I created a narrative from the sandbox PC game Minecraft.
The Great Library of Goodhearth, the 3rd Moon of autumn, 1312
It has been near a fortnight since the night terrors have destroyed the Snow Golem watching over the fields. I journey today to New Piedmont to ask of the wizard new materials to build another. I’ve made blank books to trade, for there’s no one in any settlement that binds as fine a book as can be found in our library. The townspeople bid me not to go; they say that the Iron Golem that patrols the town is protection enough, and that the overland journey is too long. When I put forth that I might use the portals, there was a great murmur of shock and mistrust amongst them. Truthfully, we have thought of destroying our portal, as there have been whispers from other settlements of creatures from the Nether crossing into our world, which hath horrors enough for anyone. I argued that I had seen no creatures in the Nether for nigh on a moon, and in the end they saw I had the right of it. We needed another Golem to protect the fields, and with the portals I could complete a full day’s journey in under an hour.
Our portal was built in a large, empty house near the end of our southernmost street, directly across from the church. Some have worried their close quarters might constitute sacrilege; still others feel it might help ward the demons away. As I prepared to make my crossing today I prayed for the latter. The portal house has a high ceiling and an empty floor, and although our meager township is placed amidst the wilderness I know of no place more lonely or ominous for miles around. Gods would be my only company now, and it would be better if they looked kindly on me.
After a quick trek through the hot, rocky landscape of the Nether I emerged at last in New Piedmont. The town has a way of seeming both smaller and much larger than Goodhearth, and as soon as I was there I was anxious to be home again. First, however, I had to make my way to the Custom House, a large building filled with ledgers and chests of goods from the half-dozen settlements that must travel here to trade for necessities. The old Custom Officer who lodges there is cantankerous, but his dog has a sweet disposition, a brother to one of my own hounds at home. He was slow in finding the materials I need, and for a brief minute I feared that he would make me to climb the mountain and ask the wizard himself for the Golem. The fear proved unfounded, and in a few minutes I traded my goods and was sent on my way. As I made my way back to the portal I wondered at the fact that I only ever traveled here to trade; need we be shackled to New Piedmont’s high prices? I recalled then the words of a man from the Desert Forge I met here once: “Cold custom is the only kind you’ll ever get from New Piedmont!”