I woke up.
The thirst and the aches in my head are indescribable.
It all comes flooding back to me. The crash, the rock…
Where am I?
I take a look around before attempting to get up. There’s a leafy, green, mountainous forest 40 meters ahead. I am on a sandy beach. The taste of salty ocean water is still in my mouth. I make a feeble attempt to stand but have to be content with sitting.
I make another attempt to stand and I stumble across the sand, tripping a couple of times. Upon reaching the forest, I take shade under a big oak tree.
The cool shade is doing me some good, and the aches leave my head. I stand up and take a look at the forest around me. There’s lots of oak trees with the occasional birch.
I am obviously in a dangerous survival situation. I am very, very thirsty. Luckily, to the left a few paces is a small pond. As I walk over to it, I notice it’s very clear. I collapse to my knees and thirstily drink mouthfuls. It tastes so good!
Drinking isn’t enough. I plunge my sun-burned body into the cool pond, and wash off all the salt in my clothes.
Now that my thirst is quenched, I realize that I need shelter and food. None of the trees are leaning and look reasonable enough for a decent lean-to.
Fortunately, my father had taught me survival skills, as were needed in my rural community. “Punch that tree, Steve. Yes, that’s good. Keep punching.”
I walk up to a good sized tree and begin punching. The tree starts creaking under the blows of my calloused hands from my rough life in my village. Soon, a good sized section pops off. I stuff it in my backpack, then continue to the other parts.
After a few minutes, the whole tree is completely gone. Again, it was very fortunate that my father taught me survival skills, because the logs I had weren’t nearly enough for a shelter. I began the process of crafting them into planks. After a few seconds, I have a good amount of planks, about 25.
I remember how to craft a workbench, as my father had taught me.
I craft it fast. I set my newly crafted workbench on the ground, with a cost of 4 planks gone from my pack. I now have 21.
The sun is beginning to set, so I hastily craft a wooden pickaxe.
After I am done, the moon begins to come up. I run over to a mountain and start slamming into it with my pickaxe in a hurry.
I have a small room completed. In the upper corner there’s some coal. I break it with my pickaxe and make some sticks. I craft a torch, and light it by striking it with some stone. I set it on the ground for use later.
As I begin to lie down to rest, I hear an unearthly moan.
I hear some footsteps on the grass heading toward me.
My heart leaps into my throat. I hadn’t heard much about the superstitions of my village, about the dead men that walk at night.
Here was one now.
I slam my fist into its face and it stumbles back a meter. I hastily block the entrance with some dirt.
My heart pumped fast. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I would have dismissed it as a hallucination, but I could still hear its tortured moans outside my shelter.
I faint.
My dreams are torturing.
I dream about my life before the crash. Before the ship ran into a rock that threw me onto this island.
I dream about my village. My father was a strong man. He was a hunter and a craftsman. All the men in the village looked up to him, because of his strength and wisdom. He knew how to craft tools in an instant. His strong fingers could bend the elements quickly into whatever he wanted them to be.
Just like me.
I dream about the men from some other place. They wanted to have a place where they could worship their own different religion. They had built a huge ship that they said would carry us to a different land.
Instead, it only carried me to this lonely place.
I never knew about my mother. She died in childbirth, and I was the only one who survived.
Just like now. I was the only one (As far as I know) who survived this second birth, this ship.
My entire family, and by that I mean my father and I, embarked on this new ship to see this land that the men wanted to go to. They said it was filled with ores and clean water and animals.
When the ship collided with the rock, we began to sink very quickly. Most of the men were thrown back and hit the wood floor hard. I flew over the edge into the water and clung to a piece of the ship that had splintered off.
After holding onto it for a long time, I drifted into a deep sleep.
I awoke on the island.
I wake up, amazed at how vivid that dream was. I look at my torch. It was little more than embers on a stick now, but light shone through the dirt stuck hastily into the entrance.
I break open the dirt and see some rotten flesh on the ground. It is sizzling, and still a bit on fire. I think it was from the dead man.
Breakfast.
It doesn’t do me much good. I threw up much of it and it tasted (and smelled) horrible.
I need better food.
To gain my bearings, I begin to climb to the top of the small mountain I’m on. It’s covered in oak and birch trees. Several caves run through it, and when the wind blows it makes peculiar noises.
The noises make me shudder. I again hear the peculiar moaning. Apparently these “dead men” don’t just walk at night. They also live in caves.
Anywhere dark.
Once at the top, my brow is dripping in sweat. I wipe it off before it can run into my eyes.
It appears that I am on a mountainous, forested island, about a good size, with a desert over to the northwest. I can’t see farther than that. The island may as well just be a peninsula, since I can’t see past the desert.
I am stranded.
Wait. I notice that close to where I woke up, there’s a man, lying on the ground.
“Father!” I yell, my voice hoarse from lack of use. I run down the mountain as fast as I can, and rush through the forest to the beach.
He doesn’t look well. His clothes are torn and he is bleeding terribly. I begin to feel hot tears about to roll down my cheeks.
He seems surprisingly lucid.
“Water,” he says in a hoarse voice.
I fireman-carry my father over to the pool, desperate to get him water. I let him drink. After his thirst is quenched, his calloused hands slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a compass. It looked strange, like a tin can with a red needle in it. There were no markers that showed North or South.
As I look back, I'm not even sure it pointed North.
His hoarse voice told me to reach into his backpack. I reached inside and felt a hatchet. I held it in my hands, it was made roughly of wood and metal. The wood gave me a splinter, but I paid no mind. The metal was as cool as water.
"You'll need it more than I will, son. Soon I'll be food for the earth." he said. As he said this, I fought back hard tears. I knew it was true, he was losing so much blood. Suddenly his eyes glazed over. He was still breathing faintly. I didn't have time to dig a hole. Night would fall again and I needed a real shelter. With a heavy heart, I grabbed dirt and gravel and piled it over his body, after he had stopped breathing, and with a red rose that was growing alone in the earth, I paid my last respects.
I looked at the rolling forest and its green turf with apprehension. The dead would walk in the darker parts. Thinking about this upset me. What if my father rose from the dead and extinguish his own son? To make sure this didn't happen, I hefted some heavy stones from the side of a hill and set them carefully down on the shallow grave.
I held the rough hatchet in my hand. It was all I had left of my father that was of use, except the strange compass. I thought for a moment and smashed it through the nearest oak. It shook with every heavy stroke and the birds started squawking, but soon the job was done and I had a pile of wood at my feet. I carefully chopped them into planks, and with mud I formed a thin frame for a house and after several more trees had fallen, I had a small wooden box.
This would go great in the Fan Fiction section if that still exist. I know there's like a universal law that you are not to make a giant wall of text but I can barely read this because it's so spaced out.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
#BAUM4EXILE2014 :^) HELP CAPSLOCK KEY FELL OFF IT SWITCHES ON AND OFF, HELP PLS.
Uh. There's one problem with this. HOLY CRAP IT IS 10x BETTER THAN ANYTHING I EVER FREAKING WROTE!!! Wow i think you put a lot of effort into this! Sell it on e-Book, i know lots of people who'd pay 3 bucks for content like this if you beef it up a little bit. Also, i'm planning on starting a new series on my channel, a sort of vlog-y thing where i do a "get-together" about a bunch of minecraft stuff..
This would go great in the Fan Fiction section if that still exist. I know there's like a universal law that you are not to make a giant wall of text but I can barely read this because it's so spaced out.
Thanks. I just fixed it. it's no longer so spaced out.
Uh. There's one problem with this. HOLY CRAP IT IS 10x BETTER THAN ANYTHING I EVER FREAKING WROTE!!! Wow i think you put a lot of effort into this! Sell it on e-Book, i know lots of people who'd pay 3 bucks for content like this if you beef it up a little bit. Also, i'm planning on starting a new series on my channel, a sort of vlog-y thing where i do a "get-together" about a bunch of minecraft stuff..
Thanks, man! I did put a lot of effort into this, but as soon as I am done, this will be a very big book. This is only the first few pages!
Uh. There's one problem with this. HOLY CRAP IT IS 10x BETTER THAN ANYTHING I EVER FREAKING WROTE!!! Wow i think you put a lot of effort into this! Sell it on e-Book, i know lots of people who'd pay 3 bucks for content like this if you beef it up a little bit. Also, i'm planning on starting a new series on my channel, a sort of vlog-y thing where i do a "get-together" about a bunch of minecraft stuff..
After a long time of school and stress and not being able to find this thread, I finally updated. From now on I hope to be able to be more current.
Minecraft fan-made storyline
Minecraft fan-made storyline
I woke up.
The thirst and the aches in my head are indescribable.
It all comes flooding back to me. The crash, the rock…
Where am I?
I take a look around before attempting to get up. There’s a leafy, green, mountainous forest 40 meters ahead. I am on a sandy beach. The taste of salty ocean water is still in my mouth. I make a feeble attempt to stand but have to be content with sitting.
I make another attempt to stand and I stumble across the sand, tripping a couple of times. Upon reaching the forest, I take shade under a big oak tree.
The cool shade is doing me some good, and the aches leave my head. I stand up and take a look at the forest around me. There’s lots of oak trees with the occasional birch.
I am obviously in a dangerous survival situation. I am very, very thirsty. Luckily, to the left a few paces is a small pond. As I walk over to it, I notice it’s very clear. I collapse to my knees and thirstily drink mouthfuls. It tastes so good!
Drinking isn’t enough. I plunge my sun-burned body into the cool pond, and wash off all the salt in my clothes.
Now that my thirst is quenched, I realize that I need shelter and food. None of the trees are leaning and look reasonable enough for a decent lean-to.
Fortunately, my father had taught me survival skills, as were needed in my rural community. “Punch that tree, Steve. Yes, that’s good. Keep punching.”
I walk up to a good sized tree and begin punching. The tree starts creaking under the blows of my calloused hands from my rough life in my village. Soon, a good sized section pops off. I stuff it in my backpack, then continue to the other parts.
After a few minutes, the whole tree is completely gone. Again, it was very fortunate that my father taught me survival skills, because the logs I had weren’t nearly enough for a shelter. I began the process of crafting them into planks. After a few seconds, I have a good amount of planks, about 25.
I remember how to craft a workbench, as my father had taught me.
I craft it fast. I set my newly crafted workbench on the ground, with a cost of 4 planks gone from my pack. I now have 21.
The sun is beginning to set, so I hastily craft a wooden pickaxe.
After I am done, the moon begins to come up. I run over to a mountain and start slamming into it with my pickaxe in a hurry.
I have a small room completed. In the upper corner there’s some coal. I break it with my pickaxe and make some sticks. I craft a torch, and light it by striking it with some stone. I set it on the ground for use later.
As I begin to lie down to rest, I hear an unearthly moan.
I hear some footsteps on the grass heading toward me.
My heart leaps into my throat. I hadn’t heard much about the superstitions of my village, about the dead men that walk at night.
Here was one now.
I slam my fist into its face and it stumbles back a meter. I hastily block the entrance with some dirt.
My heart pumped fast. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I would have dismissed it as a hallucination, but I could still hear its tortured moans outside my shelter.
I faint.
My dreams are torturing.
I dream about my life before the crash. Before the ship ran into a rock that threw me onto this island.
I dream about my village. My father was a strong man. He was a hunter and a craftsman. All the men in the village looked up to him, because of his strength and wisdom. He knew how to craft tools in an instant. His strong fingers could bend the elements quickly into whatever he wanted them to be.
Just like me.
I dream about the men from some other place. They wanted to have a place where they could worship their own different religion. They had built a huge ship that they said would carry us to a different land.
Instead, it only carried me to this lonely place.
I never knew about my mother. She died in childbirth, and I was the only one who survived.
Just like now. I was the only one (As far as I know) who survived this second birth, this ship.
My entire family, and by that I mean my father and I, embarked on this new ship to see this land that the men wanted to go to. They said it was filled with ores and clean water and animals.
When the ship collided with the rock, we began to sink very quickly. Most of the men were thrown back and hit the wood floor hard. I flew over the edge into the water and clung to a piece of the ship that had splintered off.
After holding onto it for a long time, I drifted into a deep sleep.
I awoke on the island.
I wake up, amazed at how vivid that dream was. I look at my torch. It was little more than embers on a stick now, but light shone through the dirt stuck hastily into the entrance.
I break open the dirt and see some rotten flesh on the ground. It is sizzling, and still a bit on fire. I think it was from the dead man.
Breakfast.
It doesn’t do me much good. I threw up much of it and it tasted (and smelled) horrible.
I need better food.
To gain my bearings, I begin to climb to the top of the small mountain I’m on. It’s covered in oak and birch trees. Several caves run through it, and when the wind blows it makes peculiar noises.
The noises make me shudder. I again hear the peculiar moaning. Apparently these “dead men” don’t just walk at night. They also live in caves.
Anywhere dark.
Once at the top, my brow is dripping in sweat. I wipe it off before it can run into my eyes.
It appears that I am on a mountainous, forested island, about a good size, with a desert over to the northwest. I can’t see farther than that. The island may as well just be a peninsula, since I can’t see past the desert.
I am stranded.
Wait. I notice that close to where I woke up, there’s a man, lying on the ground.
“Father!” I yell, my voice hoarse from lack of use. I run down the mountain as fast as I can, and rush through the forest to the beach.
He doesn’t look well. His clothes are torn and he is bleeding terribly. I begin to feel hot tears about to roll down my cheeks.
He seems surprisingly lucid.
“Water,” he says in a hoarse voice.
I fireman-carry my father over to the pool, desperate to get him water. I let him drink. After his thirst is quenched, his calloused hands slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a compass. It looked strange, like a tin can with a red needle in it. There were no markers that showed North or South.
As I look back, I'm not even sure it pointed North.
His hoarse voice told me to reach into his backpack. I reached inside and felt a hatchet. I held it in my hands, it was made roughly of wood and metal. The wood gave me a splinter, but I paid no mind. The metal was as cool as water.
"You'll need it more than I will, son. Soon I'll be food for the earth." he said. As he said this, I fought back hard tears. I knew it was true, he was losing so much blood. Suddenly his eyes glazed over. He was still breathing faintly. I didn't have time to dig a hole. Night would fall again and I needed a real shelter. With a heavy heart, I grabbed dirt and gravel and piled it over his body, after he had stopped breathing, and with a red rose that was growing alone in the earth, I paid my last respects.
I looked at the rolling forest and its green turf with apprehension. The dead would walk in the darker parts. Thinking about this upset me. What if my father rose from the dead and extinguish his own son? To make sure this didn't happen, I hefted some heavy stones from the side of a hill and set them carefully down on the shallow grave.
I held the rough hatchet in my hand. It was all I had left of my father that was of use, except the strange compass. I thought for a moment and smashed it through the nearest oak. It shook with every heavy stroke and the birds started squawking, but soon the job was done and I had a pile of wood at my feet. I carefully chopped them into planks, and with mud I formed a thin frame for a house and after several more trees had fallen, I had a small wooden box.
#BAUM4EXILE2014
:^)
HELP CAPSLOCK KEY FELL OFF IT SWITCHES ON AND OFF, HELP PLS.
Thanks. I just fixed it. it's no longer so spaced out.
Thanks, man! I did put a lot of effort into this, but as soon as I am done, this will be a very big book. This is only the first few pages!
After a long time of school and stress and not being able to find this thread, I finally updated. From now on I hope to be able to be more current.