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Humble Beginnings

Grey skies. That’s what Joe remembers from his previous world, grey skies. Kicking pebbles with worn out shoes as he ambled around the town, always just before the sun really came out. Joe remembers this time being fairly uneventful- bit of light teasing here and there from random townsfolk but he never thought much of it. He just went about life.

It was all so simple. Wake up a little too early, stare at a blank sky for a while, chop a couple trees, pass out, do it all again. Nothing happened, and he was fine with it. Uneventful. Until one day where upon waking up a little too early and heading out brought him to something he’d never seen before.

People. Not just the boring, hazy-eyed and tired players he saw every day, no, like people. People in bright clothing with shaved heads. People with spikey jewellery holding hands and laughing loudly. People who were friends, people who were living, thriving- It was awesome. They all crowded around a small fire lit in a bin and sung- though not very tunefully- to some Christmas song, despite it being somewhere in the middle of spring. There was comradery. The sharing of cigarettes came without thought, the jabs were good natured, the group harmonised in a way Joe had never seen before. He was awe struck. That was until they slowly halted their loud conversation and turned their eyes to him.

Joe was stuck in that stupid middle of fight or flight and just stood there like a moron when one of the guys walked up to him with consideration in his eyes. The guy gave him a once-over and seemed to decide on something. After an excruciating ten seconds, he stuck out a gloved hand and sent Joe a warm smile; in his only act of reciprocated kindness- like, ever- Joe took it. But this wasn’t Joe anymore. Joe was the shell of a boy who followed his routine without thought. Joe didn’t have passions or ambitions. Joe didn’t have friends. But Punk just found his.

Punk soon felt he belonged here. They’d go out and watch the sunrise after a night of wandering about the town with an enthusiasm he’d never felt possible to achieve at 2am. It was a strange departure from his routine, but he welcomed it with open arms. He was glad to call this his new life.

Crime and Punishment

Punk’s newfound friends didn’t like to follow rules. They would often mock the moderators who always blamed them for the actions of whatever griefer was mucking about this week. A couple people in the group even had to frequently operate under heavy disguise as they’d been kicked out of the town for no real reason. Before meeting these people, Punk had always turned a blind eye to this. It wasn’t affecting him, so why should he care? But with the development of this friendship, Punk realised the shady mods’ behaviours and grew to detest them. It wasn’t fair.

In an act of light rebellion, some of Punk’s first weeks with the group consisted of stealing random items from the loaded moderators, or leaving signs with strange symbols around their homes to freak them out. It started out as petty vandalism, just some fun they had to put the mods on edge. But when several members of the group were suddenly banned out of nowhere, they soon realised that they actually had to do something.

Punk was livid. Three of his close friends were ripped away from him for some griefing on the other side of the world that was obviously not their fault. They needed to make their stand clear this time, and so the plot began.

The group decided that in order to make their statement they’d have to target the entire mods district of town. Each one was as corrupt as the last, so they didn’t feel bad about their plan. They gathered up their flint and steel and scrounged out any fire charges they could find from chests and on a cold night they set off.

Readying their weapons, the group opened fire on the entire district; if they were going to be accused of griefing then they may as well make it count. They scaled the tall walls of the district and sat back to admire their work. In minutes the grand mansions were nothing but piles of ash surrounded by burning trees and crispy grass. Fiendish grins were shared as the group quickly hopped back over the wall and booked it back home. Now all they had to do was scatter and get out of here. They decided on where they would meet up again and then left, ash on their fingers and a rush of pride coursing through their bodies.

After a long night of running and digging and running some more, Punk settled in a cave. He was deep in the throws of a well-earned rest when he heard the vigorous pounding footsteps of steel toed boots. Rocks flew his way and he looked up from his cover to find the thoroughly pissed off but entirely satisfied face of the admin looking down at him. Shit.

Now, Punk had been kicked before. He’d been degraded, detained, banned- but he always found his way around it. Through developing a steely demeanour to deflect put-downs to hacking and glitching his way back home, he’d done it all. Or well, he thought he had.

He expected the detainment. What he didn’t expect was for the judge to not let him defend himself at all. He also didn’t expect his punishment to be a permanent holiday to the Nether.

A New Home

The deepest depths of the Nether were no place for a coward. Until now, Punk didn’t consider himself a coward but as he shakily wrapped the burns on his arms in vines, flinching at each grunt he heard and praying to any and every god that the ghasts weren’t out, he began to think that maybe he might be. Only a little though.

His days- or years, after 3 months it all got a bit blurry- in the Nether were awful. He swears he used to like fire, but after falling into it from the sky he just wasn’t a big fan anymore. Not to mention the neighbours. Some pig gang decided to pull their knives and crossbows on him because some gold landed on his lap one day. He hated those guys. There was a couple pigmen that were much nicer though, one of which he decided to call Ricky. Punk would often sit with the pigman and vent his frustrations or punch a wall as Ricky watched. He wasn’t quite sure if Ricky understood him, but he seemed to grunt in all the right places which was almost comforting.

It was definitely years by now. Punk had staggered his way through this nightmarish hell hole by scarfing down those weird blue mushrooms he found on the ground and passing out for 48 hours at a time. It was certainly not healthy, but he didn’t want to be fully conscious the next time a hoglin invaded his shack. It was terrifying enough the first two times.

One day between comatose states he thought he should go out and get some more food for his stash, so after much consideration and a painfully tight grip on poor Ricky’s shoulders, he left his shack. On any other occasion, the lack of hoglins in the dense forest would have pleased him, but on one of the few times a year he actually wants to see them, they appeared to have vanished. Punk heaved a pained sigh. Time to explore.

Hours into his journey and he’d only encountered five hoglins. Punk was angry. He clawed into another hill, on the verge of passing out and stumbled his way over a platform. What he didn’t notice was that this platform was a roof- it was made of blackstone bricks, and cracks and holes littered the surface. Unfortunately, Punk didn’t realise this until he was suddenly falling through the structure.

On instinct he had closed his eyes, awaiting the solid impact to his battered spine when nothing came. He landed onto a fairly soft surface. Cold, but soft. Fuck- he didn’t land on some sleeping hoglin did he?

He opened his eyes and saw- the fucking SKY? No- it was like a guy but- clouds- blue- and where were its goddamn eyes?!

Punk didn’t care what this- this thing was, but he did know that he needed to get the hell out of here. So in a blind panic, Punk was flailing every limb he could move around. It wasn’t very intimidating, but what else could he do?

He kicked and yelled until a smooth, calming voice interrupted his fifth cry of “put me down you freak”. This thing was sentient. Sentient and talking to him. Human words. The sky. Has a mouth.

Needless to say, Punk was lost.

The nice voice rambled on about something Punk didn’t really care about because what the fuck the sky is talking when suddenly a bowl of stew and some bread was set before him. So the sky is friendly. Good to know.

After shovelling down the food with embarrassing speed, Punk had finally regained the sense of mind to ask what or who this thing was. Apparently, its name is Daniel, and it lives here. By choice. Interesting. Daniel must’ve seen the confusion in Punk’s eyes as he clarified that yes, he likes it here. Hesitantly, Punk asked if he knew any way out of here. Daniel said he did. And for the first time in god knows how long, Punk smiled. Freedom was in his reach. Finally.

With a blinding grin, Daniel let him to the portal. Punk insisted he could find some place to settle on his own, but Daniel just stuck by his side. The guy turned out to be pretty good company actually. Weird, but good. Who knew that some strange eldritch creature with no logical sense to its being could be so charming? So Daniel and Punk travelled together for a long while. For a guy who has so many endearing stories about his friends and family, he sure lived a long way from them. Punk didn’t care though. His worn-out legs could take a couple more weeks of walking if it meant he got to live up here in the overworld. The beautiful, green overworld. He missed this place.

Finally, they reached their destination. It was a giant, hollowed out tree in the jungle where apparently Daniel’s son named Ollie lived. The admin. Punk clenched his jaw in anticipation. He almost trusted Daniel, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust an admin just yet.

A few moments after arrival, a person sent a cheerful wave their way. This was Ollie, Punk assumed. He didn’t need to though, because Ollie swiftly made their way to them and introduced themself. He explained what this place was to Punk. They seemed genuine as they talked about belonging, and community, and friendship. This struck a chord with Punk, and he took the charismatic admin’s hand and shook it.

A new home, he thought. Sick.

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• Integer fermentum est vitae dui pretium fermentum. Fusce quis velit vel sem pellentesque iaculis congue non lorem.
• Aliquam vulputate lacus consequat, volutpat ex ut, blandit lacus. Sed egestas risus ut gravida blandit.
• In vitae nisi eu mi suscipit semper in eget justo.
• Sed feugiat dictum posuere. Suspendisse et accumsan leo. Phasellus mollis placerat libero, non euismod diam sodales eget.