Way of the Crafter

Generating World

Morning had broken in the plains. Steve was alone. This strange land had no signs of other humans. He took a look around the genteel slopes where he had awoken, it was beautiful but utterly empty. He found himself with empty pockets as well. Surrounded by flowers, grass and a single tree, he put himself to work. With no tools he had to punch his way through the tree. His knuckles hurting at each strike. Although, curiously, he did not bleed. Soon, he had wood. His mind opened like a book, recipes flowing through. He could make wooden tools because he knew how to make wooden tools. This strange phenomenon kept happening as he gathered food. He found some grass seeds, some berries, and for some reason the oak tree he had just broken, now dropped apples on the ground. He gladly took them as his first meal on this new, strange world.

As he knew what to do with the wood, he imagined he had to find more usable materials. If he was going to survive there, he would have to acquire better tools. Stone was the next step. By quickly throwing together a couple of sticks and planks, he got himself a pickaxe. It was not the fastest digger, but soon enough, Steve had plenty of cobblestone. Just as before, the moment the rock touched his fingers, his mind was flooded by thoughts of furnaces, walls, and most importantly, stone tools. But at this point, the sun was almost gone. Light got dim, sounds got... creepy. No birds, no bugs, not even a single cricket could be heard. But there were other sounds, other creatures. Strange shadows lurked in the new darkness of the night. The rising moon provided very little light. Steve felt unsafe. Rather than dealing with the things around him, he decided to retreat into his cave. In his digging, he found coal. With a flick of his fingers, a torch was crafted. Orange light was cast onto the stony walls. From a gallery just behind the back wall of the cave, noises were coming. Sounds that should not be naturally encountered, rattling bones, hissing, wet tapping on the ceiling. He was not alone.

Steve spent the whole night avoiding the back wall and digging on the sides, gathering resources until he ran out of food. Other than a couple of berries, he had nothing but seeds. He knew how to make a hoe to properly plant and tend to the crops, but he needed water. A lot of time had passed already, so Steve thought of checking for sunlight. Breaking the dirt that covered the entrance to his cave, he found the clear blue sky waiting for him. The sun was high in the sky meaning he had a couple of hours of work ahead of him. His wood reserves were getting low, so he gathered that first. He ventured to the edge of water and planted his seeds. He left a trail of torches to mark his path back to the cave but scouted for a pleasant enough place for a cabin. Or at least a tiny wooden shack where he could be safe and dry for the night. A place he could call home.

Night went by fast this time. With some help from newly sheared sheep, he built himself a rather comfortable bed. He did not even feel the hours passing. He woke up in the early hours of the morning. Lots of berry picking and lumber gathering filled his day. At sundown, he had more than enough food for the foreseeable future. The seeds turned into wheat, so his bread reserves were growing exponentially. The berries proved very easy to cultivate as well. Food was no longer a problem. What currently was a very real problem was the undead man punching the door to his mine.