(I was a bit tired of writing in the in-game journal in my previous series. Thus, this time I’m going to write little snippets narrating the MC’s thoughts in the actual forum post. Anything in parenthesis is out of character.)
… Little of value was in this last chest.
From the tower, an island stretched out before me. One of sand, spruce, and superfluous danger.
A cabin? Out here? I suppose fortune is not something I should question. Not when her hand delivers such comfort so tenderly. Nevertheless, the way is fraught with peril. I have no shield to block arrows, so kiting around the foes before me seems to be of wiser conscious than attempting combat.
The interior of the abode was of passable condition. All within seems to have been found locally. The leather armor in the corner is of curious note: I have not witnessed such patterns before. A closer inspection revealed the markings to be composed of redstone. My only speculation is that it holds ties to a faction of sorts.
Searching the rest of the house did not reveal any occupants. And judging by the fine layer of dust and surplus of cobwebs within the oaken container upstairs, none have visited this locale in quite some time. Inside the chest I also found berries, cooked mutton, some arrows—presumably for the crossbow downstairs—and a compass. Nothing significant, yet useful nonetheless.
Though leather is pitiful compared to the iron plate covering my breast and head, it is armor nonetheless. Even if the garments stretch to fit a Northern Piglin such as I. Almost certainly this set was crafted for one of Ancient origin.
(Note: ancient in this case means normal human players. Mount here uses the term like so because humans are the single oldest race known to the world.)
Once dawn’s rosy fingers lifted the sun from its nightly tomb, I ventured outside the cabin. Immediately a ruin caught my eye. The remains were of dark stone—Deepslate, if I were forced to suppose—given that I had no reason not to do so, I wandered up to the crumbling cobbles.
A most fascinating record awaited me in the dilapidated structure’s chest. This page’s words were written in plain Ancient, albeit laced with unclear meaning. “All realms are bound by flame”… what could such mean?
Obviously, I know that to reach the brimstone wastes of the Nether requires sparking a gate of lavaglass with a blaze. That’s all which is called to mind on this curious paper’s words.
