My name is DirtDog, and I have been told for much of my life I was named after my great great great great great great great grandfather, DirtDog, the Patron Saint of Potatoes. Long ago he was excommunicated, banished to the far ShadowLands; for what reasons I do not know. What I do know is that he left a pariah with only his faith in the Great Chicken in the Sky, and ended up founding an empire. News traveled back to his home and since then DirtDog has became a nationally revered persona; larger than life.
We attend numerous classes of instruction, learning the history of my distant relative and the heathens he brought the Good Cluckings to. We sing of his deeds in the daily hymns of how he defeated the Cult of the Creeper, banishing those hell-spawn to the void along with their heinous worshipers. Tales of his adventures, the massive nation of Bloom County, and the wondrous city of St. Chien and its vast riches have all made their way back to us, not to mention the sacred relics that have been reclaimed and returned to his rightful home and birthplace after centuries of being lost to traders and looters. I have seen and read the pages of his ancient journal myself, and did my final thesis on his teachings.
Despite the constant pressure and urging from my family, I have yet to live up to my great name. It is not for lack of want, I suppose I am only destined to disappoint my family and its honor with my mediocrity. But I am determined to change that. I will fulfill my destiny, my birthright as a DirtDog, and have great adventures that future generations with sing about, like my great great great great great great grandfather before me... or die trying.
So I have begun my journal, much like those before me, to chronicle my story. And should I be slain in a dishonorable manner, my only request is that you, kind reader of this journal, would destroy it so that I do not sullen the DirtDog name. That, and delete my browser history, please. Thank you.
So with that decided, I have written a farewell letter to my family; urging them to not be saddened by my departure, but to look forward in anticipation for my return. For I vow to return, either in person, or by means of my journal.
So it begins.
Day 1 - Outward Bound
My travels began at first light and I had managed to travel a sizable distance by mid-day. I am following as much of the details recorded by my great relative DirtDog as I can. His early records were spotty at best, and I am only making educated guesses at best from the photos he took with the sun and stars positions as reference.
Day 8 - The Forest Thickens
I have been traveling for days and the vegetation and trees only grow thicker and more eerie.I hear creatures call out in the evening that I have never heard before, and I am sure I can hear slathering ghouls and zombies behind every tree and bush. Surely my mind is playing tricks on me, and it will be the end of me as I run screaming into the darkness.
Day 10 - Follow the Cobblestone Road
Still I walk, my journal entries being my only reprieve from the dull and monotonous walking. Just when I though I could not bear yet another day of bushwhacking though trees bigger round than my body, I come across a path of sorts. At the very least this path will speed up my pace of traveling. Thank the chickens.
Day 10 - (continued)
As I traveled the cobblestone pathway I came across a sturdy looking tunnel. It seemed clear, but as I neared the opposite end I discovered I was not alone. I hastily scribble this now, because the manner at which these people approach me, they do not seem to want to invite me for tea.
Day 15 - Trapped, Like a Rat
I was correct in my assessment of the group earlier - they were far from friendly. They thumped me soundly upon the head, bound, gagged, and blindfolded me before carrying me off. After some time my blindfold was finally removed and as my eyes adjusted to the dank, dankness I could see I was not in the finest guest chambers. I have been imprisoned for some days now. How many I am not entirely sure because it is constantly dark down here. But at least they let me keep my journal and have been afforded a small desk to write upon during my stay down here.
Good story, apart from how you try to joke about God. Might wanna remove that, other than that fine.
The DirtDog lineage shan't ever do anything blasphemous against the poultry deities. How dare thee accuse them of such crimes. Burn this man with the steak!
The important thing is not how long you live... It's what you accomplish with your life. While I live, I want to shine. I want to prove that I exist. If I could do something really important... That would definitely carry on into the future. My spirit will always live on. And so if I were to disappear... I think that all I have accomplished will go on. That would mean that it's living. Right?- Grovyle
"Although man kind will always look onward, yearning for more, searching for new boundries, only to break through them, With the understanding that this world is one in which we all share, comes the responsibility of knowing the decisions we make today will have a lasting impact on the generations of tommorow." - Civ 5 BNW opening cinematic
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
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Boise, Idaho
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So, did the previous DirtDog have his children sent back to the lands that he came from so that his great great great great great great great Grandchild could be born in a place where the tales would have to make their way back to them, instead of seeing the tales in the local history textbooks?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
So, did the previous DirtDog have his children sent back to the lands that he came from so that his great great great great great great great Grandchild could be born in a place where the tales would have to make their way back to them, instead of seeing the tales in the local history textbooks?
No, I always imagined DirtDog the First being banished to the wilderness and his left behind wife and family refusing to speak of him. His children grew up not knowing much of their departed father, with only suspicions arising every so often with wild and fabulous stories reaching their Homeland via traders and travelers of a vast and prosperous empire in a far off land of Bloom County. Only after his death is his identity completely revealed when a group of St. Chieninite(?) / Bloom Countian(?) officials and royal advisers seek out his descendants and inform them of his passing, and their inheritance and lineage. With the DirtDog name still a taboo subject and looked upon with disdain and dishonor, none of the descendants believe or accept the role of next in line ruler of Bloom County and the capital city of St. Chien.
Thus Bloom County and the city of St. Chien manages fairly well for quite a few decades as a semi-autonomous collection of city/states under a quasi-empire / emperor - like the late Roman Empire, but with a lower IQ and more natural resources and riches to exploit.
By time the DirtDog lineage finally wakes up and realizes that DirtDog and the empire he founded has become a rags to riches success story and no longer a red stain on the family name - Bloom County is quite content and set in a different system and ruling body. Partly due to Bloom County's great success and also due to a possible economic downturn in the Homelands after years of elevating religious fanaticism and fracturing among religious groups, the Homeland can only look on with sad envy during those harsh and unprosperous times, but it helps further elevate the DirtDog name and legend as a noble and mighty former ruler of that great far off rich empire. As is the case with each passing retelling, the stories probably got more extravagant and grandeous, blending fact with fiction until DirtDog was larger than life - and his biography probably containing a slight error or two.
With the increased infatuation with the legendary, and by this point in history - mythical - DirtDog, it becomes part of a larger catalyst for religious and political reform in the Homeland. After a period of turmoil, the Homeland experiences a revitalization in all aspects of its citizens' lives and ushers in a new era of prosperity, all the while never forgetting its fixation with the mythical tales of DirtDog; incorporating it into numerous aspects of their lives, culture, education, and psyche.
With the increased prosperity of the Homeland, trade and travel from Bloom County tapers off, slowing news and information from the massive empire to a trickle. It is during that time that Bloom County and St. Chien undergo some serious changes... well, I'll leave that to the story / journal to reveal.
We rejoin DirtDog the XXI or some far off down the line descendant of the former great adventurer during this time. The Homeland is thriving, hubris is rising, and disdain for other cultures and ideas is once again en vogue. We'll see how this DirtDog fares in that distant and unforgiving land...
No, I always imagined DirtDog the First being banished to the wilderness and his left behind wife and family refusing to speak of him. His children grew up not knowing much of their departed father, with only suspicions arising every so often with wild and fabulous stories reaching their Homeland via traders and travelers of a vast and prosperous empire in a far off land of Bloom County. Only after his death is his identity completely revealed when a group of St. Chieninite(?) / Bloom Countian(?) officials and royal advisers seek out his descendants and inform them of his passing, and their inheritance and lineage. With the DirtDog name still a taboo subject and looked upon with disdain and dishonor, none of the descendants believe or accept the role of next in line ruler of Bloom County and the capital city of St. Chien.
Thus Bloom County and the city of St. Chien manages fairly well for quite a few decades as a semi-autonomous collection of city/states under a quasi-empire / emperor - like the late Roman Empire, but with a lower IQ and more natural resources and riches to exploit.
By time the DirtDog lineage finally wakes up and realizes that DirtDog and the empire he founded has become a rags to riches success story and no longer a red stain on the family name - Bloom County is quite content and set in a different system and ruling body. Partly due to Bloom County's great success and also due to a possible economic downturn in the Homelands after years of elevating religious fanaticism and fracturing among religious groups, the Homeland can only look on with sad envy during those harsh and unprosperous times, but it helps further elevate the DirtDog name and legend as a noble and mighty former ruler of that great far off rich empire. As is the case with each passing retelling, the stories probably got more extravagant and grandeous, blending fact with fiction until DirtDog was larger than life - and his biography probably containing a slight error or two.
With the increased infatuation with the legendary, and by this point in history - mythical - DirtDog, it becomes part of a larger catalyst for religious and political reform in the Homeland. After a period of turmoil, the Homeland experiences a revitalization in all aspects of its citizens' lives and ushers in a new era of prosperity, all the while never forgetting its fixation with the mythical tales of DirtDog; incorporating it into numerous aspects of their lives, culture, education, and psyche.
With the increased prosperity of the Homeland, trade and travel from Bloom County tapers off, slowing news and information from the massive empire to a trickle. It is during that time that Bloom County and St. Chien undergo some serious changes... well, I'll leave that to the story / journal to reveal.
We rejoin DirtDog the XXI or some far off down the line descendant of the former great adventurer during this time. The Homeland is thriving, hubris is rising, and disdain for other cultures and ideas is once again en vogue. We'll see how this DirtDog fares in that distant and unforgiving land...
Ah. I didn't realize such a miserable exile as the early DirtDog would have a wife and children.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
Great story so far. I started a journal of my own at the beginning, not yet published on the forums here, but I'll have to make some slight adjustments, given the start of the new journal and the above backstory.
I have met a fellow prisoner during my stay here. Thanks to them I am now aware of the somewhat systematic passing of time down here without being able to see outside world. It seems, according to this friendly fellow dungeon inhabitant, that there is a changing of dungeon guards once a day. So a fresh face in the dungeon halls means a new day. During this changing of guards there also seems to be a period where we, the prisoners, are left in silence for a sizable amount of time. It was during this time my fellow friendly dungeon-mate called out to me.
During our brief conversation, I have gathered that this dungeon-mate is a political dissident. Unwilling to kneel and acknowledge the legitimacy of their present ruling crown and deity. Interesting as that may be, it does little to explain why I am being held here.
Day ??? - Things That Go Squeal in the Night
I was awoken by a horrendous sound just now. A high pitched squealing emanating from further into the dungeon, accompanied by what sounded like splashing water. It drove shivers down my spine hearing such torture and agony being experienced within such close proximity from my cell. The only thing I can think of is to recite the 13 Truths and Good Cluckings to myself and pray may the chicken deities have mercy on that poor soul.
Day ??? - A New Cellmate
I have learned of the source of the tortured squeals I wrote about earlier. After they finished with the poor soul I heard squealing, I heard footfalls and the clattering of hooves coming my way. I quickly sprang back to my cot and pretended to be sleeping. Through my squinted eyes I saw them thrust a wretched looking pigman into my cell with me and muttered something about returning later to continue "Convincement Training". Whatever that may be, there is little doubt that it is far from pleasant.
After the guards had departed, I sat up in my cot to investigate and possibly introduce myself to my new cellmate, but I feel he has me mistaken for someone else. For when this strange pigman saw me, it threw itself to the floor at my feet, squealing my name over and over. How this creature knows my name I do not know. How peculiar.
Day ??? - Clarification
My new cellmate is quite an intriguing fellow. Apparently he mistook me for my great great great great great grandfather DirtDog the First. He swears I am the spitting image of him. While I am honored by his kind flattery, I feel the darkness and him missing half his face severely diminishes his ability to identify anything more detailed than the broadside of a barn.
We have spent many hours, or at least what has surely felt like countless hours, visiting and chatting in the gloomy darkness. He has told me his name, but I am at a loss of how to put it into writing. It was a combination of guttural snorts punctuated by a high pitched squeal. I think I will refer to him simply as "Wilbur". The thing I find most interesting is that he actually claims to have known and met my long distant relative, DirtDog the First. Due to these pigmen's extremely long lifespan, Wilbur claims to have been present when my great great great great great great grandfather first made contact with the pigmen of the Nether - though Wilbur was only a small piglet at the time.
This, and future meetings, set the groundwork for a long-standing alliance and trade network that benefited both parties. The pigmen provided valuable NetherQuartz, Netherrack for brickwork, and Glowdust; and in return DirtDog the First provided countless trade goods, the most notable would be his brewed concoctions of Fire Resistance. A unforeseen side-effect was extreme prolonging of their lifespan down within the Nether. But things have recently changed, and the new ruling emperor has drastically raised the tariffs and prices of those trade goods, and pilfering the provided trade goods directly from the Nether. Understandably so, the pigmen attempted to resist, but ended up slaughtered in their attempt. Wilbur was but only a few surviving pigmen from his area to be taken prisoner, and now they demand information of valuable NetherQuatrz and Glowdust deposits deeper within the Nether. Such a tragic story. I deeply wish to help Wilbur and his people, but regretfully am just as trapped as him, here deep in this blasted dungeon.
I am already garnering a disdain for this "Emperor" already, and have yet to meet him.
Today I was briskly awoken by a random assortment of dungeon keepers splashing me with a bucket of fetid water. While obviously a rude thing to do, I have come to expect less than respectful handling from my captors now. They often take time throughout the day to stop by my minuscule window to spit insults at me.
I believe they are filled with a false hubris, because they were rather overly cautious when they came to collect me for my visit to this infamous emperor. They shackled not only my hands and feet, but the blindfolded me for the trip up and out of the dungeon, as well as a thick bag over my entire upper body. Even still, I could tell when we finally exited the dark stank of the subterranean hole, as the sun warmed my soul even through the thick shroud they placed over me. I could here considerable noise of a bustling crowd, ripe with heavy footfalls passing on both sides of me. The birds chirps overhead as well as a menagerie of livestock brays, moos, and bleats were welcomed in my ears after being subjected to the screams and moans common within the dungeon. Even this fleeting breath of fresh air was more than enough to restore my sanity and elevate my determination to make it out of this captivity alive.
Once inside again, my hood was removed and I found myself in a sizable chamber with three thrones situated at the head of the room. The middle, largest throne was a grotesque monstrosity styled as a sinister rooster head, complete with malignant fangs and furrowed brow. Each of the flanking thrones were smaller, simpler constructs; each cradling very active characters who could not seem to sit still in their chairs. They jumped and bounced in and out and around the room during this meeting. Perched in the maws of the rooster throne was the Emperor. Judging from his immediate sneer he cast my way upon my hood removal, I knew he hadn't requested my presence for milk and pumpkin pie.
"So this is mighty lineage of DirtDog?!", he jeered. "He is but a raggedy man!" The chamber echoed riotous laughter. I turned to seem that the ample seating behind and to each side of me was filled to capacity to see this spectacle - me.
"Well?!", boomed the Emperor. "Have you found our accommodations adequate? Perhaps... persuasive?"
"I'm afraid I do not underst.." I tried to respond.
"SILENCE!", the Emperor screamed at me, cutting me off. "You do not have the speaking rod!" he shrieked, holding up what appeared to be a bone with an assortment of adornments. Feathers, smaller bones, beads, and a comically large pair of plastic googily eyes were affixed to the bone and he waved it menacingly in my face. Or as menacingly as one can wave a bone with googily eyes glued to it...
"Now..." the Emperor continued, "I want you to show the people of Bloom County that even the descendants of DirtDog bend their knee and acknowledge the Emperor and his divine appointment to the throne. I rule, DirtDog drools!"
I shrugged, and got down on one knee. I had no issue with this Emperors need for ego stoking. Simply playing along with his game would not hurt my pride or feelings in the least. I only set out for an adventure, and the sooner I could continue, the better.
"Now say it." he sneered.
"Say wha..." I questioned
"SHUT UP! You don't have the stick!" he shrieked again. "You can only speak when you have the rod! And you will say "I rule, DirtDog drools". Can your tiny dog brain comprehend that?"
I nodded.
The emperor smuggly smiled as he eyed the room in satisfaction, and he then passed the bone with the glued googily eyes on it to a nearby servant who then scampered over and handed it to me.
"I rule, DirtDog drools", I recited.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO, you imbac..." the Emperor fumed.
"SILENCE!" I shouted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I have the stick!"
The Emperor stomped down from his throne and snatched the bone from my hand as a muffled snicker rippled through the crowd. It was very obvious he was not amused.
"Guards! Return this ComedicDog to the dungeons... and assign him hard labor. I'll summon him when I am ready for him... to consult... the ORACLE." As he finished his sentence with a ominous flourish, the crowd behind me erupted in excited whispers.The blindfold was hastily tied over my eyes and the large hood quickly pulled down over my body as I was hurriedly pushed out of the chambers and back to the dungeons.
And now I sit, back in the darkness, updating my journal, collecting my thoughts, and honestly concerned as to the eerie response to being sentenced to hard labor and a consult with this ominous sounding oracle. Perhaps my humor was not the best response to utilize in this confrontation with the Emperor... but I could not help myself. I regret nothing.
pretty good story, started to loose some interest towards the end but it picked up
I enjoyed your feedback, and good to hear you felt the perseverance paid off. I know the story is a bit on the long-winded side, but there is good reason.
I enjoy the slow build up, I think and hope my previous works show proof that when I say I have something good coming, I mean it. So... I believe I have some good stuff coming, story-wise and some cool builds.
Secondly, being a completely new iteration, I am frantically building from the ground up on a new server. I finally opened my own server again, so there will no longer be a looming threat of losing it all due to situations out of my control; at the whims of others' temperaments. But with that I am starting over fresh. So it takes time importing pieces from other SSP worlds, tweaking new designs, building completely new pieces, developing new stories, and setting up screenshots.
But it's challenging and fun, so I enjoy doing it for now, and I'm glad you enjoyed it too. Keep an eye out for new updates, additions, and stories and I'll continue giving the old college try to make it worth a few minutes of your life that you'll never get back.
I have been assigned hard labor by this less-than-savory Emperor and I have to say that this could be worse. The menial task is rather mind-numbing, but not hard by any stretch of the imagination, but far be it for me to complain. I have resorted to grunting, groaning, and making a general production of my daily assignment as to make it appear that I am suffering terribly at their cruel hands, but i have yet to break a sweat or blister.
The hard labor they have sentenced me to consists of filling a minecart with gravel from one pile, then moving across the dungeon to the other side. Once all the gravel is moved to the opposing side, I repeat the steps to move the pile back to the original side. When not moving a pile of gravel from one of of the dungeon to the other, they have me excavate areas of rather soft soil in areas of unimproved dungeon.
That being said, I find this much more enjoyable than pacing my cell for hours on end like I was restricted to before. Wilbur, as well as a few other prisoners are also tasked with digging. When the guards backs are turned we visit and hum songs softly to pass the time during our periods of excavating hard labor.
Day ??? - Facing the "ORACLE"
The guards once again awoke me by splashing me with stangant water upon t. If there was a comment card or suggestion box, I would surely inform whomever, that it is rude, unwelcome, and unsanitary to douse prisoners with unhealthy water. Someone should assure the quality and freshness of tourture water daily. I'm sure they are simply trying to get the most mileage out of their water, but fresh water would do wonders for the moral down here, and increase the effiecentcy of all workers / prisoners tenfold. If I remember, I will bring it up with the proper authorities.
But once again I was bound, gagged, and hooded before lead out of the dungeon. I could feel that I was once again lead outside amidst the bustling crowds, then back into another dark, and musty place. Once I was unhooded I appeared to be in another underground chamber with only a small number of observers and the Emperor. His held his feather and bead adorned bone with the glued on googily eyes as I expected and it rattled as he waved it around loftily while he chanted and carried on in some sort of ritualized hoopla.
They then lead me farther back, into another chamber with a large dais on the floor and a strange vat looking thing against to back wall. There was something resting within the murky fluid in the vat, and upon getting closer it began emitting a high pitched scream. No one else in the group seemed to notice of be affected by it.
As they jerked me to a stop in front of the vat I could see what appeared to be the remains of what was possibly once a potato?! And it was shrieking something fierce. Not only shrieking, but the string of foul obscenities that poured from this potato was unlike anything I have even heard. The poetic weaving of expletives was entrancing. This potato... or what used to be a potato, was quite skilled at creating insulting expletives at the top of its potato lungs - underwater, no less.
The Emperor and his accompanying shaman continued their chanting ritual, beseeching the oracle to advise them on something or another, as it was hard to focus and listen to their ceremony with the potato screaming the entire time. When they finally finished the Emperor rapt on the glass a number of times and asked the oracle,
"What is your will for us to do with this treacherous impostor and fake claimant to the throne?"
To which I interjected that I had no interest in causing a coup or uprising, but was quickly told to shut up, because obviously I did not have the stick. But that is niether here, nor there, as the Emperor turned to the meager crowd and reported to them that the oracle had spoken, and told him that I was to be executed - which was complete and utter mooshroom excretement. The oracle potato didn't say anything of the like during the entire time it was screaming and hurling obscene phrases from the vat. And I said so!
This visibly shocked everyone in attendance as outbursts broke out around the chamber. Apparently I am to only one who can hear this potatoes yelling.
The potato must have noticed this fact too, as it began addressing me directly. It informed me that its name was Sir Peckingsworth, and he was resurrected against its will and kept suspended in this tube. He began pleading with me to free him, and let him die in peace, as his zombified state was very painful and uncomfortable, but the guards began quickly binding me and rushing me back to the dungeon amidst the uproar I seemed to have cause by communicating with this oracle potato.
Now that I am back in my cell, and can't help but wonder... is this THE Mr. Peckingsworth that was the loyal and skilled companion of my distance relative? THE Mr. Peckingsworth who was post-humorously knighted SIR Peckingsworth after his noble sacrifice at the Great Cultist Creeper Massacre? When I had read the ancient stories and tales, I never thought he was LITERALLY a potato...
But I suppose it all makes sense now as to why DirtDog the First was appointed sainthood as DirtDog, Protector and Patron Saint of Potatoes.
Day ??? - Still on Deathrow
Thankfully I am still removed from my cell daily to do "hard labor", but have been informed, or taunted, rather, that my execution order still stands and it is only a matter of time while they construct my gallows. I try to press this as far out of my mind as possible while I focus on formulating a plan to get out of this mess.
On a separate note, I have noticed that the cells around me in the dungeon seem to be filling rapidly after my latest ordeal... perhaps the political unrest is growing? These all cannot be political prisoners, can they?
I must make this entry quick, as it seems my situation has rapidly changed.
The dungeon cells down here are filling past capacity, as I suspected earlier. As I was assigned my usual hard labor I began my usual "move this pile of gravel to over there" and then noticed I was beginning to be flanked by more and more fellow prisoners. Eventually one spoke to me in a hushed whisper,
"Is it true that you speak and understand the tongue of Potato? TuberSpeak?" in much the same manner of speech I heard from the wailing potato oracle.
Not really knowing what to say I shrugged and nodded, "I suppose."
This fellow then nodded to the other prisoners that had taken up station around me, and the quickly sprang into action - corralling and bustling me towards a darkened, shadowy area of the dungeon. My heart hammered in my chest as I thought for sure they would end me for sure, and the dungeon keepers would cheer them on. But alas it wasn't so.
The one who spoke to me dropped to a knee and bow his head, "By the deities graces the one of prophecy has come. And in our darkest hour the great chickens have provided. Hail, Son of Dog, the Dirtiest."
"Hail!" they all whispered as they too dropped to a knee and bowed their head.
My confusion must have been obvious across my face, because he immediately began to explain an abridged version of what the cluck he was speaking of. A prophecy was written about the return of the lineage of DirtDog, but only in the kingdoms darkest hour. They were Egg Templars, a long line of secret and sworn protectors of the DirtDog lineage, descendants of the first Special Villager Unit (SVU) who defended DirtDog the First many centuries ago and championed for justice, peace, and the Chienian way for so many years.
But in the interest of expediting this entry - they informed me it was time to go. To quickly return to my cell, quietly and inconspicuously collect anything I did not wish to leave behind and meet them back in that shadowy corner of the dungeon.
I am scribbling this entry in haste as I whisper a prayer to the chicken deities to watch over us during this prison break. I must find Wilbur, my cellmate, and bring him as well. He has been such a good companion and light in this dark place, and I truly wish to help him return to his piggy people.
Day ??? - Escape!
Thankfully I crossed paths with Wilbur as I was returning to the dark recesses of the dungeon, out of sight, my rescuers informed us to follow them and their instructions to a T. With the simple twist of a nearby redstone torch, a section of wall slid open to reveal a hidden passageway. We hurried through the opening and closed it smartly behind us.
My rescuers deftly led us through the twisty cross sections of thick stone walls until we arrived at a broad open section somewhere I assume was deep below the city and dungeon proper. It was amazing, within the sewers there was a smattering of citizens plying their trade. Deep beneath the surface, in the darkened bowels of this hate filled fortress, were people holding on to their own small glimmers of hope. Everyone we passed along our route bowed their heads and whispered "Hail to the return of the Dog". The gravity of my lineage and who my great great great great great grandfather was is still not fully sunken in for me.
After numerous twists and turns, seemingly countless torch-lit corridors, we arrived at a large drain with an adjacent grove featuring an impressive specimen of a tree growing this deep below the surface. As I gazed down into the depths of the drain in the floor I thought I could make out a slight twinkle of light. Before I could inspect it further, our rescuers dived right in. I had no choice but to trust them and follow.
The decent into the murky water felt like an eternity, and when my lungs screamed and I feared I could hold my breath no longer; we plopped out into a dank cave. We quickly shook the water as best we could from our clothes and rounded the corner.
Around the corner I came to an abrupt stop as I stubbed my toe on the corner of a large box. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see it was not merely a box, but a sarcophagus. A few more hurried steps forward and I would have tumbled head first off the edge of a lofty recess in a massive crypt.
We quickly descended from our high perch to the crypt floor via the hidden ropes stashed within, and continued to floor our rescuers down the long series of tombs of long ago passed souls.
At the end of the rows upon rows of tombs we climbed a steep set of stairs and arrived at a pair of heavy iron doors. I could already smell the fresh air and freedom on the opposite side. With the flip of a lever, the doors groaned open and the cool night air tickled my face. What a welcomed relief after so long within that dungeon.
We hurried among the headstones of the graveyard and across a shallow river to a nearby house. After a luxurious hot bath and mug of warm milk I now update my journal.
For now I will rest and get some much needed sleep in a comfortable bed, and we will see what tomorrow brings.
Loved the writing. I'm curious to know if you have certain hue settings or whether this is a PC because I can't see a thing in the crypt parts aside from a few red dots that I assume are redstone torches. I have max brightness on if that helps. I want to fully appreciate your pictures.
Edit: I feel like an extra post would be a waste of space don't have much to say anyway. I don't feel the pictures are needed. That part of the stories over anyway. And yeah I think just on smaller screens like my laptop it's hard to see.
The important thing is not how long you live... It's what you accomplish with your life. While I live, I want to shine. I want to prove that I exist. If I could do something really important... That would definitely carry on into the future. My spirit will always live on. And so if I were to disappear... I think that all I have accomplished will go on. That would mean that it's living. Right?- Grovyle
"Although man kind will always look onward, yearning for more, searching for new boundries, only to break through them, With the understanding that this world is one in which we all share, comes the responsibility of knowing the decisions we make today will have a lasting impact on the generations of tommorow." - Civ 5 BNW opening cinematic
I went for the dark and ominous look with the crypt and dungeon design and it all worked out fine and dandy until I tried viewing the screenshots on other devices. It worked a little too well. I can't see the screenshots on my tablet either, but my computer and large LCD display shows up great. Would screenshots of these areas lit up be something you'd like to see or just wait until you can visit them in the flesh?
Hopefully the dark and ominous screenshots days are behind DirtDog, otherwise I'm going to have to figure out something else.
I'm hoping to hit a point in the journal / story soon where I will make the server public, and then everyone can visit their favorite places they read about in the epic tale of DirtDog.
The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything.
Location:
Boise, Idaho
Join Date:
11/26/2014
Posts:
283
Location:
Boise, Idaho
Minecraft:
miner49er876
Member Details
I actually could see the pictures quite well. Also, are you going to stick with unknown dates for the entire story? The Empire would most likely have some calendar saying when they captured you.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
Shhh, our stalwart adventure has yet to figure out how long he has been held deep in the dark recesses of the evil dungeon, within the clutches of the diabolical emperor...
but yes, I will return to a general numerical system loosely based on the Gregorian Calandar for overall reference very soon, dear readers.
After so long of sleeping in that damp and cold dungeon I spent most of the night tossing and turning restlessly in my comfortable trappings. I finally resorted to sleeping on the wooden floor, and quickly fell fast asleep.
In the morning the group that led us out of the dungeon came and collected Wilbur and I. We were taken to what I assume was the town hall, as there was quite a gathered crowd.
As soon as we entered the large building a hush fell over the crowd as all the eyes turned to stare at us. Honestly it was quite unnerving to have that many piercing eyes upon me again. We filed up on to a main stage over-looking the rows of seats below The fellow villagers that escorted me spoke a few words before expectantly looking to me wanting me to speak. I was so nervous, I froze as I stood there, unable to think of what to say. What did these citizens want from me? What could I even offer?
Someone finally broke the silence with an outburst,
"Prove you are a descendant of DirtDog, the one the prophecy tells us of! Speak in TuberTongue!"
So I did. I am still not sure as to how I knew what I was saying or even what I said, but after a string of seemingly rousing words, the citizens all stood and cheered. I think I did ok...
(For those who wish to read the previous installment, and how it all started.)
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
My name is DirtDog, and I have been told for much of my life I was named after my great great great great great great great grandfather, DirtDog, the Patron Saint of Potatoes. Long ago he was excommunicated, banished to the far ShadowLands; for what reasons I do not know. What I do know is that he left a pariah with only his faith in the Great Chicken in the Sky, and ended up founding an empire. News traveled back to his home and since then DirtDog has became a nationally revered persona; larger than life.
We attend numerous classes of instruction, learning the history of my distant relative and the heathens he brought the Good Cluckings to. We sing of his deeds in the daily hymns of how he defeated the Cult of the Creeper, banishing those hell-spawn to the void along with their heinous worshipers. Tales of his adventures, the massive nation of Bloom County, and the wondrous city of St. Chien and its vast riches have all made their way back to us, not to mention the sacred relics that have been reclaimed and returned to his rightful home and birthplace after centuries of being lost to traders and looters. I have seen and read the pages of his ancient journal myself, and did my final thesis on his teachings.
Despite the constant pressure and urging from my family, I have yet to live up to my great name. It is not for lack of want, I suppose I am only destined to disappoint my family and its honor with my mediocrity. But I am determined to change that. I will fulfill my destiny, my birthright as a DirtDog, and have great adventures that future generations with sing about, like my great great great great great great grandfather before me... or die trying.
So I have begun my journal, much like those before me, to chronicle my story. And should I be slain in a dishonorable manner, my only request is that you, kind reader of this journal, would destroy it so that I do not sullen the DirtDog name. That, and delete my browser history, please. Thank you.
So with that decided, I have written a farewell letter to my family; urging them to not be saddened by my departure, but to look forward in anticipation for my return. For I vow to return, either in person, or by means of my journal.
So it begins.
Day 1 - Outward Bound
My travels began at first light and I had managed to travel a sizable distance by mid-day. I am following as much of the details recorded by my great relative DirtDog as I can. His early records were spotty at best, and I am only making educated guesses at best from the photos he took with the sun and stars positions as reference.
Day 8 - The Forest Thickens
I have been traveling for days and the vegetation and trees only grow thicker and more eerie.I hear creatures call out in the evening that I have never heard before, and I am sure I can hear slathering ghouls and zombies behind every tree and bush. Surely my mind is playing tricks on me, and it will be the end of me as I run screaming into the darkness.
Day 10 - Follow the Cobblestone Road
Still I walk, my journal entries being my only reprieve from the dull and monotonous walking. Just when I though I could not bear yet another day of bushwhacking though trees bigger round than my body, I come across a path of sorts. At the very least this path will speed up my pace of traveling. Thank the chickens.
Day 10 - (continued)
As I traveled the cobblestone pathway I came across a sturdy looking tunnel. It seemed clear, but as I neared the opposite end I discovered I was not alone. I hastily scribble this now, because the manner at which these people approach me, they do not seem to want to invite me for tea.
Day 15 - Trapped, Like a Rat
I was correct in my assessment of the group earlier - they were far from friendly. They thumped me soundly upon the head, bound, gagged, and blindfolded me before carrying me off. After some time my blindfold was finally removed and as my eyes adjusted to the dank, dankness I could see I was not in the finest guest chambers. I have been imprisoned for some days now. How many I am not entirely sure because it is constantly dark down here. But at least they let me keep my journal and have been afforded a small desk to write upon during my stay down here.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Good story, apart from how you try to joke about God. Might wanna remove that, other than that fine.
DirtDog, I can't tell you how happy I am to see your journal continiue. Looking forward to more of this.
The DirtDog lineage shan't ever do anything blasphemous against the poultry deities. How dare thee accuse them of such crimes. Burn this man with the steak!
The important thing is not how long you live... It's what you accomplish with your life. While I live, I want to shine. I want to prove that I exist. If I could do something really important... That would definitely carry on into the future. My spirit will always live on. And so if I were to disappear... I think that all I have accomplished will go on. That would mean that it's living. Right?- Grovyle
"Although man kind will always look onward, yearning for more, searching for new boundries, only to break through them, With the understanding that this world is one in which we all share, comes the responsibility of knowing the decisions we make today will have a lasting impact on the generations of tommorow." - Civ 5 BNW opening cinematic
Victory Yell
https://youtu.be/fqSyibSPq5w?t=4m46s
Other Stuff
https://gfycat.com/DismalJoyfulCaribou#
So, did the previous DirtDog have his children sent back to the lands that he came from so that his great great great great great great great Grandchild could be born in a place where the tales would have to make their way back to them, instead of seeing the tales in the local history textbooks?
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
No, I always imagined DirtDog the First being banished to the wilderness and his left behind wife and family refusing to speak of him. His children grew up not knowing much of their departed father, with only suspicions arising every so often with wild and fabulous stories reaching their Homeland via traders and travelers of a vast and prosperous empire in a far off land of Bloom County. Only after his death is his identity completely revealed when a group of St. Chieninite(?) / Bloom Countian(?) officials and royal advisers seek out his descendants and inform them of his passing, and their inheritance and lineage. With the DirtDog name still a taboo subject and looked upon with disdain and dishonor, none of the descendants believe or accept the role of next in line ruler of Bloom County and the capital city of St. Chien.
Thus Bloom County and the city of St. Chien manages fairly well for quite a few decades as a semi-autonomous collection of city/states under a quasi-empire / emperor - like the late Roman Empire, but with a lower IQ and more natural resources and riches to exploit.
By time the DirtDog lineage finally wakes up and realizes that DirtDog and the empire he founded has become a rags to riches success story and no longer a red stain on the family name - Bloom County is quite content and set in a different system and ruling body. Partly due to Bloom County's great success and also due to a possible economic downturn in the Homelands after years of elevating religious fanaticism and fracturing among religious groups, the Homeland can only look on with sad envy during those harsh and unprosperous times, but it helps further elevate the DirtDog name and legend as a noble and mighty former ruler of that great far off rich empire. As is the case with each passing retelling, the stories probably got more extravagant and grandeous, blending fact with fiction until DirtDog was larger than life - and his biography probably containing a slight error or two.
With the increased infatuation with the legendary, and by this point in history - mythical - DirtDog, it becomes part of a larger catalyst for religious and political reform in the Homeland. After a period of turmoil, the Homeland experiences a revitalization in all aspects of its citizens' lives and ushers in a new era of prosperity, all the while never forgetting its fixation with the mythical tales of DirtDog; incorporating it into numerous aspects of their lives, culture, education, and psyche.
With the increased prosperity of the Homeland, trade and travel from Bloom County tapers off, slowing news and information from the massive empire to a trickle. It is during that time that Bloom County and St. Chien undergo some serious changes... well, I'll leave that to the story / journal to reveal.
We rejoin DirtDog the XXI or some far off down the line descendant of the former great adventurer during this time. The Homeland is thriving, hubris is rising, and disdain for other cultures and ideas is once again en vogue. We'll see how this DirtDog fares in that distant and unforgiving land...
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Ah. I didn't realize such a miserable exile as the early DirtDog would have a wife and children.
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
Great story so far. I started a journal of my own at the beginning, not yet published on the forums here, but I'll have to make some slight adjustments, given the start of the new journal and the above backstory.
Day ??? - Meeting the Neighbors
I have met a fellow prisoner during my stay here. Thanks to them I am now aware of the somewhat systematic passing of time down here without being able to see outside world. It seems, according to this friendly fellow dungeon inhabitant, that there is a changing of dungeon guards once a day. So a fresh face in the dungeon halls means a new day. During this changing of guards there also seems to be a period where we, the prisoners, are left in silence for a sizable amount of time. It was during this time my fellow friendly dungeon-mate called out to me.
During our brief conversation, I have gathered that this dungeon-mate is a political dissident. Unwilling to kneel and acknowledge the legitimacy of their present ruling crown and deity. Interesting as that may be, it does little to explain why I am being held here.
Day ??? - Things That Go Squeal in the Night
I was awoken by a horrendous sound just now. A high pitched squealing emanating from further into the dungeon, accompanied by what sounded like splashing water. It drove shivers down my spine hearing such torture and agony being experienced within such close proximity from my cell. The only thing I can think of is to recite the 13 Truths and Good Cluckings to myself and pray may the chicken deities have mercy on that poor soul.
Day ??? - A New Cellmate
I have learned of the source of the tortured squeals I wrote about earlier. After they finished with the poor soul I heard squealing, I heard footfalls and the clattering of hooves coming my way. I quickly sprang back to my cot and pretended to be sleeping. Through my squinted eyes I saw them thrust a wretched looking pigman into my cell with me and muttered something about returning later to continue "Convincement Training". Whatever that may be, there is little doubt that it is far from pleasant.
After the guards had departed, I sat up in my cot to investigate and possibly introduce myself to my new cellmate, but I feel he has me mistaken for someone else. For when this strange pigman saw me, it threw itself to the floor at my feet, squealing my name over and over. How this creature knows my name I do not know. How peculiar.
Day ??? - Clarification
My new cellmate is quite an intriguing fellow. Apparently he mistook me for my great great great great great grandfather DirtDog the First. He swears I am the spitting image of him. While I am honored by his kind flattery, I feel the darkness and him missing half his face severely diminishes his ability to identify anything more detailed than the broadside of a barn.
We have spent many hours, or at least what has surely felt like countless hours, visiting and chatting in the gloomy darkness. He has told me his name, but I am at a loss of how to put it into writing. It was a combination of guttural snorts punctuated by a high pitched squeal. I think I will refer to him simply as "Wilbur". The thing I find most interesting is that he actually claims to have known and met my long distant relative, DirtDog the First. Due to these pigmen's extremely long lifespan, Wilbur claims to have been present when my great great great great great great grandfather first made contact with the pigmen of the Nether - though Wilbur was only a small piglet at the time.
This, and future meetings, set the groundwork for a long-standing alliance and trade network that benefited both parties. The pigmen provided valuable NetherQuartz, Netherrack for brickwork, and Glowdust; and in return DirtDog the First provided countless trade goods, the most notable would be his brewed concoctions of Fire Resistance. A unforeseen side-effect was extreme prolonging of their lifespan down within the Nether. But things have recently changed, and the new ruling emperor has drastically raised the tariffs and prices of those trade goods, and pilfering the provided trade goods directly from the Nether. Understandably so, the pigmen attempted to resist, but ended up slaughtered in their attempt. Wilbur was but only a few surviving pigmen from his area to be taken prisoner, and now they demand information of valuable NetherQuatrz and Glowdust deposits deeper within the Nether. Such a tragic story. I deeply wish to help Wilbur and his people, but regretfully am just as trapped as him, here deep in this blasted dungeon.
I am already garnering a disdain for this "Emperor" already, and have yet to meet him.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Day ??? - Audience with The Emperor
Today I was briskly awoken by a random assortment of dungeon keepers splashing me with a bucket of fetid water. While obviously a rude thing to do, I have come to expect less than respectful handling from my captors now. They often take time throughout the day to stop by my minuscule window to spit insults at me.
I believe they are filled with a false hubris, because they were rather overly cautious when they came to collect me for my visit to this infamous emperor. They shackled not only my hands and feet, but the blindfolded me for the trip up and out of the dungeon, as well as a thick bag over my entire upper body. Even still, I could tell when we finally exited the dark stank of the subterranean hole, as the sun warmed my soul even through the thick shroud they placed over me. I could here considerable noise of a bustling crowd, ripe with heavy footfalls passing on both sides of me. The birds chirps overhead as well as a menagerie of livestock brays, moos, and bleats were welcomed in my ears after being subjected to the screams and moans common within the dungeon. Even this fleeting breath of fresh air was more than enough to restore my sanity and elevate my determination to make it out of this captivity alive.
Once inside again, my hood was removed and I found myself in a sizable chamber with three thrones situated at the head of the room. The middle, largest throne was a grotesque monstrosity styled as a sinister rooster head, complete with malignant fangs and furrowed brow. Each of the flanking thrones were smaller, simpler constructs; each cradling very active characters who could not seem to sit still in their chairs. They jumped and bounced in and out and around the room during this meeting. Perched in the maws of the rooster throne was the Emperor. Judging from his immediate sneer he cast my way upon my hood removal, I knew he hadn't requested my presence for milk and pumpkin pie.
"So this is mighty lineage of DirtDog?!", he jeered. "He is but a raggedy man!" The chamber echoed riotous laughter. I turned to seem that the ample seating behind and to each side of me was filled to capacity to see this spectacle - me.
"Well?!", boomed the Emperor. "Have you found our accommodations adequate? Perhaps... persuasive?"
"I'm afraid I do not underst.." I tried to respond.
"SILENCE!", the Emperor screamed at me, cutting me off. "You do not have the speaking rod!" he shrieked, holding up what appeared to be a bone with an assortment of adornments. Feathers, smaller bones, beads, and a comically large pair of plastic googily eyes were affixed to the bone and he waved it menacingly in my face. Or as menacingly as one can wave a bone with googily eyes glued to it...
"Now..." the Emperor continued, "I want you to show the people of Bloom County that even the descendants of DirtDog bend their knee and acknowledge the Emperor and his divine appointment to the throne. I rule, DirtDog drools!"
I shrugged, and got down on one knee. I had no issue with this Emperors need for ego stoking. Simply playing along with his game would not hurt my pride or feelings in the least. I only set out for an adventure, and the sooner I could continue, the better.
"Now say it." he sneered.
"Say wha..." I questioned
"SHUT UP! You don't have the stick!" he shrieked again. "You can only speak when you have the rod! And you will say "I rule, DirtDog drools". Can your tiny dog brain comprehend that?"
I nodded.
The emperor smuggly smiled as he eyed the room in satisfaction, and he then passed the bone with the glued googily eyes on it to a nearby servant who then scampered over and handed it to me.
"I rule, DirtDog drools", I recited.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO, you imbac..." the Emperor fumed.
"SILENCE!" I shouted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I have the stick!"
The Emperor stomped down from his throne and snatched the bone from my hand as a muffled snicker rippled through the crowd. It was very obvious he was not amused.
"Guards! Return this ComedicDog to the dungeons... and assign him hard labor. I'll summon him when I am ready for him... to consult... the ORACLE." As he finished his sentence with a ominous flourish, the crowd behind me erupted in excited whispers.The blindfold was hastily tied over my eyes and the large hood quickly pulled down over my body as I was hurriedly pushed out of the chambers and back to the dungeons.
And now I sit, back in the darkness, updating my journal, collecting my thoughts, and honestly concerned as to the eerie response to being sentenced to hard labor and a consult with this ominous sounding oracle. Perhaps my humor was not the best response to utilize in this confrontation with the Emperor... but I could not help myself. I regret nothing.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
pretty good story, started to loose some interest towards the end but it picked up
I enjoyed your feedback, and good to hear you felt the perseverance paid off. I know the story is a bit on the long-winded side, but there is good reason.
I enjoy the slow build up, I think and hope my previous works show proof that when I say I have something good coming, I mean it. So... I believe I have some good stuff coming, story-wise and some cool builds.
Secondly, being a completely new iteration, I am frantically building from the ground up on a new server. I finally opened my own server again, so there will no longer be a looming threat of losing it all due to situations out of my control; at the whims of others' temperaments. But with that I am starting over fresh. So it takes time importing pieces from other SSP worlds, tweaking new designs, building completely new pieces, developing new stories, and setting up screenshots.
But it's challenging and fun, so I enjoy doing it for now, and I'm glad you enjoyed it too. Keep an eye out for new updates, additions, and stories and I'll continue giving the old college try to make it worth a few minutes of your life that you'll never get back.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Day ??? - A Shovel in Hand is Worth...
I have been assigned hard labor by this less-than-savory Emperor and I have to say that this could be worse. The menial task is rather mind-numbing, but not hard by any stretch of the imagination, but far be it for me to complain. I have resorted to grunting, groaning, and making a general production of my daily assignment as to make it appear that I am suffering terribly at their cruel hands, but i have yet to break a sweat or blister.
The hard labor they have sentenced me to consists of filling a minecart with gravel from one pile, then moving across the dungeon to the other side. Once all the gravel is moved to the opposing side, I repeat the steps to move the pile back to the original side. When not moving a pile of gravel from one of of the dungeon to the other, they have me excavate areas of rather soft soil in areas of unimproved dungeon.
That being said, I find this much more enjoyable than pacing my cell for hours on end like I was restricted to before. Wilbur, as well as a few other prisoners are also tasked with digging. When the guards backs are turned we visit and hum songs softly to pass the time during our periods of
excavatinghard labor.Day ??? - Facing the "ORACLE"
The guards once again awoke me by splashing me with stangant water upon t. If there was a comment card or suggestion box, I would surely inform whomever, that it is rude, unwelcome, and unsanitary to douse prisoners with unhealthy water. Someone should assure the quality and freshness of tourture water daily. I'm sure they are simply trying to get the most mileage out of their water, but fresh water would do wonders for the moral down here, and increase the effiecentcy of all workers / prisoners tenfold. If I remember, I will bring it up with the proper authorities.
But once again I was bound, gagged, and hooded before lead out of the dungeon. I could feel that I was once again lead outside amidst the bustling crowds, then back into another dark, and musty place. Once I was unhooded I appeared to be in another underground chamber with only a small number of observers and the Emperor. His held his feather and bead adorned bone with the glued on googily eyes as I expected and it rattled as he waved it around loftily while he chanted and carried on in some sort of ritualized hoopla.
They then lead me farther back, into another chamber with a large dais on the floor and a strange vat looking thing against to back wall. There was something resting within the murky fluid in the vat, and upon getting closer it began emitting a high pitched scream. No one else in the group seemed to notice of be affected by it.
As they jerked me to a stop in front of the vat I could see what appeared to be the remains of what was possibly once a potato?! And it was shrieking something fierce. Not only shrieking, but the string of foul obscenities that poured from this potato was unlike anything I have even heard. The poetic weaving of expletives was entrancing. This potato... or what used to be a potato, was quite skilled at creating insulting expletives at the top of its potato lungs - underwater, no less.
The Emperor and his accompanying shaman continued their chanting ritual, beseeching the oracle to advise them on something or another, as it was hard to focus and listen to their ceremony with the potato screaming the entire time. When they finally finished the Emperor rapt on the glass a number of times and asked the oracle,
"What is your will for us to do with this treacherous impostor and fake claimant to the throne?"
To which I interjected that I had no interest in causing a coup or uprising, but was quickly told to shut up, because obviously I did not have the stick. But that is niether here, nor there, as the Emperor turned to the meager crowd and reported to them that the oracle had spoken, and told him that I was to be executed - which was complete and utter mooshroom excretement. The oracle potato didn't say anything of the like during the entire time it was screaming and hurling obscene phrases from the vat. And I said so!
This visibly shocked everyone in attendance as outbursts broke out around the chamber. Apparently I am to only one who can hear this potatoes yelling.
The potato must have noticed this fact too, as it began addressing me directly. It informed me that its name was Sir Peckingsworth, and he was resurrected against its will and kept suspended in this tube. He began pleading with me to free him, and let him die in peace, as his zombified state was very painful and uncomfortable, but the guards began quickly binding me and rushing me back to the dungeon amidst the uproar I seemed to have cause by communicating with this oracle potato.
Now that I am back in my cell, and can't help but wonder... is this THE Mr. Peckingsworth that was the loyal and skilled companion of my distance relative? THE Mr. Peckingsworth who was post-humorously knighted SIR Peckingsworth after his noble sacrifice at the Great Cultist Creeper Massacre? When I had read the ancient stories and tales, I never thought he was LITERALLY a potato...
But I suppose it all makes sense now as to why DirtDog the First was appointed sainthood as DirtDog, Protector and Patron Saint of Potatoes.
Day ??? - Still on Deathrow
Thankfully I am still removed from my cell daily to do "hard labor", but have been informed, or taunted, rather, that my execution order still stands and it is only a matter of time while they construct my gallows. I try to press this as far out of my mind as possible while I focus on formulating a plan to get out of this mess.
On a separate note, I have noticed that the cells around me in the dungeon seem to be filling rapidly after my latest ordeal... perhaps the political unrest is growing? These all cannot be political prisoners, can they?
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Day ??? - Moving Day
I must make this entry quick, as it seems my situation has rapidly changed.
The dungeon cells down here are filling past capacity, as I suspected earlier. As I was assigned my usual hard labor I began my usual "move this pile of gravel to over there" and then noticed I was beginning to be flanked by more and more fellow prisoners. Eventually one spoke to me in a hushed whisper,
"Is it true that you speak and understand the tongue of Potato? TuberSpeak?" in much the same manner of speech I heard from the wailing potato oracle.
Not really knowing what to say I shrugged and nodded, "I suppose."
This fellow then nodded to the other prisoners that had taken up station around me, and the quickly sprang into action - corralling and bustling me towards a darkened, shadowy area of the dungeon. My heart hammered in my chest as I thought for sure they would end me for sure, and the dungeon keepers would cheer them on. But alas it wasn't so.
The one who spoke to me dropped to a knee and bow his head, "By the deities graces the one of prophecy has come. And in our darkest hour the great chickens have provided. Hail, Son of Dog, the Dirtiest."
"Hail!" they all whispered as they too dropped to a knee and bowed their head.
My confusion must have been obvious across my face, because he immediately began to explain an abridged version of what the cluck he was speaking of. A prophecy was written about the return of the lineage of DirtDog, but only in the kingdoms darkest hour. They were Egg Templars, a long line of secret and sworn protectors of the DirtDog lineage, descendants of the first Special Villager Unit (SVU) who defended DirtDog the First many centuries ago and championed for justice, peace, and the Chienian way for so many years.
But in the interest of expediting this entry - they informed me it was time to go. To quickly return to my cell, quietly and inconspicuously collect anything I did not wish to leave behind and meet them back in that shadowy corner of the dungeon.
I am scribbling this entry in haste as I whisper a prayer to the chicken deities to watch over us during this prison break. I must find Wilbur, my cellmate, and bring him as well. He has been such a good companion and light in this dark place, and I truly wish to help him return to his piggy people.
Day ??? - Escape!
Thankfully I crossed paths with Wilbur as I was returning to the dark recesses of the dungeon, out of sight, my rescuers informed us to follow them and their instructions to a T. With the simple twist of a nearby redstone torch, a section of wall slid open to reveal a hidden passageway. We hurried through the opening and closed it smartly behind us.
My rescuers deftly led us through the twisty cross sections of thick stone walls until we arrived at a broad open section somewhere I assume was deep below the city and dungeon proper. It was amazing, within the sewers there was a smattering of citizens plying their trade. Deep beneath the surface, in the darkened bowels of this hate filled fortress, were people holding on to their own small glimmers of hope. Everyone we passed along our route bowed their heads and whispered "Hail to the return of the Dog". The gravity of my lineage and who my great great great great great grandfather was is still not fully sunken in for me.
After numerous twists and turns, seemingly countless torch-lit corridors, we arrived at a large drain with an adjacent grove featuring an impressive specimen of a tree growing this deep below the surface. As I gazed down into the depths of the drain in the floor I thought I could make out a slight twinkle of light. Before I could inspect it further, our rescuers dived right in. I had no choice but to trust them and follow.
The decent into the murky water felt like an eternity, and when my lungs screamed and I feared I could hold my breath no longer; we plopped out into a dank cave. We quickly shook the water as best we could from our clothes and rounded the corner.
Around the corner I came to an abrupt stop as I stubbed my toe on the corner of a large box. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see it was not merely a box, but a sarcophagus. A few more hurried steps forward and I would have tumbled head first off the edge of a lofty recess in a massive crypt.
We quickly descended from our high perch to the crypt floor via the hidden ropes stashed within, and continued to floor our rescuers down the long series of tombs of long ago passed souls.
At the end of the rows upon rows of tombs we climbed a steep set of stairs and arrived at a pair of heavy iron doors. I could already smell the fresh air and freedom on the opposite side. With the flip of a lever, the doors groaned open and the cool night air tickled my face. What a welcomed relief after so long within that dungeon.
We hurried among the headstones of the graveyard and across a shallow river to a nearby house. After a luxurious hot bath and mug of warm milk I now update my journal.
For now I will rest and get some much needed sleep in a comfortable bed, and we will see what tomorrow brings.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Loved the writing. I'm curious to know if you have certain hue settings or whether this is a PC because I can't see a thing in the crypt parts aside from a few red dots that I assume are redstone torches. I have max brightness on if that helps. I want to fully appreciate your pictures.
Edit: I feel like an extra post would be a waste of space don't have much to say anyway. I don't feel the pictures are needed. That part of the stories over anyway. And yeah I think just on smaller screens like my laptop it's hard to see.
The important thing is not how long you live... It's what you accomplish with your life. While I live, I want to shine. I want to prove that I exist. If I could do something really important... That would definitely carry on into the future. My spirit will always live on. And so if I were to disappear... I think that all I have accomplished will go on. That would mean that it's living. Right?- Grovyle
"Although man kind will always look onward, yearning for more, searching for new boundries, only to break through them, With the understanding that this world is one in which we all share, comes the responsibility of knowing the decisions we make today will have a lasting impact on the generations of tommorow." - Civ 5 BNW opening cinematic
Victory Yell
https://youtu.be/fqSyibSPq5w?t=4m46s
Other Stuff
https://gfycat.com/DismalJoyfulCaribou#
I went for the dark and ominous look with the crypt and dungeon design and it all worked out fine and dandy until I tried viewing the screenshots on other devices. It worked a little too well. I can't see the screenshots on my tablet either, but my computer and large LCD display shows up great. Would screenshots of these areas lit up be something you'd like to see or just wait until you can visit them in the flesh?
Hopefully the dark and ominous screenshots days are behind DirtDog, otherwise I'm going to have to figure out something else.
I'm hoping to hit a point in the journal / story soon where I will make the server public, and then everyone can visit their favorite places they read about in the epic tale of DirtDog.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
I actually could see the pictures quite well. Also, are you going to stick with unknown dates for the entire story? The Empire would most likely have some calendar saying when they captured you.
Someone once said, in defense of a poorly thought out suggestion that was not being supported: "Theres so much awesome and rare things to add and youre just like, oh , thats too good, no, i want something common like a grass block"
Shhh, our stalwart adventure has yet to figure out how long he has been held deep in the dark recesses of the evil dungeon, within the clutches of the diabolical emperor...
but yes, I will return to a general numerical system loosely based on the Gregorian Calandar for overall reference very soon, dear readers.
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
Day ??? - Public Display
After so long of sleeping in that damp and cold dungeon I spent most of the night tossing and turning restlessly in my comfortable trappings. I finally resorted to sleeping on the wooden floor, and quickly fell fast asleep.
In the morning the group that led us out of the dungeon came and collected Wilbur and I. We were taken to what I assume was the town hall, as there was quite a gathered crowd.
As soon as we entered the large building a hush fell over the crowd as all the eyes turned to stare at us. Honestly it was quite unnerving to have that many piercing eyes upon me again. We filed up on to a main stage over-looking the rows of seats below The fellow villagers that escorted me spoke a few words before expectantly looking to me wanting me to speak. I was so nervous, I froze as I stood there, unable to think of what to say. What did these citizens want from me? What could I even offer?
Someone finally broke the silence with an outburst,
"Prove you are a descendant of DirtDog, the one the prophecy tells us of! Speak in TuberTongue!"
So I did. I am still not sure as to how I knew what I was saying or even what I said, but after a string of seemingly rousing words, the citizens all stood and cheered. I think I did ok...
http://www.minecraftforum.net/forums/minecraft-discussion/survival-mode/2372609-journal-the-ballad-of-dirtdog
So, no updates here for a while. I really hope that this isn't dead.