Hello, my fellow Enderproxies!

I have put a lot of effort into the Minecraft universe Journal is set in. For example, you might have wondered who the Hollowed once mentioned are, or why the 'Farlander' is so aggressive, or you just want to know more about the group Messenger and Tracker are part of.

Well, expect some questions to be answered! :D

Maybe not all, but most.

This story will be a collection of short stories about various characters (Including the 'Farlander') that live in this 'verse and are slightly connected to various aspects of the story. For example, I'm planning to write a backstory about how Messenger lost his voice.

There will also be a whole load of new characters, since the Hollowed and the *spoiler redacted*, as well as *spoiler redacted* are many.

Also, I won't explain anything, things will get clearer with time xD

NOW, ONTO THE FIRST STORY.

The Hollowed have destroyed many lives. It lies within their code to capture victims for Them, to kill if they have to...or when they feel like it. But not all Hollowed used to be Soulless, neither all Hollowed were forced to become one. Fate can be cruel, and in some cases it leaves one without options. This is the tale of the Hollowed Despair. The name is truly fitting.

The branches of the spindly trees, of whom at least the half look dead, creak as the wind rushes through them. The man looks up, clutching a simple iron sword in one hand, a torch in the other. He is a father. His daughter had gotten lost a few days ago. The rumors of odd and unholy things going on in this place and the hushed remarks of seeing strange masked people around were his only clue to know where to look for her.

A last sigh, a last look back to the village, then he enters.

Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he knows that he will not return. The sun sinks below the horizon and the full moon rises up, providing his with barely enough light to see his path. He walks and walks, he is alone for hours, no Mob, passive or aggressive, crosses his path. He had always disliked the Dead Forest with a passion, and now it almost seems as if the trees are annoyed at his presence, threatening to bury him under them every second. But he doesn't go back.

He has to find his daughter.

Nothing will stop him.

The moon rises and rises, it is midnight now.

Still no Mobs around.

He frowns and stops. A feeling of being watched has accompanied him for the past hours and now he is sure of it. Somebody – or something – follows him.

„Come out! I know that you're here! I have to talk to you." He calls out.

Leaves rustle, branches creak, but he gets no answer. Just as he is about to continue, he hears a voice, whispery, yet with a sickening, cheerful undertune.

„Oh look! So brave, so brave! He wants to talk us! He 'knows' that we're here, but does her know who we are?"

Another voice, nearly identical to the first. „No. No, I don't think so, brother, does he?"

A blur above him and a person jumps down in front of him, merely five meters away, causing dead leaves to swirl up. It is male, clothed in a grey-black hoodie and equally black trousers. He wears a black mask whose mouth and eyes are outlined with white and appear to have a happy expression on them. He carries a big stone sword.

„We should kill him." The first voice. He backs a bit away as the masked man makes a threatening step towards him. He is, however, halted by another one who has jumped down as well. This one wears exactly the same as the first one, but with its colors inverted and the mask possesing a rather sad expression. He clutches a bow in his hand.

„Didn't you listen? He has something to say. " The one clothed in black turns to his companion.

„Negative, White. He proabaly has nothing interesting to tell anyway."

„We should let him talk."

„No we shouldn't."

„Yes we should!"

„Not at all!"

„Affirmative, we should!" The two were head-on-head as of now and seemed to have no intention of stopping and taking care of him.

„Never!"

„Always!"

„No!"

„Yes!"

„No!"

„Ye-" Two gloved hands separate them, courtesy of a third one who had appeared when they weren't watching. He seems like a mix of both, one half of him looking like the black-clothed and the other half like the one whose name appeared to be 'White'.

„Black, White! Stop it already, you little children!" he growls at them. They shrink under his glare.

„Ok Grey.", the answer in perfect unison. He gives them one last glance, then turns to the man who has been standing still since they appeared. Grey can smell the determination coming from him, but not the slightest hint of fear, which is intriguring him.

The man himself had tried to judge the behaviour of his three ambushers. They're identical in growth and build, the only thing differencing them being the clothes and their character.

Triplets.

Grey spoke up. „Alright. Say what you want and hope for your life that it's interesting enough."

„I want my daughter back." Chuckles from Black and White, Grey seems to smirk.

„Even if we..." - The man has a feeling that with 'we' he didn't only mean his brothers and himself - „Even if we have encountered her, your daughter would be gone. What is more possible, however, is that a Mob got her." He spoke about the possibility of his daughter being mulitated by the undead as causal as one would talk about the weather.

„No." He speaks firmly. "I know that she is with you. Give her back."

„That won't be possible, Outsider." Grey makes a sudden, almost birdlike movement with his head, the other two silblings begin to close in. The more aggressive Black raises his sword.

„Then let me see her one last time." The deadly blade stops less than an inch away from his forehead. The man doesn't even twitch. With a flick of his hand the leader of the trio calls for a small group discussion. He watches them sticking their heads together. Their Tongue appeared to have a strange dialect when they were speaking with each other, odd slang words mixed with a foreign language that seemed to fit somewhere in Creeper language, but way sharper, with more edges. White's head perks up as he made a step towards them, staring at him and for a second he caught a glimpse of the eyes behind the mask. Empty and dead, sending shivers down his spine.

„Follow us if you can." With these words the triplets simuntaneously climb up three trees and begin to jump over the branches. The man begins to run, desparate to keep up with them. They're fast.

It is unknown to him how long he runs. The forest is endless, the night seems to last forever.

And suddenly...

They're gone.

A dead end, trees, a mountainside. His keen eyes spot a hole in it, well hidden behind bushes. Their twigs claw themselves into his clothes, almost as if trying to prevent him from entering. He doesn't take notice of it, holding his arms in front of his face he breaks through them. White, Black and Grey are on the other side, waiting for him. While Grey puts himself on the lead, White and Black flank him, guiding him down though the dark tunnel, the path is only occasionally illuminated by torches. They're alone at first, but the deeper they get, the more movement seems around them. It isn't long until he can make out masked shadows and hushed whispers at the edge of his senses. He notices a man with a silver-red mask sitting on a stone, playing a small melody on a chamat. He stops as Grey walks towards him. A few words in their foreign dialect later the guy plays an especially deep tune that resonated throughout the cave network. More torches are lit and postitioned in fixtures. In the resulting light he sees even more of the masked people, way more than he expected, the amount of men and women seems pretty equal. Hoods, jackets, dresses, camouflage, stripes, dots and other patterns, each mask unique. Eyes, all empty, all dead, all staring at– no, staring through him. The triplets have vanished somewhere in the crowd, but he spots White whispering something to another person. With a single gesture said person silences the murmurs and slowly walks towards him until they both are in the middle of the human circle.

The man is tall and well build, wearing a black robe with purple stripes and a yellow clip in front of his chest, the mask is white with black eyes and mouth, a sadistic smiling expression painted upon it.

„So you want to see your daughter." His voice is scratchy and not as deep-pitched as one would expect, with a hissing attitude. The man nods. The smile seems to widen slightly, he turns his head to the side and calls out: „AmberLie. Come here."

A masked person separates itself from the crowd, movement lacking any sort of motivation. It strucks out next to the man who seemed to be this strange guild's leaders, it only reaches his shoulder height. She - for a she the person was – wears a hoodie with a camouflage pattern in gold, yellow and amber, the trousers have the same design with brown colors. Her gloves are silver as is her mask. The eye holes are surrounded by black linings.

„Put your mask down." AmberLie's head jerks to her leader, but she obeys, placing both hands on her mask and carefully pulls it off her head. His breath catches in his throat. A youthful face with pale skin, framed by short brown hair. A small scar, a tiny white line at her cheek. Once blue eyes, now an unhealty monochrome, stare at him. He can't stop himself, he makes a few steps towards her, tears welling up in his eyes. She stares at him without recognization. He slowly stretches a hand towards her, but stops as she twitches and backs away. The leader blocks his vision with his body.

„AmberLie is one of us. Your daughter is not here."

The tears flow freely now, he is unable to stop them. The man nods, he understands. He feels the other masked ones closing in, ready to tear him apart like a crowd of hungry wolves. He stares at the leader, fearless. „I'm not going to leave her." He cocks his head in curiosity.

„You know that there is only one way..."

„She is all I have."

The eyes narrow with glee, he raises his hand and winks two others closer.

„Seer, you know what to do. Strings... " He folds his hands together, a smirk plays on his lips. „Go to Ice Eyes and tell it that it has a volunteer."

BA-DUM. *whacks the story in your face*

There you go! As told, a whole load of new characters. Geez, I wonder who that Ice Eyes is.

You already know that.

Reader, Daiteki. She's my Writers Block. Daiteki, Reader.

Y'know, you should really go and read something better. There's plenty of stories around that aren't as crappy.

Shut up.

No.

Whatever.

R&R, MY FELLOW ENDERPROXIES!

PEACE AND BAI!