For now. The binge will return.
He grunted as he pushed his steel cap above his eyes. Zombie blood ran thick down his iron sword, scratched and near broken. He heard the infamous hiss before being plunged into the dark. He again had to set up his torches around him. He sat down, chomping down on stale bread and rotten flesh; blood of the enemy. He wasn’t surviving anymore. He was relishing the hunt. His friends preferred building and staying comfortable. He loved now, the urge to kill wicked things.
His enemies however seemed to have grown stronger. They also seemed much more abundant. The night was growing, and he had exhausted much of his food. He needed to head back soon, or carry on his healthy diet of rot and worm from the zombies. Sometimes, he though, that was how zombies came to be, and that one day, he himself would awake moaning for brains. He turned to make his way back to the base.
He followed his trail back, and he espied something. Something he didn’t see before. It was a hole in the square ground. One he could only see on the way back, not on the way in. His eyes lit up at the sign of more adventure.
He peered down the hole into the darkness. Taking his shovel he dug away the surrounding dirt to reveal more of the cave. He managed to dig down to a landing within the cave. More zombie blood had wet his blade in the process of lighting up the hall. He looked at the rise above him, before realising how deep he’d dug. He mouthed words yet again, a whisper in the dark.
The dark swallowed the roof of the ravine, looking as if a giant sword had slived the earth from below. Stowing his pick and shovel and grasping the hilt of his sword, he crept down the length of the ravine.
He ate his last slice of steak and his last load of bread. All he had now, was the rotten flesh. He sighed at his work, a smile on his face. He had a full stack of iron ore and even some gold. He was happy and wanted to go out and note the cave location for more well stocked visits. He got up, and started walking back to the entrance.
He saw it. His dreams and stories and wished came into the torchlight.
He ran to it’s shine.
I trust you guys enjoy reading about Curil as much as I try to write about him. Truth me told I write much more given no context to stick to. So yes, I’m shameless and here I am talking about my other blog. I just decided to move all my Writes to a different blog for organised’ness.
If you enjoy my writing, and want more of it make your way down to WritesOfAlias.
I’ll be writing MUCH more frequently there because I write different series when I feel like it.
I will still be writing Minecraftia when I can think of something. To be honest, Minecraft can only go so far, and I have to actually play it to write more about dungeons, etc. So firstly I’d have to play more Minecraft, which is hard seeing as my finals approach.
In time, in time. Check out WritesOfAlias!
Curil stepped back from his latest construction. The looming tower looked to the east, where the square sun would rise. Atop the tower sat a torch, a light that could be seen from the other towers to the left and right. For he had no built one tower. He had built nine, and they formed a half ring with the one facing the east in the middle. They seemed to welcome the sun rising in his splendour.
He suddenly felt a lurch in his centre, and grew weak. He struggled to settle himself. ‘What was this new feeling?’
He looked for his friends. He felt another lurch. He groaned, as he saw ThePlayer in the slight distance.
He tried to run, and sprint as he had before. However his legs refused to move at such speed, and he felt another lurch. He walked as quick as he could toward ThePlayer. He called out to him, and ThePlayer saw him. Without even asking a question, he hurried into the house behind him and started rummaging in his chest. He took out a bag, and pulled out a cold leg of chicken. He handed it to Curil. Curil looked at him questioningly.
ThePlayer motioned to his mouth. Curil slowly brought the cold chicken to his mouth and took a mouthful. It was cold, but tasty. He munched and swallowed and thus soon he had gobbled the entire chicken. He wondered what it was for, when he noticed the lurches had stopped. He could feel strength in his leg to run once more.
“What was that feeling I got? The one your just cured?” he asked.
“Hunger”, ThePlayer replied. “I felt it myself 2 days back, and found out we now have to eat. Our world is changing, and as are we my friend.”
Curil looked back at his towers and wondered what else new had evolved into his strange universe.
The days were once more passing, even with the discovery of his new friends. They had called themselves ThePlayer and Gamer1337. Although he didn’t understand why a name could have numericals and strange letters, he took it for the norm. They had even named him. He could not keep in his excitement when they called him by it. Rather, he was confused who this was, but excited nonetheless when he found out.
It seemed to easily slip through his mind into the Letters of Speech. Their adventures had grown as well as their friendship. They had unearthed dungeons and holes, destroying zombies and skeleton archers. Even now and then killing the silent creepers that only seemed to appear in the black of night.
They had long forgotten their first meeting, and instead set themselves to building and mining. Apparently, according to ThePlayer, he and Gamer1337 had found this small village together. (At this point Curil questioned how they were together, and apparently they always were together. They had experienced First Sight together. Of course Curil found this interesting and strange) They had then devoted themselves to rebuilding the ruins of the village, adding small walls to keep out monsters and making taller the towers and wider the roads. It was functionally now a city.
Their conversations had also grown in length, sometimes forgoing sleep entirely just to share their ageless adventures. They were a trio that seemed inseparable.
But the topic of Notch always seemed to run dry very quickly. Probably because none of them knew about it, as much as they knew about it.
They all knew the word. They knew it was a name. But they knew little to nothing else. Their expressionless faces could only bring about that much.
Curil was at least happy. He had found new adventure. He had found new friends.
He had found community.
He could only hope that it would grow.
Like trees planted anew as saplings on the Shore of First Sight.
He had trailed them for a good distance, and they were nearing what seemed like structures. They were similar structures to his own, with stone, steel and wood forming what looked to be dwellings and other aesthetic structures. All this brilliance was hidden behind a ridge he had not bothered to explore. He could barely believe it.
They stopped once more, with white sentences blasting out of the tops of their heads. He was too swamped in his own thoughts to keep track of their conversing. They were even clutching onto maps, JUST LIKE HIM! But his inattentiveness did not keep him safe. The two were now moving to him, our hero unaware, having actually sighted him.
He looked up from his thoughts to see the two other Mine-Crafters, again words forming out of some strange memory, staring at him with their swords drawn.
“Who are you?” Appeared a sentence above the first one.
Our hero struggled, knowing not how they ‘spoke’ or even how to communicate. The second of the two Mine-Crafters noticed his apprehension and confusion, and lay down his sword.
“You need to learn how to project your thoughts”, the sentence blurted above him. “Just think it, and think it out outward. Go on! Try it.”
Our hero took a bit to digest this. He had never tried to. He had no use to communicate. He scrunched up his face, trying to form his ‘thought sentence’, a form of Mine-Craft speech almost.
“H-E” he struggled. “H-E-L-L-O-?” He looked up a bit worried.
The second of the Mine-Crafters smiled at him. “You’re catching on.”
Our hero smiled. “T-H-ank—Y-O-u.”
He could only get better. He would learn as he learnt to build, and craft.
He could still not get it out of his head that he had found more of…of…
He then realised he too was a Mine-Crafter. They were his..his KIN.
“N-O-T-C-H”, he blurted out. The two Mine-Crafters looked at him strangely. But it was not a look of confusion. It was a look of recollection.
His vision cleared up. He got up, rubbing his head. The creeper had been a big one, and had blown him cleanly through the side of a hill. He was in unexplored territory.He had built most of his track in haste, clearing a single path. He should have known better to have put in fencing. He picked up the remains of the track and cart where he could. He came upon a field. The trees were cut, and the saplings planted in the ground.
“That’s strange…”, his thought floated. He had only himself done this, to replant the trees he felled, so to keep his world sustained. He shook his head, and took out his map. Perhaps he had been here. The map was blank beside the track he had just been blown out of. He furled the map again, even more confused.
He then heard something. The wind carried the familiar sound of pick against stone. His head exploded in a flurry of possibilities. Was it Notch? Was it the name that echoed in him explaining his existence? Or worse! Were there some form of smart creeper or zombie?!
He stopped running in the direction and instead proceeded carefully. He did not want to kill himself. He wanted to know this phenomenon. He creeped around the corner, to find the entrance of a cave. But he knew it was not natural. It was square, and uniform. Someone had FORMED the cave. Intelligent beings.
He then saw in the distance a figure, it’s footsteps clear upon the stone. Whatever it was, it did not fear anything in the area, which made our hero much more uncomfortable. He made sure to keep himself hidden. The figure came walking out of the cave. Then suddenly, there came also another.
THERE WERE TWO!? Our hero could barely keep himself together. They seemed like unto him, save different in mood in which they kept themselves. And they dressed slightly differently. Suddenly above one of their heads appeared a sentence, in bright white.
“I don’t know. Let’s go finish my house.”
Confused by this, he still stayed hidden. The two figures once more walked away from the cave, into the great green beyond.
Clearly not comfortable, our hero trailed them, at a good distance, his sword close to him, with his mind closer.
Exams ended. I can finally write into the night.