Third Person
Screams echoed in the city, running players and villagers alike.
Terror was the only thing present as the Listeners and Watchers destroyed the lives of thousands. The Observers forces lay dead in the streets, the few remaining alive either being cowards or half-dead.
The brother of a Watcher and an Observer ran through the streets, tears poring down his face. One brother had been brainwashed to become a Watcher. The other went to become an Observer to free him.
He had been to young. The white-haired teenager ran faster, trying to make it to the hidden entrance portal. He had found it as a child, when exploring with the two elder brothers.
Suddenly, realization hit him. The only way to fight back, to make it to the portal, is to put on the mask.
The cursed mask. Curse of Binding, the family heirloom had been passed on. It changed to the prefaces of the wearer, and granted them power. But only if they had the family blood.
He swiftly turned the corner, running to the house. He had been at school when the attack happened, and he was conveniently near the house.
He parkoured over a wall, booking it to the house. He bust through the door, and made his way to the attic door. Desperately opening it, he climbed up the library.
And there it stood. A blank mask. Worn by his ancestors in times of anarchy, or terror. Worn by the infamous Dream (Who watches Dream? Have you seen fanart of his character, with the mask? That's what I'm going for.), the most powerful admin in history.
He yanked it on. He tensed for a change. All that changed was the mask, and he glanced at the mirror. And gasped.
A CHICKEN mask of all things?! The weakest mob of all?! His clothing had also been changed. He was now wearing leather armor on top of white clothing. A sigh released from him, and he wondered what his power could be.
Being extremely annoying, maybe. He waved the air in frustration, and the mirror crashed to the ground, shattering on impact. Staring at it in shock, he took a step back.
Telekinesis? How does that correspond with chickens? He began heading outside, and teleported. He cursed, stumbling on the cobblestone outside of the house.
He steadied himself and decided he would face the Watchers and Listeners. But he needed help. He began searching for Observer survivors. He found none, but he did get attacked by a Watcher.
He made them crash through a window, and they hit a desk, killing them instantly.
A shaky breath rattled in his lungs. I just killed. Oh my nether gods I just killed someone. He took a moment to calm down, and he decided to confront the general leading the forces.
If he took out the general, the forces would fall apart for long enough for the survivors to escape.
Even if he died in the process. Players would still make it out. He teleported to the main hall, feeling a bit tired. This thing is going to have a limit, isn't it? Just my luck.
He spotted the general directing forces, and placed his hand on his dagger. He could slide it into the slit of the armor, and hopefully kill the general.
He teleported behind the general, and just before the men watching her sign language could warn her, stabbed the Watcher in her heart. She gasped, but managed to backlash with her sword, stabbing him in the gut.
She collapsed, and he stumbled backwards, gasping. He yanked the sword out, and teleported to infront of the portal. He dragged himself into the lit portal, and closed his eyes.
Maybe he would spawn in a new world.
Maybe he would die.
Hopefully he would see one of his brothers again.
Emptiness.
Silence.
Peacefulness.
The young player opened his eyes. He was floating in a odd void, his mask still on.
"yOUr nAmE sHAlL bE pOulTrYmAN."
"What?! My name isn't Poultryman!"
Nothing.
"Hello?! Let me go! Please!!"
CRACK
A scream released from his lungs as he shot up from the grass he was laying on.
He sat there, hyperventilating. His clothing was still soaked with blood, and blood still dripped from his mouth.
Three minutes later, he calmed down, and looked around. An island, it had a oldish entrance portal on it. It wasn't his.
He had spawned in a server. The players had probably seen his spawn message, and were probably heading to the spawn island to find him now.
A buzz sounded, and he spotted an communicator. He scooped it up, and opened it.
Poultryman joined the game
Xisuma: wth?
Stressmonster101: ?
Grian: should we go to the spawn island?
His eyes widened and he snapped it close. Grian. His Observer brother. How long had he been asleep for?
And he didn't want them to find him. He swiftly stood, and winced at a jolt of pain from his waist. He undid the top armor, and let it drop to the ground in its blood-soaked and torn glory.
Xe-No. Poultryman. Pulled up his not-so-white-anymore shirt, and stared. It was a serious scar. He was still having issues from it. He let the shirt drop and he glanced at the armor piece.
He would leave it, he decided as he undid the rest of his armor but kept his boots and helmet. Quickly, he dropped a tree and created a boat.
Hopefully the players didn't have elytra yet. He dragged the boat to the water, not wanting to use his powers for fear of over-exhaustion, and pushed it in. Hopping in, he made his way to the next closest island and picked the boat up.
He hid in a tree as multiple players flew past the island, heading to the spawn island.
They would find his armor, but they wouldn't find him until he wanted them to find him. His brother wouldn't find him until he showed himself.
Yeet ourselves over to the Hermits in Third Person.
Wels landed on the island, looking around. His eyes immediately spotted the leather armor scattered in the grass, next to a blood-stained patch of grass.
He headed over as the rest of the Hermits that decided to come landed. He picked the chest plate up.
It was a small size, clearly made for someone either a woman, naturally thin-ribbed, or about Grian's size but a bit larger. It had been torn on both front and back, thanks to a sword going through the waist of the wearer. It was also soaked in blood.
But the question was, how could the wearer take it off and run? There was also a dropped tree. How did they drop it? A hand dropped on his shoulder, and he glanced at Xisuma who was looking at the armor.
"Should we do a sweep of the area, do you think?" Wels sighed.
"Whoever wore this armor is clearly in bad condition, or has a regen on them. They will show themselves eventually, let them stay. If they start doing screwed up stuff? Ban 'em. If they just goof around and troll a bit until they get used to us? Let them stay."
Xisuma nodded, and stated "I'll take your word for it."
Grian stepped forward and looked at the armor.
"This is Evo style armor. Only people who came from the server knows how to make this style. Whoever it is, is either a survivor or a Watcher or Listener. Stay attentive everyone."
There was a silence, and then the hermits one by one scattered to the winds.
This 'Poultryman' was a curious player, and most hoped they weren't too aggressive.
Probably will continue this.
I wrote this today, to make up for not updating lately.
Thanks for reading!
Bye costumers!
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