I need a few OCs. If you don't want them to die, put it in the profile. Only do mobs. I need a OC pet as character as well. Some of the characters may die, but mst OCs will survive. When an OC's in the only way to remove them from the story is if they somehow die in the story so think about it before asking for an OC. DO NOT do crossover OCs or OP OCs. This is a newly spawned world. No Crafters unless I ask for them. Feel free to do a useless OC. If you do squid, then the OC will live for approximately 5 seconds at most before I rewrite it out. NO SQUID. NO BAT. Post as many OCs as you like. Don't be rude in the reviews. If you seriously want to be mean, explain why I'm really bad at writing (Besides that I write everything and haven't got this very well planned and... Sorry, I'm probably going to leaving you with nothing bad to review me on).

Three beings landed next to each other in a new world.

"I am Steve." introduced the purple eyed male.

The other two seemed to be struggling with their names.

"Ender," the female replied.

After a pause, the other male responded, "Herobrine."

"Doesn't that mean heroic salt water?" Steve asked.

"…"

"Well?"

"It's better than 'Steve'."

Herobrine's POV

The pounding voice saying 'Steve' in my head stopped. It was a ridiculous name and there already was a 'Steve'. Herobrine was a better name. While I was musing to myself, Steve was punching a tree.

Is he stupid?

He dived to the side as the block disappeared.

"Watch out!" he yelled, opening his mouth just in time to get a mouthful of dirt and grass.

Probably.

"Wait, it didn't fall?" he asked quizzically staring at the floating tree, "Where did the wood go?" He accidentally summoned the wood block. "Hey cool! I can summon it!" he laughed.

"I can split it and craft with it," replied Ender as she took a piece of the tree and made several wood planks. She placed the planks on the grass.

I tried it too. The wood block I had punched split into planks, then a stick.

"I have a stick," I told Ender, who seemed to be the leader of this group.

"I have something called a crafting table," replied Ender, "And I'm out of planks." She placed the table down and punched several trees for more wood.

"I have an axe!" yelled Steve, breaking the silence. At Ender's stare he muttered, "Never mind."

'I have a sword," Ender threatened jokingly as she finished crafting a wooden sword.

I was placed several planks on the crafting table. A pickaxe appeared. I smiled.

"I have a pick," I told Ender. Then I had a sudden bout of déjà vu.

A minute ago…

"I have a stick," I told Ender, who seemed to be the leader of this group.

The sad thing is, I've been alive less than 24 hours.

I kept on punching trees.

Could Ender and Steve be thinking of their place in this world? Of the meaning of life? Of something vaguely important to our survival? Ender probably was focused on our survival. As for Steve…

Steve stumbled into a sheep, knocking it around. The poor sheep flailed around, trying to avoid Steve. The said idiot hit a tree, damaging it.

"Ow!" he yelped.

Definitely not.

Ender's POV

After saying my name was Ender, the pounding voice saying 'Jean' had stopped. Then I tried to get the others to build houses. Let's say it didn't work.

Yes, I know I probably won Understatement of the Century.

Steve was busy punching trees and spamming crafting tables, wood planks and dirt in a crude hut formation.

Calling it a hut would be an insult to huts.

"Herobrine can you help Steve with his house?" I asked. He nodded in response, leaping to do it as if he had been hit by fire. "Steve, if you don't stop messing around, I swear I will destroy your shelter." Steve started building normally. Block by block, I started a hut. Herobrine was almost done making Steve's shelter.

"Can I help you with your hut?" asked Steve, not even glancing at Herobrine destroying the last of the derp hut he made. I visualised a hut made of dirt and wood with sand for a ceiling.

"No."

"Please?"

"No," I repeated as I finished my makeshift hut. I dug a hole in the ground, hoping to avoid him.

No such luck.

He dropped into my 2x1x2 hole.

"Well?"

"I lack the pictures and crayons to properly explain this to you, but I will try my best. N-O, no." I heard laughter from above as I dug two blocks from under Steve's feet. The second block was harder to destroy and dropped nothing.

"Herobrine," I called, "I found a new material." He dug down with his pickaxe. He managed to break the stone.

"I got cobblestone from it. Maybe we can craft something from that." He placed some on the crafting table, crafting a furnace. Steve immediately started cooking some wood.

Several blocks of wood later, Steve had several charcoal.

I mentally facepalmed as he tossed them on the ground, screaming, "Aahh! I burnt the wood! I'm so sorry!" I simply picked them up and crafted the one item I thought would work; a torch. As I showed him a torch, he screeched, "Aahh! The wood is burning!"

I wonder whether he knows what smart means or if he plans to learn before I run out of colourful pictures and crayons.

Eventually, we convinced him that the torch wasn't the piece of wood back from the dead to get revenge. Only then did he pick up the torch. Then he promptly fell into the same sheep, which burst into flame.

"Help!" he wailed.

"Just put the poor sheep out of its misery," called Herobrine. Steve crashed into the sheep again.

This is one really strong and patient sheep.

After a while, it disappeared in a puff of smoke all there was left was a cooked mutton and a wool block.

"Err… lunch?"

"One, it's sunset. Two, what the heck did you do!" yelled Herobrine.

"I didn't mean to…" This argument was escalating fast. I would normally be glad to watch Steve being scolded, but I could see a problem. A green, Steve-like problem with black eyes. And for once, it wasn't Steve.

"Guys, I think you should take this argument inside," I whispered.

"Why?"

I took a deep breath, fearing their reaction. "Because I think there's a zombie behind you."

Steve's POV

I went along with the voice saying 'Steve'. Sure, it wasn't the best name, but why would I fight? It didn't matter anyway. Turns out I'm pretty clumsy which ruined my less-than-one-day-old reputation. Suddenly, I was dragged into a shelter by my hair.

"Ow, ow, ow. What's the big deal?"

"Look outside," Herobrine hissed, obviously annoyed by the cut he had gotten from my flailing. I glanced outside, to find myself face-to-face with a groaning zombie.

"Eek!" I shrieked, leaping backwards and crashing into Ender. Now I was inside with two people who must hate me. I looked at Ender. Then I looked at the zombie. I looked at Ender's wooden sword.

It'd be better if I could face the zombie instead.

Thankfully she didn't kill me. Instead, she placed a crafting table. After crafting 18 ladders from sticks and a pickaxe, she shoved me onto the block.

"Sit. Stay," she ordered.

Should I argue?

I noticed how sharp the new pickaxe's twin blades were.

Maybe after she does some mining. A lot of mining.

Ender started digging a hole in the ground. I stayed still. With Ender and Herobrine inside and a zombie outside, movement would give me a 99.95% chance at death.

Next chapter their OP skills kick in. And their not-as-OP skills.