A/N:- Hello, and welcome to a little tale I was inspired by while recently getting back into Minecraft. There has always been horror aspects to its survival, and I wanted to use that. There will be deaths, drama, and the usual narrative culprits in my stories. It turned out to be a good way to keep my fingers nimble, and had a lot of fun writing it. Not sure when I'll be updating as I'm not going to be on a schedule, but please, enjoy this story, and thank you very much for reading.
"Gods, somebody get me something to staunch the flow, Daw's bleedin' out!"
"I saw it… I saw it!"
"Elis, Hann, pull him out of there now, the lad never learned to swim!"
"Big as a whale!"
"Don't worry, Daw, we're here. Morris, keep your hands here, son."
"It's eye… staring… just… staring!"
"Somebody shut him up, knock him out if ya have to! Randel, how are the crates?"
"Waterlogged and scattered nigh on everywhere, captain!"
"Well ya better start collecting then, shouldn't ya!"
"Aye, captain! I'm on it! Eda, gimme a hand!"
"How's about the chest? Matty?"
"I'm not sure, captain, but—"
"Ain't no buts about it, if I gotta send you down to the bottom of the ocean to fetch it then so be it, that treasure is our lifeline, you understand!?"
"Captain, they've got it! Stace and Wybort are hauling it out now!"
"Well praise be to whatever water-logged sea-weed mouthed beast threw us asunder that we still have that then. Somebody get me a bloody bucket! Noll, that means you, you may not be able to swim, but you can lift, can't you? Put those scrawny arms to use! That's the way, lad! Now, Larkin, get your behind moving and help the crew out!"
Larkin did not think he could get any more drenched than he already was, and was proven incorrect as a bucket of ice-cold, salty water burst over his face. He sputtered and turned, eyes shooting open as he was brought back to full consciousness from where he had been laying, somewhere between consciousness and sleep, where he had been half-dreaming of warm fires and thick ale.
"In the land of the livin', Larkin?" Captain Elric cocked one bushy eyebrow at the young man, offering a craggy hand.
"Aye, captain," Larkin replied, spitting salt from his lips. He grabbed the hand and was pulled swiftly to his feet.
"Good, get to gatherin' what of the wreckage you can now, before it gets dark!" Captain Elric slapped Larkin on the shoulder and pushed him on his way, to where a cacophony of movement was already well in place. For a moment, Larkin tried to get his bearings, a little confused at exactly what was going on. Bate, the ship's doctor, was kneeling next to Daw with Morris at his side. Daw was bleeding from a deep gash in his forearm and Morris was looking ready to hurl as he held the wound with his hands. Stace and Wybort, with their thick arms and thicker skulls, were hauling the intricate chest between them, huffing and panting. The rest of the crew were scurrying around like insects through debris and scattered supplies.
And that was when it finally clicked for Larkin, as he watched what had once been a sail floating adrift on a wave, wrapping around itself in knots.
It had been a storm, one of the big kinds, with waves that were taller than the ship itself, wind that threatened to blow you from the railings and seemed to pull at the very boards, and rain that pelted like small stones, threatening to tear apart the skin. Captain Elric had dared take on the storm with the crazed glint in his stone eye, and then before anyone knew what had happened, the ship had been thrown completely upside down. Larkin could remember spinning, taking in water, and that was all.
"Larkin, give us a hand!" Randel waved at Larkin from where a series of apples were scattered across the beach, having broken free from one of the barrels. Eda was next to Randel, shoving piles of apples in her arms and depositing them back into one of the shattered containers that had been set on the beach. The other members of the crew were doing similar things. Elis and Hann were pulling ruined debris from where the white surf of the waves hit the beach but coming up with nothing but scrap and rubbish. One half of the mast was stuck into the sand like a grim omen, the wood splintered and shattered. Noll was bouncing from one person to the next, doing a lot of moving but not much of anything else, his small frame shaking and his wide eyes filled with fear. Matty was directing the crew, giving some semblance of order to the whole series of events. Larkin's eyes turned back to the Captain, who was now sitting on the chest dropped in front of him by the meatheads like a hawk protecting its clutch.
And yet that wasn't all the crew. Some were missing. Hamo. Amis. Judd. Nicol. Odo. Larkin didn't see any of them.
"Where are the others?" He asked, joining Randel and Eda.
Randel's lips twisted into a frown. "Dunno. Not seen them since we washed up."
"I saw Judd go overboard during the storm," Eda said, wiping sandy fingers on her vest. "And I'm not sure, but I think Nicol and Hamo went after him. I think I heard shouting. But…" She shrugged. "It was crazy. I can't be sure."
"…the storm…" Randel's frown only deepened.
"C'mon Randel," Eda shook her head at him disapprovingly.
"What is it?" Larkin asked, noticing the tension between the two good friends.
"It's nothin'," Randel said.
"It's not nothing," Eda pointed over to the edge of the water, where Wyot, a man of faith who took passage on their ship with payment, was still occasionally wailing about eyes and whales. "The priest hasn't shut up about that. Some people are taking what he's saying as gospel."
"No storm hits as hard and as furious as this one," Randel said firmly. "Nor come so sudden, nor leave so sudden." He beckoned to the sky. "I don't see no black clouds now, do you? No remnants, but the wet on our skin and the bones of our ship."
"Look, we're alive, and that's what matters," Larkin reassured, trying to ease the growing conflict between the two. "No bodies have washed up, right? Maybe Nicol and Amis joined Odo and Hamo in saving Judd? Hell, the five of 'em probably took the rowboat and found themselves a dry cave and dry food to munch on. More that we got, that's for sure." Larkin looked at the pile that they had made. Most of the apples were bruised, torn, and drowned, brown and sticky. There were a few good ones in the batch. What other food they had was meagre – a dried sausage here, some slices of jerky there, two bottles of wine and one bottle of whiskey. "This is not enough by any stretch of the imagination. What have we got?" Larkin took a quick head count. "Fourteen people. Add five more if the others turn up."
"We can ration what we got for tonight, at least," Eda said, happy for the change of subject from Wyot's ramblings.
"And go searching in the morning?" Randel suggested.
Larkin shook his head. "Nah, I think we ought to go out now, while the sun's still out." Larkin looked at the fringe of trees that bordered their strip of beach they had washed up on. "A wood like that has gotta have berries or maybe an apple tree or two. Hell, if we're lucky maybe we can catch a boar or something."
"You always were an optimist," Randel sighed.
"Even if we did go out tonight, what are you gonna do if you find an animal?" Eda looked around. "We got no weapons. You gonna strangle a boar with your bare hands?"
"Wybort probably could," Randel snorted.
"If we can get food tonight, we can eat it tomorrow, and then we'll start off the day with moral." Larkin looked over the beach. People were starting to settle a little now, having gathered what meagre supplies they could. Wyot had slipped into murmurs now after a swift slap on the cheek from Hann, and Daw had grown unconscious while his wound was tightly bound by Bate. The doctor's face was set and grim, and Morris hadn't grown any perkier. Larkin looked at what remains of the ship there was. "This is a really bad situation. The ship is so far beyond repair that all we can do is try and tinder the remains for fire. What if we're on an island? What if it's small? Shipwrecked, alone, isolated, cold, starving?" Larkin shuddered. "I've heard horror stories. I've no interest on being part of one."
"Interest or not, it's where we are," the voice of Matty said from beside them. The first mate and wife of Captain Elric stood with her hands on her hips in front of the trio. "A lot of yappin' and not much action. I suppose there's not much action to be had." She glanced at Larkin. "'Heard your suggestion. It's not a fool's errand, if you play it right. We're going to set a fire, get ourselves settled on this here beach. We can't explore this late in the day, but explore we must, and explore tomorrow. But the food is an issue. Larkin, you know your way around a bush or two, so you two, go with him. I don't care if it's one berry per person, that's at least something. And just in case you do come across somethin' that we can roast," Matty turned. "Oi, Stace, get your behind over here."
Randel stifled a groan and Matty stared daggers at him, shutting the sound completely.
"But don't go far and don't worry too much if meat isn't found. We're on a beach. I can see fish from here. We ain't got much, but a bit of wooden shrapnel can make a mean spear if it needs to be. It ain't as easy as all that, but if any of us turn out good, we can spear some fish. Don't lament, folks." Matty continued. Larkin admired her matter-of-factness. He did try to look on the bright side, but didn't really believe it. Matty, on the other hand, never showed her cards. Her interest was in the interest of the crew, plain and simple. Where Captain Elric made the hard decisions, and led the crew of many a victorious voyage, it was Matty that kept the crew in good shape.
"Yeah?" Stace finally lumbered up. Between he and Wybort, Stace was the shorter, but thicker of the two. His arms were about twice the size of Randel's, and his eyes were small and prickly at the best of times. Despite being on the crew for a good two years now, the two meatheads very rarely talked to anyone other than Matty and the Captain, and even then they only ever had conversations with each other.
"Go with these three to the outskirts of the forest. You're looking for food. Keep 'em safe, just in case, alright?"
"Aye," Stace grunted. His eyes hovered on Larkin, to Eda, and then to Randel, for no more than a second each.
"Get here before the sun gets down," Matty warned. "Last thing we need is to lose any more hands. No need to get lost in the woods, I do not want to go looking for you in the middle of the night. Got it?"
"Aye," Larkin nodded. Without any more words, he took off towards the line of trees with Randel and Eda at his side, Stace lurching after them.
Stace was not a sailor who erred on the side of speech. He lumbered behind the group, great arms swinging like an ape's, eyes set firm on everywhere besides the trio of younger sailors in front of him. Larkin couldn't help but wonder if it was a generational thing. After all, other than the tiny Noll who turned up on their ship last summer and was immediately designated the 'ocean's son' and became cabin boy, Larkin, Eda, and Randel were all new to the otherwise veteran crew of Captain Elric. Larkin had been there for nearly two years now, while both Eda and Randel had known each other before the adventures with the crew. They had been a pair of thieves in one of the port-towns, and Randel had tried to steal from Captain Elric. Had it not been for Eda's silver tongue and penchant for a convincing argument, Randel's head would have left his shoulders quicker than the executioner could have said 'aye'. The crewmember who had joined before Larkin had been Elis, and that was four years before.
Although Larkin suspected Stace was simply just a dullard who wouldn't think in such complicated ways. If their names weren't Wybort or Captain Elric, then he would have no interest in an attempt to converse.
"All I see are bushes, trees, bushes, and more trees," Randel bemoaned as they walked between the spaced trunks of the small oak trees. "No berries. No apples. Nothing."
"We've barely entered. At least wait five minutes before you start complaining," Eda said.
"Just keep a close eye. They can be easy to miss," Larkin warned.
This same conversation replayed maybe three of four times as the group waded through the outskirts of the forest. Sometimes the oak woods would thicken, and Larkin would turn the group a little to save them from going in deeper. Other than the odd flutter of a bird in the canopy, there was little evidence of anything other than foliage.
"Look, it was a good idea," Eda said, pausing in front of Larkin. All four of them were sweating now, their clothes sticking to them from the ambient heat of the forest having absorbed a day's worth of sun. "But maybe it's time to call it a day."
Larkin was inclined to agree. As much as he wanted to find food, he also understood the dangers of trying to navigate a woods in the dark without so much as a light source. It would just be inviting roots to snare and tangle, tripping and potentially breaking ankles or wrists. However, just as he opened his mouth to reply in the affirmative, a different sound emerged somewhere to the left of the group.
It was a low, guttural, sounding noise. Like a rumble or a… groan.
"What was that?" Randel bristled.
"I think it was a man's voice," Eda said.
"It could be Amis or the others," Larkin said excitedly, stepping forward. He was immediately stopped by a meaty hand from Stace. "Hey, what are you-"
"No." It was the first word Stace had uttered since they had left the wreck of the ship. His eyes were focused somewhere in the direction of where the groan came from – where the trees were thickening.
The groan came again, a little louder this time.
"That has to be them, you big oaf," Larkin tried to fight off the hand that kept him back and when he tried to slip under it, Stace grabbed a handful of his shirt to keep him from moving.
"Is it some kind of animal?" Eda asked, trying to follow Stace's gaze.
"Maybe we ought to get back?" Randel was getting twitchy now.
"Maybe you ought to not be a coward," Eda shot back.
"Quiet!" Stace said again sharply. All three of them grew quiet, and Larkin stopped struggling. There was something in Stace's deep tones that warned of any more noise. As they all focused in on the spot where the trees thickened, they heard the groan again, deeper, closer. And a shadow appeared in the treeline, shambling with a limp in one leg, and arms hanging in twisted, broken positions, like the arms of a crooked tree. Whoever it was, it wasn't one of them. It was wearing strange clothes, skin hued with a sickly green, hair sparse and falling out. The eyes were rolling in their sockets, grey and almost certainly blind.
Randel immediately dived behind Stace's broad back, with Eda shuffling closer as well until Stace was in front of all three of them, like a bear protecting its cubs.
"Stop." Stace put a hand out but the figure did not stop moving towards them. Somebody with an illness? An old man escaped from somewhere? Larkin did not know but there was such an aura of dangerousness coming off the figure that he could feel fear creeping into him. "Now."
The man did not stop. It let out a deeper groan and lunged at Stace as if to hug him. Stace immediately shoved his hand into the figure's chest and the man went sprawling with a vicious crack. Larkin stared in shock as one of the legs snapped like a branch, white bone jutting out like rocks on a craggy shore. Dark, tainted blood dripped out of the wound like oil, not with the kind of urgency blood would spray from a normal human.
The man groaned and even from its broken position, it twisted its head towards Stace. Then another groan was heard to their right. And another from their left. Two more shadows started to emerge from the undergrowth.
"Back!" Stace barked, and practically shoved the three of them back the way they came and before they knew it, all four were sprinting as fast as their legs could take them through the open woodlands. Randel was at the head of the pack, running like a man possessed, with Eda and Larkin close behind. Stace brought up the rear but Larkin couldn't help but notice he was pulling his steps, and realised with a start that Stace was deliberately taking the back of the pack to keep them safe. He supposed he should not have been surprised, as Stace was a member of Captain Elric's crew, and Captain Elric chose only the best, but nevertheless, it was a side of Stace that Larkin had never seen before.
They ran and ran, all the way out of the trees, until they were stood gasping at the wreck, being slowly surrounded by the rest of the remaining crew as they caught their breath, save for Daw who was now blissfully unconscious under a jacket.
"…A figure… green… ill…" Eda panted.
"Not… one of… us…" Larkin tried to fight a stitch.
"Went after us… teeth bared… some kind of… monster…" Randel hissed through his teeth.
"Enemy." Stace said, sweat from his brow.
"Enemy?" Captain Elric stood up, concerned. "On an island like this? Savages?"
Stace absently beckoned at Randel. "Monster is… close. Barely alive. If alive at all."
"The risen dead!" Wyot wailed. "A curse to all ship folk, to all sailors, abandoned to their lives! This is the end, my fellow men, the end of all." There was a rustle in the treeline and dumb to action for a moment, the crew saw a few humanoids appearing from the bushes. Wyot's face grew even wilder, his eyebrows jutting, his mouth gaping. "They are here! The end, the apocalypse, the fate that waits for us all! Hell itself has come! There is nothi-"
PTWANG!
A metal-tipped arrow arced through the air, moments before it found its home in the right eye of Wyot. The holy man stumbled, as if surprised at the fact he had a wooden shaft protruding from his eye, before collapsing in a heap, blood trickling down his cheek.
And just as prophesied, the crew were met with the hell that the island had to offer them.