A/N: So, the story begins. Feedback would be much appreciated, thanks. I'm not too worried about how this goes, I'm more interested in what people think of it. Thank you to everyone who reads this, please enjoy!
DAY 50
It was a fine day in Minecraftia; the sun gifted its glimmering light upon the land, the birds carolled their melodies, the wind caressed the trees in a silent whisper. The world seemed to be still — animals grazed on the bountiful fields of grass, insects hummed a chorus. But the world seemed to be unmoving, lifeless. Unnaturally so.
The rivers ran scarlet with the blood of the fallen.
The defeat of the great cult of Herobrine would have been a significant event, if not for the death of all witnesses and participants. Now, any allude to the cult or the gathering of Herobrine's disciples, are just whispers told by wary storytellers in the dark to frighten youths from ever entering the Plains of the Disciples.
Once, barely hours ago, it thrived. People feared us. People knew of us.
I, Amethyst of House Ravensheath, birthed this clan, this cult, from the purity of light. It was only through true corruption it eventually succumbed to darkness under the shadowed, unforgiving wings of fate.
The House of the Disciples of Herobrine lays destroyed before me. I feel the heat of the flames upon my face and I cannot bring myself to weep at the great losses of my people. This place had died long, long ago - extensively before I could even realise what was to befall the clan.
I watch as the ceiling finally crashes in the fires, the wood groaning, weakened by the flames. I flinch at the sudden flying rubble and the cloud of dust it emits as it impacts with the ground with a roaring crash and I wheeze and cough through the haze of ash and dirt, doing my best to watch as the building burns in the flames of justice.
I don't know whether I should be mourning the end of a glorious era or celebrating the beginning of a new life.
Although there is to be no new life for me, that, I can say with confidence.
I hear footsteps behind me through the blazing flames. I don't need to turn around to know who it is. A moment of silence passes and I can hear grief-filled breaths, thick with unwept tears.
"You've taken this too far. I can't let you walk this world any longer, Amethyst."
I hear the ring of steel and I feel the point of a sword tickle the back of my neck and whilst a part of me feels dread at the sensation, the other part only knows acceptance.
"Take my life, Axel. It will only be another gift to our eternal God," I say. It was an invitation, not a statement. I feel tears prickle my eyes and only the courage I no longer had could prevent them from falling. I was blackened with sin.
"So be it, Amethyst." His voice was pained. Cracked. I could hear his tears in his throat, and I felt my own roll down my cheeks in small rivulets.
The sword plunged through my neck with surprising ease and despite the blinding pain and the winding shock that came along with it, one final line of devotion was croaked from my mouth as I fell to my knees, weakened, choking on the gushing blood:
"Long live the great God, Herobrine, and may I hold his guiding hand in the land of the Nether."
—
DAY 1
The moon is at its highest point in the sky.
A woman stalks across the plains.
She is the embodiment of night, cloaked by the prowess of the wind. She glides like a fox, her metal tipped bow glinting in the night. She is a creature of subtlety, of darkness.
She is Stray.
Her hood hides secrets, her path tells stories.
She stares as she sights man with a pack trudging past in the close distance, knee deep in the marsh. He is trespassing on private property and she frowns. She will not allow this.
"State your business, passerby," she calls out, approaching him fast. She nooks an arrow, taking pleasure in the sound of the bow creaking as it is pulled taut. The poor man she aims it upon falls to solid ground in terror, dropping his pack with a crash. Birds take flight in disturbance in a flurry of wings, shattering the hum of nightly insects.
"I-I'm sorry! Please, I mean no harm!" he stammers, waving his hands in defence from his position on the ground.
Stray aims her bow upon him, her arrowhead pointed just between his eyes. He yelps, shaking.
"I said: state your business," she snarled.
"Ok, ok!" he stutters, "I'm a merchant, looking for the city of, uhh.. Is it Quetzal? The city of Quetzal?" he asks inquisitively. Stray nods, beckoning him to continue.
"I-I just want to sell my goods here! I heard that the price rate is fair, and that—"
He is suddenly interrupted by Stray cancelling her shot, sheathing her bow and grabbing his hand-spun shirt, pulling him up with surprising strength.
He shook with fear, silent aside from his laboured breathing appearing before his face under the cool of the moonlight.
Stray pulls him close with a creak of leather and he whimpers, swallowing.
"You listen here; the city of Quetzal doesn't let everyone in. It's highly fortified and if you pose as a threat," she paused, shrugging indifferently, "You would be dead in moment."
She let go of him, turning away. He falls to the ground, sputtering.
"You, I think," Stray says, "I can control. Don't make any moves on me and you'll stay alive."
He looked up from his position on the ground at Stray and gave a hopeful smile.
"So I can come?" he asked carefully. Stray rolled her eyes.
"Yes, you can come. There are no promises you can stay, though."
She pursed her lips, pausing in her speech and the merchant picked himself up, wiping off the mud accumulated on his clothing.
"We have become desperate for new trade here so I am placing a lot of trust in you, merchant."
He nodded solemnly, sighing through his nostrils.
"I promise I can be of use."
The journey to Quetzal was spent in silence. The merchant attempted to make several conversation starters, but he received no replies. He prayed that visiting Quetzal was worth all of this.
He was young, but old enough to understand the land despite his naïvety. He had just taken up the trade of merchantry, eager to follow in his father's wealthy footsteps.
Mere hours before sunrise, they approached a pier. A small row-boat was attached by a rope, bobbing on the soft waves. An island could just be seen in the near distance, shrouded by the fog of the swamp. The scent of reeds permeated the air.
"Get in the boat and start rowing," Stray commanded. The merchant sighed in defeat and gingerly stepped into the water, climbing into the tethered boat, careful to not rock it too hard as to not fall into the cool water. Stray followed suit, standing at the end rather than sitting. Her bow was ready in hand, arrow drawn.
Several minutes were spent rowing towards the island in silence. The sun was nearly peaking at the edge of the horizon, sending beautiful colours of orange and red over the water's surface. Birds awoke, chirping in the trees back at shore.
"I need your name for passage, traveller," Stray said, breaking the quiet between them. It was more of a statement than a question, but it was obvious she wasn't going to accept silence for an answer. The merchant paused in his rowing, pausing for breath, before replying.
"Ethan — My name, that is. I'm from the Northern Reaches," he breathed, wiping his brow in exhaustion. "My father raised me in the big city of Vertoak."
Stray raised a brow beneath her hood. He had travelled extremely far, even for her standards.
"You are to be a step behind me at all times until you are permitted by the Overseer to walk free within the base," she stated. Ethan nodded through his rowing, nervous. He really couldn't ruin this for himself — he had no where else to go after coming this far — especially with news of of feral humans on the loose craving flesh.
They were drawn to shore by guardsmen waiting upon the beach of the island, adorned in glistening armour streaked with gold paint. He felt both safe and intimidated.
"Welcome back, Stray. Who is this?" one asked as he pulled the rope restraining the boat to the shore taut.
"A merchant. He's no harm, don't worry."
Quetzal was more of a military base than a city, Ethan soon came to learn. It was underground; the entrance was a deep, deep tunnel only navigated by ladder. Citizens ran around in full armour, weapons at the hip, as they were sent on missions to aid villages and people outside the reaches of the plains. The strong smell of iron working was thick in the air and there was constant chatter, despite the late — or, in this case, early hour.
As instructed, he stayed one step behind Stray, trembling under the looks of the warriors and people of power walking past as they navigated the stone hallways.
They eventually came upon a door reinforced by iron. Stray raised a fist and knocked upon it. A moment passed before a voice called out, "Come in!"
There was a click as the door was unlocked and the two entered, Stray respectively pulling off her hood to reveal a mess of brown hair and piercing, black eyes. She looked stern even with the hood off, Ethan mused.
Two women stood inside, one lounged at a desk and one at a standing map at the other end of the room, marking locations with flags. Golden banners were tied around their waists and Ethan figured they must be the Overseers of Quetzal. The air of authority told him as much.
The one at the desk smiled in greeting, gesturing him to take a seat in the wooden chair before the desk. Stray took his pack from his back, placing it to the side of the room and out of the way. About time, he thought as he flexed his sore back.
"Welcome to Quetzal. I am Eagle," she bowed, "and this is Tiger. Excuse the names — it's easier to give out false ones until we know you can be trusted." She gave an apologetic smile and Ethan grinned back. This one was far more hospitable than his escort. She stood.
"Would you like a drink, traveller?" she asked, walking over to the bench behind her.
He sighed breathlessly, "Gods, yes," he said. He felt like he was about to collapse from dehydration after his long, hard journey.
As she poured him a glass of wine, she continued.
"I see you have met Stray. She is our eyes and ears here, as you may have noticed. Was she kind to you?" Eagle asked, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder.
"Oh - Oh, yes, of course," Ethan replied politely. Eagle laughed mirthfully.
"We both know that isn't true, but don't worry about it — here. Hopefully this wine will quench your thirst."
She placed the glass on the desk before him and he instantly put it to his lips. Eagle took a seat again, getting comfortable.
"Now," she said, leaning back, "what is your business here in Quetzal?"
"I'm here to trade. I have many rare goods from afar I trust that your people will benefit from."
This time, it was Tiger who spoke up.
"That's what they all say."
Eagle put up a hand to silence her.
"Things like what?" she asked inquisitively, eyebrow raised.
"Things like old texts, hard to find forge materials, herbs for medical supplies, etcetera. Need I say more?" Ethan proudly bragged. He was sure to make money off of these people.
Eagle sighed through her nose, considering this option. These trading items could prove beneficial to the people of Quetzal. Tiger would not agree, but it was worth a shot.
"You can stay here for one week," Eagle told him. She put up a single digit, "One."
"Ethan involuntarily let out a sigh of relief, slumping in his seat. Eagle chuckled and Tiger rolled her eyes.
"You seem exhausted," Eagle said, "Why don't you bring him to a guest room, Stray?"
"Of course, Overseer," Stray complied. "Follow me," she said.
Ethan nodded his head in both farewell and thanks and tossed his bag onto his back again albeit reluctantly. He was very excited to just lay down and sleep.
Stray directed him through several long stone hallways lit by redstone until they eventually arrived in the guest wing. They stopped outside room number seven, the furthest in the wing and she pulled a key from her belt and unlocked the door. She held they key before him.
"If this key gets lost, I will have your head," she warned. Ethan nodded frantically. Stray delicately. placed the key into his hand.
He bid her goodnight and Stray was off down the hall again with a flurry of her cloak. Her strong footsteps echoed down the hall and he waited until it was silent before he entered his room, locking the door behind him with a click of the key.
The room was fairly lavish, complete with a warm looking bed and interesting paintings upon the walls. Redstone lamps lit the room, bolted within the walls. Despite its small size, it seemed quite welcoming.
Ethan sighed. He was finally alone.
He carefully laid out the contents of his pack upon the floor before him, taking great care as to not damage anything. Some old books, dried petals, rare foods, strange metals and an odd codex he had picked up from another trader in exchange for food. It was a curious object, he hadn't bothered to read it yet and he didn't really care to.
He decided to do something about that tomorrow. For now, he was exhausted.
Yawning, he climbed into the lush bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Living underground was terribly cold. He dreamed of nice travels and lots of money in a world where he had everything he could possibly want. If only that was to be in the tragedy that pursues him next.