I don't own Minecraft, I only own my character and my random weirdness.

This is a Minecraft tale, but a Abstract Minecraft world. It contains my own personal characters (including in game).

Comments welcome (even hater-grams).

Jacob realized his mistake entirely too late to change the course he was heading down. The job was supposed to be easy, a simple break-in and steal a single item. Truly a vanilla hit that he normally wouldn't even have bothered with taking. Of course, this job was shoved down his throat with the threat of death, but a simple job overall.

"And every time you break the Rules, there is a price to pay."

The words rang through his skull, tearing into his fearful brain. He was almost to his breaking point, he had been running for hours, madly dashing through the forest while praying that he could throw off the person following him. It was times like this that made his mother's words seem like the wisest sage advice in the world.

"Honest work pays off, dishonest work has a higher price."

There was three rules in his life that he tried to hold to. They were simple and kept him alive.

First Rule: Never deal with Witches (or anything not human)

He should have known it was a trap from the second he opened his door and the room was dark. It wasn't out of the norm that he left for extended periods of time, while he was gone he wanted to draw the least amount of attention to his hideout. He would leave the place darkened, but always a few torches inside to keep beasts from spawning. He was tired, worn out from spending nearly two months away, traversing the land on one assignment or another. Exhaustion will dull the senses of everyone eventually so the fact that his place was pitch black slipped his mind.

As soon as he stepped inside, triggering the pressure plate that gave the Redstone lamps their signal, he realized his stupidity. Light flooded the area, temporary blinding him. Before he could react, something hit dead center of his chest, splashing a reeking fluid across his frame. Shocked at the suddenness of the attack, he failed to move before the effects of the potion started. He managed to give a yelp before his lungs seized, followed shortly by his muscles. Collapsing to the floor, he found himself unable to move as pain burned across his nerves. One thing, seemingly unaffected, was his eyes. Slowly they cleared and he saw his attacker.

"So, now that I have your attention, I have a job I would like to hire you for." The voice matched the woman that spoke. Clearly advanced in years, she stood in the center of his hideout, leaning against a long knurled cane. Her clothes where worn, but not ragged. Blue robes, black cloak covering her shoulders. The hood was pulled up, but still gave a clear view of her wrinkled weathered face. On that face was a smile, her eyes glittering with mirth. A spider looking over the fly caught in her web.

Rage filled him. Standing in his home stood a witch. A bloody Notch damned witch! As much as he wanted to strike that smile from her face, he was still unable move, let alone breathe to even scream at her. The woman hobbles over, leaning down to hover over his face.

"Now, I will give you something to release you, if I have your promise to not attack me." She pulls out a small vile holding a purple fluid. "Blink those pretty blue eyes young'n if you agree." Against everything he wanted, she had him at a disadvantage he couldn't overcome. With some difficulty, he slowly blinks his acceptance. She smiles, uncorks the vile, dumping the contents over him.

The paralysis ends instantly, letting his lungs drawn in much needed air. Coughing violently, he struggles to sit up as the old woman backs up. Once he has full control of himself, he staggers to his feet, glaring at the old crone. Before he can start in on her, she voices her demands.

"I want you to acquire for me a simple thing. In return, I will permanently remove the effects of that potion." His eyes open wide as her words sink in.

"What have you done to me, you old bat! Poisoning someone is really the worst way to make someone obey." He snarls, taking a step toward the woman, his hand sliding to the sword at his belt. She doesn't move, just continues to stand there, leaning against her cane.

"Aye, perhaps. But it does do wonders to make sure a person doesn't get funny ideas about making people dead, who rather not be so. Would you even have listened to me if I just walked in here to ask?" Continuing to glare at the woman, he realizes she has a point. He has a dislike of witches, for reasons just like this. Sneaky, backhanded and always plotting.

"If you agree to retrieve this item, I shall give you something that will inhibit the effects for 1 week, which should give you more than enough time to acquire what I need. Once you get me said item, I will give you the final cure as well as pay you handsomely for your troubles." Alarm bells are ringing in his head, but the old bat has him between a rock and a hard place. She could be lying; he's not poisoned at all, but if he was, ignoring her or killing her, would spell his death. Sighing, he relaxes, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Do you accept?" Even if he did get her whatever she wanted, she could still betray or kill him later. She already had a method to get him to do what she wanted, one that let her worry little about her own safety. He had to deal with her, at least for now. Damn witches.

"I have no choice, now do I? What is it you want me to acquire?" His voice was tinted in anger. Never deal with Witches, they hold all the cards. Damn it to Nether!

Second Rule: Never steal from Guilds or Clans

The old woman dug through her pockets, pulling out a crumbled piece of paper. Smoothing the paper out, she holds it out for him. Watching her face, he stomps over and snatches it from her grasp. The paper turns out to be a map, old and worn, but still readable. Scanning over it, he recognizes the various areas across the paper. Strange thing, most of the writing was in a language foreign to him. He didn't know who made this map, but they didn't hale from these lands.

On the left side of the map, there was a red star drawn around one of those words. The location was a mountain range, a few days travel from here. He had been over them before, or rather around them, heading into one of the larger cities. He didn't remember why the group he had been traveling with had avoided simply cutting through the range. Thinking back, it occurred to him that he couldn't remember any of them actually explaining why? The woman's finger tapping the star broke him out of his thoughts.

"There is a stronghold here. It is home of a group fools that call themselves Dwarves of Icymire. Although the place itself is massive, thankfully their numbers are small. There is a chance that they may not even be there." Looking up at the woman, I nod, storing away the information.

"Since it is a stronghold, you will not be able to just waltz in, they will have some type of defenses in place, more so if they aren't home."

"Dwarves? You mean this group is like a Clan?" I had heard of groups of people that called themselves

Dwarves, miners that choose to live deep underground, often in ancient strongholds that dotted the land. They lived in groups, or Clans, isolating themselves from the rest of the Overworld. Off the top of his head, he could name two other groups of a similar nature, both were in distant lands. He never understood certain people's attraction to form such groups. Mining was mining, just like farming was farming. It was done to keep you alive and get you something you needed. He knew that Clans were like Guilds, nothing more than trouble and always best avoided all together.

Thankfully he knew about stronghold. Most had been abandoned long ago, crumbling ruins of a long dead peoples, often a site where lost treasures waited, ripe for the picking. To hear of one so close to a large settlement, and inhabited, was a true rarity. People who often found them, ransacked the structures to the point many collapse, becoming permanently sealed. The witch gave a sharp cackle, her old skin wrinkling on her face as her smile grew wide enough to show her rotting teeth. Flinching away, he starts to fold up the map.

"Entering this place should be of no issue to you. Are you not considered the best at what you do?" She eyed him, making him want to backhand that look off her face even more. Considering she was at least forty years his senior, she was giving him a look that if she were younger, may have been called seductive. All it did now was send shivers up his spine and make him feel dirty. Stepping back from the crone, he wants to be no closer to her than needed. One thing he did give her, was she did her homework. If witches knew of his reputation, he was doing far better than he had believed. As much as this was a benefit, it could also be a curse. Her task must be more complex than she was leading him to believe.

"So what do you want from them?" Strongholds often had random treasures, from gold, diamonds, and artifacts from the past as well as other more mundane items. If this one was inhabited, it changed the odds of everything. They may have stripped everything clean, but they would also have their own treasures locked inside.

That left him with just one major question. What could a bunch of stone lovers have that a surface witch would desire, enough so risk forcing him to acquire?

Third Rule: Always know what you are stealing

"It is but a small thing. A minuscule item in the grandeur of the place. Inside their walls, they have a vault. Inside, they hold many items, some decidedly very rare. I only want one thing, a small silver colored rod, plain and unadorned. Considering the nature of these people, they not put much value in it, so it may be on display, or they may have it locked away. All I know, is that it is there and that I require it." He gave her another look, this one spoke volumes about what he considered on the validity of her claims. He felt more and more like a trapped animal, his survival instincts screaming that she was leaving out important information. He never liked working blind, there were too many variables to content with and things could go sour in a blink of an eye. As well as he hated acquiring "unknown" items, as they often caused trouble by themselves, not needing a human behind it.

"What is it?" His voice taking on a cold edge. If she was forcing him to retrieve this item, he wanted to know what he was really dealing with. The mirth that had been on the old woman's face disappeared, faster than a cloud's shadow. Her eyes take on a strange look, one that held both fear and excitement swirling in their dark depths.

"Nothing that I could explain to you," She held up a hand, halting his question before it even left his lips. "You are not a user of magic, you know very little of the old ways. What it does, is of no concern to you. It will not harm you to touch or carry the item. In your hands, it is simply an iron rod." He watched her face, trying to determine how much of everything she spoke was truth. There were things she most defiantly was avoiding telling him, whether or not they would turn out to deadly to him the long term he had little clue. Sighing deeply, closing his eyes, he worked through everything she told him. It sounded like a simple heist. Yes, he would have to break into a stronghold, avoid a clan of Dwarves, locate an iron rod and return, all in less than one weeks' time.

It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but he rather not be forced.

"One week?" It was more of a statement to himself than a question to her, but she answered by nodding. He thought of the map, the distance to the location in question. If he had a good horse, he could get there in two days. Another day to break in and find this "rod", then another two days back. Five days total, which left him two extra in case something went wrong.

"Well, since you leave me little recourse in this matter, I shall retrieve your rod. In return, you will give me the cure?" She nods, the smile slowly creeping back across her worn features.

"Yes, the cure and ten blocks of gold." His eyes light up at the amount she was willing to part with. How in the Nether could a witch accrue so much gold was beyond him. He learned long ago to never question the source of payment. "And never again will I darken your door." He shook his head, this was all wrong. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to kill the damn woman, dig through her belongings and deal with way may come later. There was a 50/50 chance that she was lying to him.

And if she wasn't, he would die in a week. The pain of her potion was still starling fresh in his mind. With the fact he knew it stopped his breathing, he would suffocate under its effects. His hands itched to just slit her throat, but he wasn't ready to die.

"You could have just offered the gold upfront." He worked for profit, he may have listened to her plea. Another chuckle from her brought back his desire to hit her, tenfold.

"And risk you either taking my gold, with no return, or worse, my life? No young one, I have not lived this long by being foolish. Make the first move and leave them playing catch-up." Her eyes had a wicked glint to them. She was a crafty old crone, he'd give her that.

"Get me that rod and you'll be a rich LIVING man." Rubbing his temple, he nods.

So, his golden three rules had been broken. For years, he played his game, did his jobs, always keeping those three little rules as his only guideline. Other than that, he was willing to do almost anything, if the return was worth it in the end.

As soon as he agreed, she handed him a second vile, which he wasted no time in consuming. He felt better, the headache lurking behind his eyes faded as well as the lingering weakness in his limbs. Gathering what supplies he would need, he made ready to leave that night. To his continuing annoyance, the Witch declared that she would stay at his home until he returned with her item. The reasoning behind her claim, it would make things easier. Or at least faster. He would have his cure faster, as her home was another three days travel past his. His time was limited, even with the two extra days, he could see her side. He might make it back, only to parish trying to find her. Threatening her with a slow painful demise if anything where to turn up hissing, he left the old crone camped out in his place.

First things first, transportation. A quick trip to the nearest farm scored him a horse. He knew the farmer, the farmer knew him. They worked together to help each other from time to time. He had food, horses, and could openly go into the local village markets to get him the minor items he found himself lacking. The farmer in turn, got other items back. Saddles for his horses, enough iron for him to make a Golem to protect his lands. Even the occasional group of animals, to replenish his livestock. They offered their serves to each other, helping when needed and turning a blind eye in others.

Slipping into the barn, he picked out one of the six mares within. She wasn't the fastest, but she could run for hours without stopping. Since the route he was taking was more forested than level, fast wouldn't help. Leaving his standard payment of three gold bars on the haybale inside her stall, he saddled up, heading out into the night.

It was easy getting to the stronghold. The map, although old, was accurate. He knew the route, easily finding the old trails that kept him from the main roads and cities. The miles slipped away as the mount he picked ate up the distance. She kept her pace, even and strong throughout the trip, managing to get him there in the afternoon of the second day.

He found the entrance of the stronghold right where the map had it marked. Stashing his horse, he worked his way over, keeping wary of sentries. Set right into rock was a massive set of double iron doors. Easily four times the size anything he had seen before, they effectively sealed off the entrance of the stronghold. There would be no way of breeching them without an army at his backing.

As he sat there in the gloom, a though crossed his mind. Perhaps they were just for show rather than functional. Anything of that size would require a lot of effort into just getting them moving. On either side of the doors, the forest grew right up to the rock face. There was a good chance there had to be a second entrance, possibly even more.

Veering off to the right, he started searching the rock face, scanning for anything that could offer entrance. Time ticked away, but his search was fruitful. Although it wasn't winter, the stronghold was built into a large mountain. As such, it was higher in elevation than the surrounding lands, and already had a coating of snow mantling the ground. Hidden underneath the snow laden branches of a spruce, he saw a glint of something. Digging under the tree, he found half buried in the snow, a metal lever set into the rock.

Taking a chance, he pulled it. At first, nothing happened, not even a click to prove the lever was connected to anything. Then a pile of snow fell down around him, causing him to dash out, slip and fall flat on his back. Stunned, he lay blinking in the snow, looking up at a ledge of rock above him. As his eyes scanned the area, he saw a shadow on the rock, large enough for a man to walk through.

Hastily climbing to his feet, he scaled the rock up to the ledge. It wasn't much more than a narrow shelf, but it was wide enough to walk on. Working his way to shadow, he reaches out, his hand passing through the darkness into nothing. He found his door.

It was a tunnel, carved directly into the rock, roughly two blocks by three. It was dark, no torches lined the walls, but he could see a fine layer of dust coating the ground closest to the opening. An unused entrance, perhaps long forgotten. Taking one last look around, he heads inside, blending into the darkness.

Once inside, he pulls a small glass flask from a pocket. The liquid within gave off a faint glow. Popping the cork, he drains the container, pocketing the now empty flask. His eyes took on a slight glow, similar to the potion as it took effect. The darkness around him lightens, allowing him to see the tunnel in all its glory. Better than torches, even redstone versions, the Night vision potion was one of his favorite tricks in his trade.

Once inside, he was surprised at what he found, or in this case, the lack of what he found. The walls were flat, no seams of hidden doors, and no large holes ready to spew forth arrows as the unwary walked by. No pressure plates, no tripwires, no nothing. The way down the tunnel was clear of everything but dust. No one had come down this way in a long time, so long that Notch only knew. Finding no traps was a novel concept, one that he wasn't used to dealing with. Perhaps his luck had started to improve. If it held, there might not be many creatures lurking in the darkness either.

Time passed as he made his way deeper into the rock. He had no clue how much time he been walking. After his first potion, he walked for a while in the dark, with one hand ghosting across the rough rock and the other, holding his sword before him. When he could no longer stand to stare into the blackness, he pulled another flask out. Downing that one, he quickly realized his luck was still holding strong. No mobs had spawned in the dark and he reached his goal.

As his vision lightened, he found himself standing a few feet away from a blank expanse of wall. To someone not used to dealing in old ruins and strongholds, they might turn back, thinking they reached a dead end. No lever marked its surface, but he didn't doubt that there had to be something near to trigger the opening. Slowly, he worked across the wall, feeling the surface, searching. At the bottom left corner, his fingers hit a button. Dropping into a crouch, reading his weapon, he triggers the mechanism. A second passes before the rock wall cracks, leaking light into the darkness, blinding him. When his eyes recover, he cautiously treads through, emerging to find himself standing inside a large tunnel.

He had been in more than his share of strongholds, mineshafts, temples and more, but this place took the cake. It lacked the typical layout of every stronghold he had ever seen. This place was built with purpose, with a design in mind, rather than the random collection of tunnels and rooms he had come to expect. Not only was the layout different, but the construction itself was something unlike anything he had laid his eyes on in his existence.

The walls were carved straight into the rock, leaving the rough beauty of the stone to stand out. In random places, he could see various ores and even gems glittering in the light. Instead of wooden pillars or support beams, columns of rock stood out from the walls at regular intervals. Redstone lamps dotted ceiling, with more torches lining the walls every few feet, illuminating the fact that this was no simply three by three tunnel. It was massive, closer to twelve by twelve, if not more.

And then there was the lava. Rivers of it flowed down the walls between the columns, covered by a sheet of thick glass. More ran below the floors, again covered in glass. With all this light, not only would very few beasts spawn, but it was going to make his staying hidden that much harder.

The size and scale of the place was impressive, but to him, also very worrying. If a single tunnel was this large, how big was the entire place? It could quite possibly take more than his whole amount of allotted day just to search out this vault, not even considering breaking into said vault.

Looking left, he could see the tunnel dip down, dropping out of sight. To the right, the tunnel opened into a large room. Across the way, he could see another large opening, a tunnel similar to the one he stood within. Deciding that direction was as good as any, he stopped to consider using an Invis potion. He had brought four, but even his longest one would only last less than ten minutes. Patting the pocket that held the glass flasks, he inched his way forward.

Hours later, he realized this place was huge and he was glad to not waste his resources. As he wandered, he had been marking the walls, to hopefully make his escape. Twice he found he had looped back around and crossed his path. This place felt like a maze, designed to confuse any soul trapped within. Not just that, it must have taken an army of people years to make this place, which made him more uncomfortable as time passed. During the entire time he stumbled around, not once did he ever come upon another living soul.

The witch's prediction that the place might be empty echoed in his head, but he still found it alarming to not hear any sound that he didn't make. The whole place was silent, like a tomb. The analogy working on his nerves causing him to take several minutes to calm himself. There was no choice in this matter, he had to force himself to keep searching. Finally his perseverance paid off.

Exiting out of one tunnel, back once more into the great hall, he just happened to turn the right direction to spy a button on the wall, beside one of the columns. That was the first time he found a button just sitting there and he knew he had to be something. Sliding over, he scanned the stone, trying to see what else could be hidden. Finding nothing, he triggers the device. Directly in front of him, two blocks of stone pull back, reviling a small passage. It was only two by one, but it was the evenly spaced blocks of glowstone embedded into the floor that made him go in. These where the first pieces of glowstone he found here. Everywhere else in the place relied on torches or redstone for light. There had to be a good reason it was used only here.

Reaching the end of the passage, he exited into an open space. This area was drastically different than anything he had come across so far. Three of the four walls were made of different types of stone. The left was made of white, smooth stone that was chill to the touch. The wall with the exit he came through was red brick, rough and warm. The right, also white, but filled with small holes and icy to the touch. Topping everything off, the wall directly in front was comprised of blocks of iron. No columns supported the ceiling, which he saw was made out of purplish-black rock. The floor, smooth grey stone. The only light was more glowstone block set in a checker-board pattern across the floor.

This had to be the Vault, but sadly he saw no other door marring any of the other walls. Either it was hidden or didn't exist, but he was putting his gold on hidden. All hope was not lost, as to the right of the Iron Block wall was a set of plaques. Six rows of six, each studded with a single wooden button. It was simple a combo lock, but with no clue as to the code, it could take him time to work out all the variations. Time that he didn't have to waste.

Walking up the buttons, he ran his hands gently over them. It was then he noticed the blocks underneath the plaques. They were made up on different materials. Studying them, he saw sixteen different materials, randomly sorted. Turning around, he gazes out over the room. Smooth white, rough white. Smooth grey. Purple/black. Red brick and finally iron. Turning around, he realizes he found the code. It was an ingenious hint, if one wasn't paying close attention, one could easily miss the connection. One block of each material was behind a different button. Slowly he hit the buttons that matched a material in the room.

Silence. Turning to face the room, he begins to double guess his logic. Was he supposed to press every button but those six? A loud crack echoes through the room, causing him to jump. The blank Iron wall has a crack running down the center. With another loud clank, four blocks pull back, leaving an opening. Shaking his head at the creators of the design, he heads toward the opening. Time was wasting, as well as his chance at staying hidden. The noise of the door was still echoing in his ears, if anyone was truly in this place, they would have heard that noise.