The Golem

They were times of peace and freedom; everyone lived their own lives, accepting the land's bounty and creating wonders, each more magnificent than the last. Every person was equal. It was an age of simplicity and bliss.

That's the tale you've been told, anyway. The tale the history books want you to remember. The people have their own stories though... Call them myths, call them legends, but when you're sitting around the campfire hearing the old one-eyed man recount how a living skeleton shot it out with an arrow, you can hear the whispers on the wind, and you know it's true. You know you don't want to go out in the forest at night, because you've seen the cobwebs, thick as wool. The wilds have their own tales; tales you'd best remember, else you serve as a warning for the rest who've forgotten.

Our story tonight begins with a single man... He has gone by many names, but tonight his name is Steve. He was a hero, an adventurer, and a visionary. He was trusted by many, and loved by all. That's how the story begins, anyway.

Steve made fantastic discoveries... He singlehandedly invented redstone science, and built the monuments scattered across the land; some of which survived the sands of time, others did not. Eventually, he discovered a power which consumed him: the power of magic.

It was an innocent discovery at first; he stumbled across a stronghold with countless, timeless tomes of secrets. He deciphered the ancient letters, and returned to the people with such fantastic knowledge. How to build nigh unbreakable tools, rituals that allowed a man to walk through fire... It was all there, but nothing comes without a price.

The price for this magic was life, absorbed from fallen foes. The ingredients it required had to be stolen from hell itself. This was accursed knowledge, not meant for any mere mortal, but that didn't stop our Steve. It began as a wish to improve the lives of the people, but the closer he got to darkness, the more it consumed him.

Steve became obsessed with wielding the mythical weapons. He vowed to stop at nothing until he held them all. He spent years among the banished creatures of the nether, slaughtering and hoarding like a selfish child. No one knows exactly when he resurfaced, but when he did, he was a different man.

A scout saw his portal appear at the top of a snowy peak, and took notes of what occurred throughout the following days. Steve emerged, covered in scars and burns, hauling chests full of unnatural artifacts and strange, alien flora. He took no time to build himself a home, just a hovel; a shell to protect him from the outside world. He planted a field of pumpkins, but during all of the scout's time watching, he didn't eat a single one. He just stashed them away for some unknown purpose, and scraped up all of the nearby snow to hide away as well. When Steve disappeared over the opposite side of the mountain (out of the scout's view), the scout decided that he must have gone mad, and brought home the sad news to the rest of the people.

The people were ready to forget Steve, laying the memories of the hero they once knew down to rest. Time passed, but Steve refused to be forgotten. He marched back over the mountain, leading a living avalanche toward the village. He had created an army of golems; unliving beasts, created to do their master's bidding.

Steve had heard that his people had given up on him. They had stopped speaking of his adventures; as though all his sacrifice was being taken for granted. They didn't understand his research, instead just declared him insane. Filled with spite, he marched his army of snow through village after village, tearing apart his former friends, absorbing their life force for his magic, and turning their corpses into zombies for his army. Little did he know that despite being killed, their memories lived on. The essence he absorbed from their dying breaths contained souls, and when he used the essence for his dark crafts, the souls were imbued into the result. Jumbled and fragmented souls, but souls none the less.

Eventually, Steve's army turned upon him, recognizing him as their murderer, and tore his head clean off his body, ending his reign of terror. They discarded it in a snowbank, and shambled off in random directions, wandering aimlessly for the rest of time.

Such beasts didn't understand the power they had just disrupted, nor did they see the irony in their actions. Steve's head contained just enough magic to create a final golem, one which emerged to live in eternal suffering alongside its former servants. Steve's head rose from the snowbank on a pillar of snow, and began to walk. Aimlessly. For the rest of time.

Steve created an army, and he will always be at its head.