2
Befriending The Enderman
Chapter 1: A Noob's Beginning
I don't remember much of anything that happened to me before I came to this place that I call "Craftworld". I remember my name: Steve, Steveo ¦ something or other. I call myself Steve Craft for lack of a memory of a surname. I remember my apartment. I remember just sitting at my computer, hunched over as I groggily clicked through various games in my attempts to take the edge off of my insomnia.
o ¦And then blackness.
Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the middle of a place I'd never seen before, right in the spot where a desert, a jungle and broad expanse of plains all met. It was like visiting the Four Corners in the western United States, except there were only three and the place had an unfortunate lack of tourists or any other kind of human being. Wait, why do I remember the Four Corners? Eh, oh well.
It was really fun at first. Sorta like an exotic, twisted vacation. I had this camouflage patterned backpack with me that miraculously produced whatever I desired. Thirsty? No prob, just reach in and grab a bucket of water. Or milk. Just steer clear of the lava buckets. Hungry? No sweat. It would be easier to list what food this pack didn't have!
But I never seemed to get hungry or thirsty or even fatigued, so I only indulged in the occasional mound of cake. I wonder if my sweet tooth was ever this demanding in the world where my apartment resided. When I wasn't eating cake, I was making use of my pack's other materials. There were tools to mine, materials to craft and a bunch of other strange doo-hickeys that I could never make heads nor tails of. I built a snow igloo in the desert out of spite. I dug a cave under it, slapped in an underground waterfall, and then lit it up with jack-o-lanterns for effect. I engraved my name in the soil of the plains and then framed it with torches. I tossed cakes around as if they were the dollar bills and I was the rich Prince of Bel Air. Actually, I can't remember who the Prince of Bel Air was. I think I just made that up.
And then it all disappeared. The pack went slack and all that was left were the items I had stored in the second pocket to put them out of the way: some dirto ¦ some cakeso ¦ some torcheso ¦ and a block of gold. What in Craftworld am I gonna do with a heavy hunk of stupid gold? Tie it to my head and let it sink me in the river? Actually, it did cross my mind, but I'm too chicken to do myself in like that.
Turns out, I wasn't the only one looking to kill Steve Craft. Without the magic qualities to my backpack, sundown brought the Haunting. You wouldn't believe the horrors that pop up in the dark! By the end of the first night, I'd been shot at with arrows by a walking skeleton, chased through the jungle by a pack of zombies, and bitten twice in the arm by a giant, hairy black spider! I'm lucky nothing ate me while I was passed out in the cave under my igloo.
I'm not sure how long the spider venom had me under. It felt like only a night, but it could have been two. Either way, it was morning when I woke again.
That morning was absolutely miserable. I didn't seem to start healing until I had followed my hunger to my mountain of cakes and then satisfied said hunger with a couple mouthfuls of the dessert confections. And even then I had to sit around and wait for the throbbing in my knee to cease before I could walk properly. It was there, beneath Cake Mountain, that I resolved to start planning ahead. One more Haunting like that could kill me if I didn't do things differently.
Chapter 2: Learning to Survive and Explore
I headed into the jungle where I tried to chop down a tree, but found it strangely defiant to the laws of gravity. Instead, I harvested its wood from the ground up, nearly falling from great heights towards the end. If only I were as defiant as the tree was to the natural laws of the world.
Realizing that I would need a larger workspace to craft any sort of weapon, I began by making a large table out of the wood. From there, I managed to put together some sort of weak, pathetic sword. I'm not even gonna go into how stupid this thing looked. Just believe me when I say: It was bad.
But despite my stumbling stagger into weapons-crafting, this childish wooden sword marked the beginning of my steady progress into a proper warrior capable of surviving the Hauntings and every other horror that the Craftworld threw my way. After a lot of hard work, I stopped simply "surviving" and began exploring as well. I discovered a temple in the jungle, which seemed to be riddled with booby traps and prowling monsters. At this point, I began wondering if Craftworld had some sort of strange vendetta against knees, because I found that all the arrow traps were placed at knee level. I found myself with one arrow lodged in each leg before I got wise and started holding my shield level with my legs everywhere I went. You can imagine how ridiculous that looked.
For all that pain and toil, guess what I got out of it? I finally reached the fancy-looking treasure chest, busted the lock, lifted the lid to findo ¦ more hunks of that stupid, bulky gold! Aw, come on!
At least there was more than just gold, though. Using the bars of iron that had been nestled in under the gold, I traded in my wooden toy sword for a real manly blade that I promptly named Delores. And then I made a golden pickaxe just for the heck of it. Whoo, look at me, so rich that I can build things out of gold. Mom would be proud. I think.
My golden pickaxe broke halfway through my dig back to the surface. Figures. When I got out of that mess, I was sure to give my dead gold pickaxe a solid piece of my mind, which ended up attracting a zombie horde to me. You know a man's beginning to lose his mind when he can't even remember to keep his voice down when he's scolding his pickaxe!
Chapter 3: It Follows Me Home.
Much later, I decided to explore the plains to see if I could find anything interesting besides the obvious copious amounts of grass. While I was out there, I buried my dead golden pickaxe out of sheer boredom for there was nothing exciting to discover in the plains except for the occasional Creeper. I would love to find out who taught the Creepers their stealth skills, for I would then promptly track down the teacher and TEAR HIS HEAD OFF. When I began to miss my useless golden pickaxe, I unearthed it again and stowed it back in my camouflage backpack.
It began to rain. I was not used to such a natural occurrence because my igloo was in the desert. Sometimes I would watch the rain from my window as it landed a couple hundred yards away on the grassy climates, but that was as close as I ever got to it until now. Surprisingly enough, it didn't faze me. I think I had gotten very used to inconveniences by now, so it wasn't that hard for me to build myself a shelter just high enough for me to crouch in.
It was around this time that I noticed a recurring noise in background of the pitter-patter of the rain. It sounded awfully close to the pathetic mewl a cat makes when it's stuck out on the porch and wanted to come back inside. I began to wonder if I was surrounded by a herd of house cats. I kept hearing the noise coming from different directions at different distances, and a herd of house cats certainly wouldn't be the weirdest thing I'd encountered in my time here in Craftworld. Finally, the source of the mewling came close enough for me to see. It was big, dark and sort of looked like a 7-foot-tall, lanky man wearing a black full body suit. Its eyes were glowing purple, which is the only reason I was able to spot it in the rain in the first place. And then it disappeared again, teleporting away and leaving nothing but a flurry of purple floating specs in its place.
Poor thing. This rain was obviously bothering it, to say the least. In this sense, it was like a house cat, what with its apparent dislike for water falling from the sky. I decided to help out.
I had to get a little wet again to tear down my mini lean-to and start fresh. Turns out, it's quite hard making a shelter for a 7-foot-tall creature, but I ended up making it out of dirt. When it was finished, it looked a little bit like someone had taken my igloo, chopped it in half from the top to the bottom, and then turned the ice into dirt. Man, am I glad no one has done that to my iglooo ¦
I wasn't sure if the tall thing could see my half-igloo through the downpour, so I lit it up with torches and then tried to dry my clothes while I waited. Next thing I know, I'm waking up at nighttime with a big shadowy thing standing in my periphery. Naturally, I turned to face it, and was greeted by a long, continuous scream. My hands shot up to my ears in an attempt to preserve my eardrums as I scrunched my eyes shut, surprised to find the screams stop immediately afterwards. I cautiously opened my eyes to view the creature once more and was rewarded by another screeching shriek.
Alright, so maybe I wasn't supposed to look at the guy. I kept my eyes on my feet, chancing a couple glances no higher than the shadowy man's hands, which held a large hunk of grass-covered dirt. A quick look around confirmed that it had indeed taken that hunk right out of my igloo. "Er, whatever floats your boat, I guesso ¦"
The creature, which I shall now call a "Shadowman", did not respond. It just stood there, making the occasional gentle mewling sound as it stared down at me. Or at least, I'm assuming it was staring.
It followed me home. Turns out, it's absolutely impossible to shake a teleporter off of your tail, so I simply resigned myself to my fate and told it how much more catlike it was becoming with every passing second by stalking me to my house like that. It didn't seem to comprehend, or if it did, it didn't seem to care. I tried my best to ignore it and went to sleep that night with a big Shadowman wandering around my igloo.
I awoke during sunrise and opened my eyes to be greeted by another screech. It definitely took me a while to get used to not looking up every time I woke up from a nap or a good night's sleep, but the Shadowman didn't seem so bad after that hurdle was conquered.
I didn't mind very much that it liked to randomly carry around my stuff, except for when it grabbed one of my cakes and wouldn't let go until it had gone stale. He's very stubborn that way and he'll screech if I try to touch whatever he happens to be carrying at the moment. That stubborn disposition led me to dub it "Jackass", but my conscience got the best of me and I shortened it to "Jack". Then I got bored of that and named it "Pip" instead. It just seemed to fit the creature better.
I'm not sure when I actually started thinking of the Shadowman as a companion; you know, less of an "it" and more of a "him". It might've been when I accidentally looked in his eyes one morning and didn't get screamed at. It may have been when he saved me from a herd of Spider Jockeys. I dunno. But I do remember realizing what I thought of him when he disappeared for a few days and made me venture out to look for him. He's lucky he'd had me worried, because I had to fish him out of a creek when I found him.
Chapter 4: Adventure Time!
Sometime later, Pip and I decided to go on an adventure. Er, well, I decided and he just followed me around with his stale cake in hand. I assume he had fun because he kept purring at the most random intervals. Besides the usual necessities, I made sure to bring along plenty of torches to set down as we went so that we could find our way back to the igloo. After all, that was home to me now. I didn't want to lose my home again.
With Delores and the broken pickaxe as second company, we set off through the desert, staying away from the grassy biomes in order to avoid having Pip get caught in the rain. Before our adventure I had assumed that I was the only human in Craftworld, so you can imagine my surprise when I spotted houses on the shimmering heated horizon. Closer inspection revealed the cluster of houses to be a village, rife with activity and life. I entered and tread carefully, but the villagers did nothing more than stare as I passed by. They ignored Pip and I while meandering aimlessly about (just as Pip does when I am trying to sleep).
Every building in the village was remarkably made of sand. I would have expected such structures to blow over in the first sand storm, but they seemed very sturdy. Two big houses resided closer to the well that marked the center of the village while the other smaller huts were scattered around the outskirts. I entered the sand tower which was also located towards the outer perimeter of the village, but it proved to hold nothing more than access to a majestic view of the surrounding expanse of catci-bespeckled sand. On the way back down I nearly tripped over Pip on the stairs, who had teleported to me without warning. "Augh! Pipo ¦! You tryin' to kill me or something?" Pip merely stared at me with those glowing violet eyes and gave the usual soft, melancholy-sounding mewl.
I suppose it's a good thing Pip doesn't seem to understand my words, because I mostly complain at him. But then again, I probably wouldn't complain so often if I thought he understood me. It's a sort of circle of elements that depend on the circumstances, I guess.
Pip and I exited the tower and ventured over to the garden near the well where I harvested half of the wheat while Pip eyed the well warily. I hoped he'd be extra careful around the water supply, for I wasn't sure if I could try to fish him out of such a deep well with the same favorable results as when I had pulled him out of the creek. I would certainly try though.
"C'mon Pip. Let's see if we can find a bed for tonight," I murmured, taking him by the hand and gently pulling him further away from the water. I led him to a square building and up the stone stairs, slapping his ebony black hand out of harm's way when he tried to touch the glowing lava resting in a vat out on the porch. "Jeez, you're just an accident waiting to happen, aren't you," I muttered as I pushed him into the building. Hopefully there wouldn't be anything inside that could help him get into trouble.
It turns out this building was the blacksmith's workshop. While Pip sat contently atop the blacksmith's table I tried to make conversation with the two villagers in the black aprons. They could speak, but they weren't very good at it, nor did they have the brains to understand much more than a chat about the weather. I guess villagers are all just very dull-witted, but I really can't hold it against them. After all, I'm sure it's not their fault. Besides, they're very generous. The blacksmiths gave me free reign of the tools and weapons in their chest and they even showed me how to build an anvil to fix up Delores. I thought of fixing my pickaxe, but it really didn't deserve it.
When sunset came, Pip teleported off to who-knows-where while I followed one of the two blacksmiths outside and down the stone porch steps. He showed me to one of the bigger houses and watched me make a bed. The one-room building lacked any furniture of any kind. When I finished the moon was up, but I didn't mind. I made the blacksmith a bed too and laid down, unsure of whether he would even want to sleep in the mass of fluffy comfort if he wasn't used to it.
I didn't get much sleep. Late in the night the Haunting came to the village, more persistent than I'd ever seen before. The stillness in the air evaporated with the arrival of the zombies whose reeking rotten flesh had been warmed by the desert climate and made even more unbearable to smell. Their monotone moans droned on as they banged against the doors of the village's houses, waking me from my sleep just as the door to my house gave way under the creature's efforts.
I didn't have time to grab Delores from my backpack at the rate that the zombie was approaching, but I knew I had to try, or die otherwise. As I leaned over the bed, one hand in the pack, I braced for impact. But it never came. I looked up to find the blacksmith awkwardly swinging his hammer about in an effort to ward off the zombie. Just as my hand grasped the hilt of my sword, the zombie won. I watched in horror as everything seemed to occur in slow motion. The zombie swiped, knocking the hammer from the blacksmith's hand and then leaning in, its ragged arms wrapping around the brave villager as its teeth sank into his neck. By now I was off the bed and running to him, infuriated to see that I had not been quick enough to save my comrade. Two successive hacks were all it took to behead the zombie. His twitching body dropped to the ground and then vanished, leaving behind the usual slab of surprisingly edible rotten flesh.
"Hey. You still with me?" I knelt down by the villager and put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. The villager gave a small, pained moan in response, his head lolling from side to side as he lay on the ground. I tried to tend to his wounds, but it didn't do any good. He became paler with each passing minute until he'd gone from white to an unhealthy shade of green. And then he went still, his eyes finally closing and his breath leaving his body in one slow sigh.
I'm sure you know what's coming next. I should've known that he'd been infected by the zombie, but I guess I just wasn't thinking straight. Killing that villager was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. I felt as though some part of him were still in there, trapped behind the mask of the zombie disease and able to do nothing but helplessly watch me swing my sword to decapitate him.
Rest in Peace, brave blacksmith.
Pip popped back in and helped me survive the night. We fought until the rising sun burned the remaining monsters, killing off the hostile creatures before we had been able to succumb to exhaustion. I didn't really want to stay there any longer, but I stuck around for the blacksmith's sake. I felt like I owed him big time. In exchange for saving my life, I repaired all of the doors in the village and lit the whole place up with oodles of torches. I still really don't feel like that was enough, but I promised myself I would come back and do more if something came to mind. With the doors repaired and another zombie attack prevented, Pip and I left the village.
We found a snow biome and happened upon a pack of wolves as we were crossing through, but we steered clear of the seemingly docile creatures just in case they decided to put Humans and Shadowmen on the menu. It was around that time that Pip started acting rather strange. He kept looking off towards the east and pausing every so often. After the sixth or seventh time, he stopped altogether and just stared.
"Pip? Pip. Piiiiip. Pip. Pip. Pipo ¦ PIP. Pippippippippippippippippipp ippippippippiiiiiiip."
No luck. Pip kept up his stare and then started off in a new direction, leaving me to simply follow him through the snowy forest. I noted with a huff that I much preferred to be the leader of this little expedition, but what could I do? Pip and I were pretty much bros now. You can't just let a bro wander off unprotected.
We wandered on and on, pausing every so often as Pip stared some more before pressing on. His meander finally ceased in front of a cave. Here he stopped, regarding the low entrance with obvious apprehension.
"Really? All that walking and now you're going to let a cave stop you?" I brushed confidently past Pip, waving sticks by my head as I bent down to walk inside. "C'mon, I've got torches." Pip gave a wary mewl and then followed suit.
Our venture through the gradually widening passages was interrupted only by the occasional pause to mine the coal veins running through the walls. Pip clutched the cake nervously to his chest, glancing about himself every time we walked into a new cavern. I couldn't fathom why he was being such a scaredy cat. In the past, he'd taken on his fair share of monsters during the Haunting hours with me and done just fine.
I wasn't expecting to find anything more than coal, gold and diamonds in the cave system, but the stone eventually turned into crumbling, moss laden brick. The bumps and ledges that we had to jump over mellowed out into a stone stairway that we navigated with much more ease. With growing curiosity I climbed them, placing torches on the wall as I went. I came to a door, opened it, and was astonished to find myself walking into what seemed to be a very big library.
"Come on in, Pip, we're alone in here," I called back, beckoning the nervous Shadowman into the room. I erected one last torch on the ground by the doorway and then walked to a shelf, holding the torch in my hand higher so that I could see the titles. The spines of all the books seemed to be bare, so I chose a random one and opened the red hardback to the very middle.
"Look at this, Pip. They've got cows in this book." I turned a few pages. "And pigso ¦" I turned some more. "And skeletonso ¦ It looks like they've got all the Craftworld creatures in here. Hey, there's you." I pointed to the picture on the new page I had turned to and then slid my finger to the title, reading it out loud for Pip to hear. "Endermeno ¦"
So that's what Pip was called. Hey, I was close. Sorta. Not really. If I'd known that he'd come from the End, I probably would've had a better chance at naming his species.
This book was as good as gold. Well, maybe not gold, seeing how it was a lot less useful to me here than it had been in my life at the apartment. I'd say this book was as good as cake, maybe even better. It had everything there was to know about anything in this world which was actually called Minecraft, according to the Big Red Book. If only I'd found this in my backpack before my first Haunting! Everything I knew so far about survival had been learned through oodles of painful trial and error. This book could've taken all of the "error" out of every trial!
I closed the book with a thump and coughed in the dust cloud that rose from the book before turning and waving it excitedly. I wasn't sure if Pip could read words or even understand the words I spoke, but I had to find a vent for my elation anyway. But Pip wasn't paying attention. He had climbed a short flight of stairs in the middle of the room and was standing at the edge of a large square stone frame that lay parallel to the floor below it. He clutched the stale cake to his chest as he watched the black abyss ripple and fluctuate in the frame, taking a step forward as if readying himself to jump.
My hands shot out in front of me in the universal sign for 'STOP RIGHT NOW'. "Dude, don't do it. We don't know what's in there and I still need to repair Delores from that last fight with the spider."
Pip took another step.
"Stop it, kid, just let it wait for now. You know I'm one for adventure and all, but if you just give me half an hour to work Delores on the anvil, I cano PIP!" The Enderman was gone in an instant.
(Next To The Chapter 5 to 6)
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