An expedition, that what the Elders had called it. On his own, kicked from the Hell he called home. His eyes glowed bright yellow with the rage of this. He had been lied to. This was no expedition, this was a mosh pit of things that wanted to kill him. His name was Havock, and he was a Daemon, from the fiery depths of a land called Hellfire, a land that many didn't believe existed. He had been thrown into the world with only his trusted red gunblade.
The world he had been thrown into was full of grass and trees. His hooves stomped down the fresh grass as he trudged through seemingly unending plains, apparently looking for a Daemon artifact. He had already spent a night in this world, and the armies of the night, who had only once besieged the blazing land of Hellfire, came in their hundreds for him, like he was an old enemy who had forgotten his place, and was standing in the territory of his enemies.
This, he had found out, had been true. The horror, the mad creature that killed an entire patrol of Daemons in the Overworld, killing them in a matter of minutes. He had heard the tape over an over, and made sure he never forgot what the creature had been named. The name in its self was not at all terrifying, after all, what is scary about a salty saviour? That was often a nervous joke amongst the less powerful Daemons, before they were warned about their foolishness. No, the name Herobrine was of no fear to him, but the blank eyed, blank souled, heartless beast behind the name did bring the inch of fear into his heart of stone.
Of course, according to the fateful and much accursed prophecy, he equalled the monster in power. Havock did not believe this, as he had never had any powers as such. In fact, his dead brother once had that role, before he was slain in battle. Still though, strangely, his soul called from this world. Sometimes, Havock would stop and just think whether he could rescue him.
But, as he wore on through the monotonous plains, many things tumbled through his head, each less significant than the last, till eventually, he gave up. Shelter was his main objective. Food would be easy enough to acquire, but shelter was often a large problem. He knew so from other expeditioners to this land called the 'Overworld'. Finally, he saw the depressingly single design landscape break away into several other 'biomes'.
He saw a swampy landscape from his position of the low plain hill, and looking deeper, saw a Witch's Hut by the river. It was occupied, the Witch bustling inside creating her foul potions. He would take it by force then. With blade or flame, would he take it for himself.