57Greetings, fellow minecraftians! Okay, I'm sorry I haven't updated my story, ProjectMOBS… ha, yeah, I am not a reliable source for updates. It's happen soon enough, please bear with me. Either way, please enjoy! If you like it (i.e give me three reviews) I'll post more chapters. Written mostly for fluff, and to experiment a little...
Also, I DO NOT OWN MINECRAFT OR ANY RIGHTS THEREOF. ONLY MY OCs.
Farmer Brown was an ordinary villager who lived a mostly ordinary life on his farm near the edge of nowhere. He lived about two week's travel from any major city, and several days from the closest village. With little but his donkey, Bret, for company, he tended his farm in peace and solitude.
The farmer had built himself a lovely little cottage in the crook of a hill, with his barn almost twenty blocks away. He was walking to this now, in the wee hours of dawn, and kept his pitchfork handy (it was time to change the cow's straw.) He shook it warily at the early-morning zombies being burnt to a crisp. Luckily, they had bigger problems, and the smell of rotten flesh filled the cool air as he made it to the barn door uninterrupted.
The farmer was quite proud of his barn, made of a mix of birch wood and oak logs from the forest nearby. He had built it himself by hand after losing far too many sheep to wolves and the ever-present horrors of night.
Farmer Brown's robes swished around his ankles as he threw the barn door open and was greeted by the warm light of torches hung carefully away from the highly combustible straw.
Speaking of the straw…
He had a visitor.
Farmer Brown shifted uneasily for several minutes, watching the sleeping form nestled amongst the hay bales he had so carefully grown and harvested over the years. It was a spawn, probably taken shelter in his barn to escape the nightly hostiles.
The farmer had heard of spawn; they were very different from villagers, and even from normal humans, whom they resembled closely in appearance. Nobody really knew where they came from, and no spawn had ever elected to tell them.
He fingered his pitchfork carefully, unsure of what to do. The farmer had never actually encountered one, even living so close to the wilderness they loved. Spawn were a rare occurrence, and their secrecy made them rarer. He had never actually been told what to do when encountering one; especially if said one was sleeping on his straw pile.
Given it was sleeping for the moment, the farmer bent closer to take a better look. This particular spawn was wearing a green jacket with what looked to be a brown shirt underneath, and had a mop of well-trimmed black hair. If it really was a spawn. Farmer Brown was not sure, but when he first saw it something had simply told him: 'spawn.'
Suddenly, one of Brown's old cows gave a gigantic "MOOO!" and bellowed. His head snapped to the culprit and he gave it a heated glare, but when he turned back, Farmer Brown's veins turned to ice, and any heat in his gaze was lost.
The spawn had woken up.
They sat there in silence for several minutes, Brown too nervous to move lest he provoke the spawn and feeling himself carefully scrutinized as black eyes met emerald.
Brown was uneducated in much other than farming, fishing, both peaceful and hostile mobs and the market, but he had heard rumors. Lots of rumors. Rumors about people who had been attacked by hostile spawn (they were separated into hostile and peaceful categories, but these tended to change on a daily basis.) Rumors about how unpredictable they were; about their insane endurance and ability to summon items from thin air. All of the terrifying things he'd heard flooded his head as they stared at each other.
Neither person, spawn or villager, made a move, so finally Farmer Brown coughed and regained his composure. "Get off my straw."
No, you idiot, he'll kill you! The farmer immediately regretted his words once they left his mouth. Then his eyes were drawn to the pitchfork in his hand.
The spawn followed his gaze to the lethal tool in Brown's hand, and slid off the hay pile and struggled to his feet.
It was then Brown noticed the limp. His visitor was limping badly, and the yellow straw where his leg had lain was dyed red. He turned to follow his movements, pitchfork at the ready. The spawn obviously knew it was to wounded to fight, because it slumped against the barn wall and a glowing iron sword appeared in its right hand. Farmer Brown received a look that obviously meant don't mess with me or else.
After discovering that he was in no immediate danger, the farmer released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He turned back to the hay and began to sift it into piles for the animals, purposely avoiding the dried red patch. The entire time he kept one eye on his visitor, and he could tell the spawn was doing the same.