Authors note: This is my first fanfic so don't judge too harshly

It is a chronicle of Minecraft history

Don't expect a new chapter every week, this is what I do in my free time

The Chronicles of Minecraftia

Act 1
Chapter 1:

Steve's eye snapped open. The first thing that came to him was the pain. A horrible aching feeling located in the center of his forehead. Then came his breath. With a woosh of pain and light water gurgled from his lungs and into his mouth. He hacked and coughed and spat it out onto the ground. The last thing to come to him was feeling. And then even later than that was warmth.
As soon as feeling rushed back into his cold frame he realised how tired he was and he slept. When he awoke the sun was setting and the ache was worse, though a fleeting amount of strength returned to him. He took the opportunity to lift himself from his grainy resting place. As he stood his head exploded into a blossom of pain and he fell to his knees. He cried out and doing so cleared the sand from his scraggly beard.
From this position he look around. He was on a beach, that much was clear but a beach were? And how did he get here? All he could remember was a ship- and then his memory was grabbed and pulled back by the pain in his head. This new spasm of pain forced him to fall upon his back. He stared up at the sky through gritted teeth.
He had to get up. He HAD TO! Night would soon be approaching, with all its horror. He pushed, muscles rippling and hefted himself up right. He ignored the constant pain in his head and pushed forward. Around him were what looked like the torn apart wreckage of a ship. This confirmed his previous fears. Now that he was upright he took inventory. Blue pants, a turquoise shirt, both in horrible repair and a beard that he didn't quite remember having. Then again he didn't quite remember much.

As the sun set the beach got colder and a common goal became clear. He needed a fire. He stumbled around the beach collecting pieces of warped drift wood and wrecked boat planks. His bare feet scraped and scared by the surf, he dragged the small collection of kindling up onto the dry (or dryer ) levels of the beach. He placed the small pieces down and formed them into a manageable pile. It was at this point Steve noticed his hands. They were mostly raw new skin. A huge red gash ran across his left hand. It looked bad, and the sand around it wasn't helping.

Steve ripped a strand from his already tattered shirt and wrapped it around the wound. He would have to heal it as soon as possible and only Notch knows when that would be. He looked down upon the small pieces of kindling below him. Now he thought how to light this? He searched his pockets and found nothing.

As he looked around Steve realized it had grown much colder and much darker. Fire was now no longer a want, it was a need. He ran (witch in his state right now was about a fast stumble) around the crash area searching for anything that might aid him. Flint and Steel, a torch, coal even! Something! Luckily for Steve the Mojang Divines smiled upon him that day. As he stumbled around the debris he abruptly tripped. He looked to see what it was he had fallen on. A cold pale hand stuck out, lifeless from a pile of mangled wood and strips of iron bolts.

Clutched firmly in the stiff hand was an unlit torch. Steve did not wonder who he was or if he was a friend all Steve did was stare. This hand had brought him back to the reality of grim price he had paid for his life.

No gift is given by the Divines without a cost. After what felt like days of motionlessness Steve heard a low growling. This drove him into action. He dove for the hand and wrenched the torch from it without a second thought. He ran as fast as he could, as constantly as he could toward the makeshift fire place. He heard the growling grow louder and louder. He ran faster.

As he came near the fire he stumbled and fell dropping the torch into the sand. Steve scrambled for it, sifting his hand through the substrate. He at last found the torch but it might have been too late, all the fumbling in the dark had caused some unwanted attention. He could hear the creatures around him closing in.

He hurried to light the torch. Then a completely new and terrifying factor came to Steve's mind. What if the torch was too wet. It had been in a boat crash after all. He ignored the odds and grabbed a nearby stone. Once he struck the torch. Twice. Three times. At this point the aching in his head made itself known again. But he didn't give up. A fourth time he hit the torch with all his might and it lit, illuminating his surroundings with divine brilliance.

It was then that Steve saw how dire his situation was. Gathered around him in the dark were an assortment of rotting, decade zombies, slick furred, blood thirsty spiders, and dry boned skeletons. Steve stared in horror as they all slunk back into the shadows. Then his wits came about him and grabbed the nearest rock.

He held the small stone the palm of his torn hand, waiting to strike at any creature that crossed the boundary of light. He swiftly spun around, checking the perimeter. Suddenly a hissing from behind! He spun to face a hideous spider. Eyes red and mouth agape it stared at him. Then it lunged!

It hit Steve square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. It extended its dripping fangs but before it could drive them into Steve's chest, he raised the stone and smashed against the beasts face. It flew off his chest and shrunk back. Steve followed it viciously battering it from all sides.

After a minute had passed of this heated combat Steve looked down. What used to be a spider was now a crushed pulp. Blue blood was spilt everywhere. He was covered in shards of vertebrae and sliced innards. He looked stunned at what he had managed to defeat.

He took a huge intake of breath and doing so he fell back. He lied, tired, in the sand. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He was too tired to go on. Sleep would come to him soon, if he wanted to or not. And it did. It came swiftly and without fail. Tomorrow will be kinder.

Steve awoke to the smell of burning flesh. As he sat up he saw the zombies and skeletons that had plagued him last night burning to a crisp. Their bodies falling limp onto the sand before burning away into dust. He rose to his feet and looked around. The pain from the last day was now nonexistent.

He had light now all he needed was shelter and food. A small grouping of trees lay just beyond the border of the beach, where the sand ended and the dirt began. As he slowly made his way up the small incline Steve realised how very hungry he was. He looked out upon the luscious green forest and at the bluest of blue sky. For the first time since the crash Steve had time to think, to take in the landscape. These thoughts of beauty were sharply cut off by the growl of his stomach.

Steve bent down onto his knees. His eyes searched through the dirt looking for any sign of animals. Far off to the right came an echoing squeal. Steve jumped to his feet and ran in the direction of the noise. Looking for someplace to call home was no longer the main priority. After minutes of running Steve came to a clearing in the wood. A small opening connected the clearing to a beautiful cannon. And in this canyon stood a pig.

Steve's eye grew and he started to salivate. He slowly approached his soon to be meal. The pig was fat and slightly speckled. It barely seemed to notice him as it wandered lazily around the canyon. For a moment Steve wondered what it would be like to live a life of such ease. Then that moment was gone and Steve jumped at the pig. He grabbed it in a strangle hold and didn't let go until the pig stopped moving.

He then hoisted the body over his shoulder and proceeded to trudge back to the small fire he had made. The walk from the beach to the clearing was long, with the hog burdening him the trip back was longer. By the time he had made it back to the fire it was already mid afternoon.

Knowing that time was of the essence Steve worked fast, his natural hunger urged on by his fear of the night. He dropped the pig on the driest patch of sand he could find. The next few minutes were full of slicing and blood but in the end it was worth it. By the time night began to fall two pork chops sat roasting over the fire.

As night finally made its claim over the land and all decent creatures retreated into there holds, the sounds of grunting and whispering. The sounds of shambling bones echo through the woods. Evil hissing followed by an ear shattering explosion shook Steve from his slight slumber. "What was that" he thought.

He was familiar with most beasts, from skeletons to zombies but not explosives. Could it be another human? This thought ripped at his mind. He was restless in the small niche that he had created. Then he realised what it must have been. He had heard tales from travelers of green beasts. Creatures of great height, they stood erect on a strange mass of legs. Their faces were twisted into grotesque faces of horror, their whole bodies colored a putrid green.

As if this wasn't horrific enough almost no one had survived an encounter with them. And those who did survive told stories of huge detonations and noises that belonged to the Nether. "They must be here." thought Steve " The Creepers!"


When the sun rose the next morning Steve was still awake thinking. As the creatures around him died he lifted himself from the small alcove he had dug during the night. His mind was alive with fear of the creatures, the Creepers. He knew that he could not let the fear permeate his rationale. He needed shelter, but to do that he need to go into the forest where more of them lurking.

For breakfast he ate one of his cooked porkchops. It was the best meal he had had in his life. He could feal his strength returning. With this surge of energy he went about the days work with extra vigor. All he needed was some basic shelter. A couple of pieces of woods should be enough. As Steve started to fell a tree he thought on the night prior. Could there really be Creepers here? Surely not! His mind was filled with adrenaline and fear so he couldn't be sure.

"Well" Steve thought "Better safe than sorry."

That night his small lean-too stood over the fire. As he tucked himself in the weakness of the morning returned. Sleep came but this time it was troubled. In his dreams he felt an oppressive force, something more than sleep. His dream scape was filled with broken buildings and horrible twisted bodies. He felt eyes watching him. There was an evil presence heer, somewhere.

Then, as he explored more of the evil land he heard something echoing off the wall of flesh like a clap of thunder: