Lets create a story! ;D

[MiyakoWolf]

The boredom is killing me... So why not create a story? :3 I'll go first! C:


There are a few things in life that cannot be unseen. Sometimes, these things can be overwhelming, causing stiffness or collapse. One event can change a person's thoughts and feelings.
These types of events seem to happen to me quite often, shadowing my life as I live on.

It all started last year; On a day of which I thought would be the same as any other. The only thing I wanted to do was to play Rituals of Fire. As the evening approached, the need became greater. I had to play. That was when it all went wrong. I started up minecraft and connected to the server, feeling the excitement rush through me like a bolt of electricity. As I joined, I saw that many awesome people were online. I was kindly greeted and invited to join the build of an amazing house with all my Blocktopian friends. And thats when it happened. The lift of the kilt.

;ooo

(I know i'm not the best author, and for that I apologize xD)

 

[Bryan Francis Arleen]

The man awoke at dawn. He stamped out his fire – dust rising from his worn engineer boots – collected his scarf, purse, jug, and then stretched. He rubbed his hands together and gripped his swords. He weighed them and slipped them into the scabbards. The wastes sat around him and watched carefully. He was one to watch for… his grin never left his lips. Those with the grin of hate were watched well.

The sun rose slow and steady and the hot arid wind ripped around the dunes of dirt. The man tread lightly down from the dune he had camped on, sliding and slipping sideways down the hill. His swords thumped against his chest, the leather squeaking as he walked towards the basin between the two dunes. He liked the scabbards crossed; it reminded him of the Old Western movies with the gunslingers riding red roads shouting: ‘’Boyyy howdy, what we got ‘ere?’’ whilst unloading their guns into the traitor, or outlaw, or WANTED man. Shoot first; ask questions later. All that jazz.

The basin was more compact, and his boots made a click-clack as he walked the fused ground. Dust devils were born and danced to death around the man. He drank as he walked, and scratched his beard. He would have to shave soon. He round a drumlin and found himself standing above a dead Bumbler. The sad Bumblers… horrible creatures that had wasted away from what the Old people had called ‘’raydeashion’’. The Bumblers skin was torn and peeled and its eyes gleamed wet and red. They bumbled about asking themselves if they had ever been human. This one had a second arm growing out of its side. Not so bad for it being this far into the wastes. The man flipped the Bumbler over, and only finding a pair of moccasins tied loosely around the things leg, he let it fall back into the dust with a thump. His grin faltered. The thing had probably found the moccasins in a dune, and taken it as a trophy, a victory. The man un-sheathed his left sword and knelt before the torn corpse. He tapped the thing delicately with the sword’s point and stood. It was those moccasins. The thing must have been so thrilled to find them. So happy. He sheathed his sword and walked on.

The man walked in a straight line. He knew it was the way to go. Those that he wanted awaited him. The one’s that awaited his swords. He was perhaps one of the world’s last adventurers. Daniel was after those that had done this to the land. He walked straight and true. His swords gleamed in the sun.