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...
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...
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. ...
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 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...
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...
OOS: I'm alive
Exams ended. I can finally write into the night.
tenfortytwo answered your question: OOS: Things After the explosion, he found himself upon another shore. Not the same Point of First Sight. Walking around for a while he finds a village. Any ideas for SMP-integration? EDIT: Ok the village bit. lolol. Didn’t read that. SWEET!
arrogantchild reblogged your post: Beating Hand GOOD SIR, I WANT TO REBLOG YOUR BLOG IN ITS ENTIRETY. Go ahead =)
I can’t seem to add that much to Minecraftia, because that’s all I can mix up. With new items added, I could possibly write about our Hero using it. However I want to add the element of SMP into it. But I can’t find any logical means of adding it into the story-world. Any suggestions guys?
He laid down the last bit of track. His stores of iron had been used fully for this. He had also found a use for the otherwise useless metal, while rare, of gold. He had found that gold could conduct the power of redstone and propel his carts forward. His track spanned a full half kilometre, with twists and turns at the appropriate. He did not feel the need to chew through every hill and valley...
He crouched over the rock. He was working on something. He, being the all-mighty inventor he was, had invented many things to help him in his new land. But he grew weary of marking pillars. He grew tired of having to leave a trail. Dang-nab it! HE WAS A THINKING BEING! There had to be some way of fixing it. That problems’ solution lay over the rock. He picked it up, and furled it up, the...
Songs of the Night
A low whine broke the monotony of his walking. He was without fear now. His sword and bow could bring down any foe he so wished to destroy. He moved toward the source of the sound. He saw on the floor many blocks of wool. Dead sheep? But who else was about killing the creatures? He did not know of any skeleton or zombie that acted so. Perhaps the spiders had decided on a diet change? He followed...
He might have looked new to the land, but already the buildings of cold stone and steel were populating the premise. His castles and mines were cropping up, as his desire for conquest of the land carried on. He built by day, he spare resources more than enough. He hunted by night. The horrors of once upon a time a mere trifle to his ability to turn a steel sword into their bodies. He could shoot...
He awoke from his short nap. His craft had drifted with the current, away from his old home. He felt lost, but he did not even feel the need to go back to his comfort. He had all he needed with him. Chests of steel, redstone and wood. He would build a new place for himself, and he might come to know for what he existed, or thought he did. Suddenly, his boat was caught upon a strong current. He...
The monotonous sound of pick upon stone was silenced in the caverns. The grunts, pants and screams of anguish in the wild of night were no more to be heard. The slow cackle of flame cooking food, or the smouldering coals melting metal were cold. The world seemed slower, quieter and at peace. Passing by the many structures, and huts placed upon the world, he had finally come upon the end of land. ...
He had spent what seemed an eternity pondering. “Notch”. It seemed so familiar. It was one name, to which he knew no meaning. No link, no connection to anything else. But again, he had a practical problem, other than his lost philosophies. Time. He had many experiences, of coming out of his cave, expecting to work away creating structures above. He would come up, only to find the moon...
His cavern was now a winding labyrinth. He alone knew, how to traverse. He had mined into different directions, upon finding new veins of coal, and even iron. The brownish ore was stashed away in his large chest. He had some of it, smelting away in his furnace. Cold, hard steel awaited there; with which, hopefully he could get better tools. It seemed to him, that the whole point of his very...
Strings of thought
He stared at the multi-eyed creature before him. Hissing and spitting it once more launched itself at him. This time he parried and swing his sword, cleaving a gash in the side of the giant spider. It spat in fury, and once more launched itself at him. His arms tired, his parry missed and the spider’s sharp claws on it’s legs slashed him. He grunted in pain, but swung his sword at the...
Hunter, Hunting, Hunted
He was still reeling in. He needed food. His eyes darted to the pig jumping about the hills off the side. With no other thought or time wasted, he walked toward the pig and started pummeling it in the side. The pig, unable to defend itself, took the abuse to its death. Scavenging what bacon he could from it, he needed a more efficient way to slaughtering his food-to-be. Gathering the 2 bacon...
Death Of A Cave-man
His pick broke before him. The wood splinters flew all over the place. He threw away the useless handle and went back to his workbench a half dozen metres above him. Climbing the steps he had mined into the floor to dig deeper in the ground, he made it back to his Home. With his piles of stone he had gathered from his mining, he had with him a new tool arsenal. Proceeding back down with his...
Sticks and stones
His square eyes scanned the horizon, searching. Searching for fairer grounds. He saw in the distance, not so distant as it was, a mountain; small in stature. Certain it would yield to him treasures, and a better area than this sandy and dirty shore, he set out for it. The sun had not moved much as he reached it, and as he saw upon the sides of the lower edge of the mountain, he was in great...
He blinked in the bright sun before him. A yellow square far off into the blue skies, it beat down upon the world before him. He knew nothing before, but a certain craving for what was to be a future. He had nothing. The sand underneath him burned him. But he spoke not. He knew naught to. He made his steps forward, his legs and arms moving, it seemed, upon their own will and accord. He needed...