From the darkness, brought forth from sleep, they are summoned. From a dream, from a reality, from a life that was no longer meant to be lived. From a realm that gave one character, gave one strength, and gave one weakness.
From the darkness of the Void, they are summoned, and let loose upon the world. Handpicked by Notch, gifted with abilities unlike anything the native dwellers of the realm below the Aether, they are brought into the Overworld. Appearing from nowhere, from everywhere, allowed to build and create or tear apart and destroy everything they see, everything they envisioned.
These are the Spawns, considered by many to be the great gift, or great scourge placed within the peaceful world of Minecraftia.
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In his beginning, there was nothing but darkness. No light, no sound, no sensations. He felt a detached sense of being, faint memories of a life torn away, fading until little more than personality, appearance, talents, habits, and hobbies remained.
Guiding instincts, to preserve, protect, and push the soon-to-be Spawnling mixed together with old desires, faint wishes, and long-forgotten memories.
All that remained was a name. . . a name was the key to leaving this existence-less void, to set forth into his new life, and grow to be the person he were destined to be. But it was a choice that was not Notch's to choose . . .
. . . Todd_Ironshelt.
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The Spawn opened his eyes, and his vision filled with white. He blinked rapidly, looking around himself. Everything was covered in a blanket of downy flakes, muffling the sound of the surrounding forest, bare trunks of brown and gray wood, branches looming like claws, coated in white.
Snow. He was surrounded by snow. Shivering out of reflex, Todd looked around, turning on his heel in order to better survey his surroundings. Winterlocked woods all around him.
Chewing on his lip, he finally began to move, urged on by the stirring sense of danger that came with darkness, seeking warmth in the perpetual cold that clung to him. On a whim, he began to sing, half-remembered verses spilling from his lips, soothing his growing fright as it grew darker and darker, until the steady onset of night was all-encompassing . . .
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Sunlight cast its crimson-golden rays against the sky, illuminating the trees and reflecting brilliantly upon the snow, dissolving into a million rainbow facets, casting heavy grey-blue shadows elsewhere.
Crunching through the snow, a grizzled older man paid no mind to the beauty of the land around him, his piercing green gaze sweeping around for any stray monsters, ears tuned and pricked for their many calling cards, on alert for anything that may be out of place.
Derek was well-used to the morning patrol, a seasoned warrior and tracker residing in a small village located in the midst of a massive forest, largely cut off from other villages many hundreds of blocks away.
The groan of a zombie had him turning sharply, bow brought up to his shoulder, arrow drawn back and ready to fire.
Many monsters that were vulnerable to sunlight often found recluse, however briefly, in the shadows as daylight creeped into most every nook and cranny of the world.
Rather than waste an arrow, Derek intended to capture the zombies attention and lead it into the burning rays of the sun, before moving on with his patrol.
Before he could put this plan into motion, however, he spotted what had captured this particular zombies attention; curled at the base of a massive pine was a young man, raven black hair stark against the snow, injured or possibly dead.
Eyes narrowing, Derek took careful aim and felled the undead monster with a single shot through the head, then dashed over to assess the young man's condition.
"Oh by Notch . . . Whoever this is let them be alive. . .I don't want to have to bury another unmarked grave."
Grumbling under his breath, Derek patted the younger man's cheek, hoping to rouse him, the flesh pale and cold beneath his fingers. Receiving no response, and unable to tell if the youngster was even ibreathing/i, he checked for a pulse, and to his surprise he found it.
Chewing on his lip, Derek considered his next course of action, and finally hefted the young man upright, spread his cloak around his shoulders, and hurried home.
Taking him to the village healer, Morgan, he briefed them on the situation, set the stranger in a bed, and took off.
A/N: Right then, this is the start of the story. Figured I'd get the first chapter, start enacting my New Years Resolution to write more and actually PUBLISH some of my first few finished chapters. Expect more next week, at the earliest.
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