The Crafter and I have become close acquaintances since I first began to spawn.
I haven't a body of my own. I am a single mind whose limbs are the countless four-legged creatures that wander over the various types of terrain in my world. We share an existence, for I could not function without them as my puppets and they could not function without me as their puppeteer. We do not eat or sleep, nor do we feel pain when the sword is driven through our bodies for the billionth time. This lack of pain makes us persistent; very persistent.
I live vicariously through my puppets who wander wherever I please, whatever the weather or time of day. Sometimes I'll lose my focus and let one wander over the edge of a cliff or drown in the shallow depths of a pond, but it does not faze me. Why should it when many more have already spawned under the darkness of the night sky or in the lightless silence of the caves to take the place of the deceased?
Beauty? What is that? I do not stop to smell the roses dropped by a passing Iron Golem. I do not smile when an infant villager scuttles by, tripping clumsily over his own two inexperienced feet in his eagerness to greet his grandpapa. I take no pleasure in this abstract "beauty" that Crafters speak of. Rather than smile we frown, our mouths forever twisted downward in a woeful moue.
I live for one thing, one moment, though I still cannot fully comprehend why. My puppets wander aimlessly through my world in an unsystematic hunt, always on the lookout for the Crafter. Sometimes I find him deep in a cave system, mining for ores of various kinds. Sometimes I find him in a village, sitting idle in a house as he waits for the nighttime terrors to disappear. Mostly, I find him out in the open air, surrounded by the greenery of a forest or jungle.
And then I see his things. The site of his beautiful thingsss gives me such a nicccce feeling. Ssssssuch niccccccce thingsssssss the Crafter carries with him…
It is times like these that almossssst make me smile. I amble forward as if in a trance, my focus locked on the Crafter's handssssome belongingsssss. He ssssees me coming but missssstakes my green skin for the foliage surrounding us. And then I am right nexxxxxt to him, overwhelmed by the most transssssscendent feeling as the fusssse within me burnsssss…
He hears me then. He hears the hisssssssss of my pleasured delight and pulls his sword from his pack, but it is too late. "CREEPER!" He yells my name in alarm and my name becomes his dying words.
Together we perish. He spawns somewhere else while I awaken from my trance, taking a moment to gather my wits and reaffirm my connection to my puppets. From there, the hunt resumes. Who knows how long it will take my puppets and I to find our Crafter now. Perhaps he will see me coming this next time around. Perhaps he will use his pretty sword against me. Regardless of the opposition, I will always persist, looking forward to the day when I can see those niccccccce thingssssss once more.