,
And I saw his tail was low,
But he rushed right up to my assistance,
And he gave that hissing bug a nasty blow.
There was no way I could save him,
And it happened all too fast,
I saw a giant eight-legged flurry,
Come and kick my poor 'ol puppy's little ass.
So I made a grave of smooth stone,
And I topped it with a sign,
I just hope that no more spiders,
Try to hit me in the moonlight from behind!
I'm Dreaming of a Snow Biome
I'm dreaming of a snow biome,
Just like the ones I used to know,
Since this newest patch,
A new update batch,
They don't seem to be here, ya know!?
I'm dreaming of a kind snowfall,
One that just doesn't wreck my builds,
Oh Notch, this seems like a shame!
There's odd snow, and you're the one to blame!
0
0
Yes! It's a secret room inserted by Notch/Herobrine/God to make you happy/freak you out/**** you off!
Or it could be, you know, a glitch.
Use logic.
0
Actually, there are dozens of these topics made every month and all of them are answered the same way as above. The reason is, TONS of people are very much aware of its existence, and anyone who isn't can simply go on the wiki.
Pointless topic is pointless. Sorry.
P.S. You spelled "extreme" wrong.