Knock, knock sounded on the large oaken doors to the grand cathedral.

"What now?" mumbled the grizzled, old hunchback who was tending the church during the unexpected absence of the high priest.

The knocks came again, more urgent than before.

The hunchback slowly rose from his well worn chair and stretched his stiff muscles. He glanced longingly at his cozy fire and the pot of porridge simmering on the grate. "I'm getting too old for this," he thought as he clamored down the rickety ladder from his loft in the bell tower and made his way to the entry. He lifted the heavy latch and swung the great doors open with creaks of complaint. A cold, damp breeze swirled through the opening. The hunchback tightened his second-hand cloak from the high priest and peered out toward the plaza of the ancient city. The darkness was nearly absolute. "Odd that the torches are out," he said to no one in particular. A faint smell of burnt gunpowder and perfume hung in the air. Stepping forward he felt something brush past his leg. A little frisson ran up his spine. He was relieved when he recognized the gentle purring of the priest's orange cat as it continued to rub against his legs. He reached down and stroked the cat's soft fur while his weary eyes adjusted to the inky darkness. Looking out, he could see a battered cardboard box sitting on the cut stone steps. "Not another abandoned baby," moaned the hunchback as he stepped out the door. "At least the last set of orphan brothers left on my doorstep, Steve and Herobrine, turned out alright," he muttered to the affectionate cat. The cat did not respond.

Stepping forward, the hunchback pulled back the flaps on the box. Immediately a chorus of soft hisses emanated from the box. The cat screeched and its fur and tail went straight up. One by one, a set of little mottled green heads with coal black features popped up and began bobbing about in the box. "By the dark lords!" the hunchback swore while leaping backwards. He immediately recognized the contents of the box as a clutch of creeper hatchlings - even though no one had ever seen such a sight and lived to tell the tale. Realizing the young creepers posed an immediate threat to the cathedral and city, the hunchback hefted the box onto his head and started running...

At this point, the tough old miner paused in his tale to look around at the wide eyes of the noobs gathered around the crackling campfire. A particularly poorly equipped noob, blurted out a question in a quavering voice, "What became of the hunchback?"

The miner allowed the suspense to build before responding. "Some say, he ran as far as the edge of town before he exploded. All the high priest found was a deep crater and a smouldering pair of boots. Others say the kind hearted hunchback managed to tame the young creepers and is living in a far off land. As for myself, I believe the poor hunchback fell victim to a curse that an enchantress intended for the high priest who had toyed with her affections. He is doomed to carry the creepers forever. If he puts them down or tries to give them to someone else they will explode. He must be constantly vigilant as adult creepers hear the calls of the hatchlings and are drawn to them. I'll let you decide which fate to believe. Good night." With that, the miner rose and walked off into the darkness.