Come ye who wish to supp on my word, for I spin a tale of comradery and betrayl. It comes as a warnin’ for all who believe in comedy, for some are not as freespirited as ye.

There once was a man, a simple man. He yearned for nothing but the peace and solitud of nature. He ventured over mountains and valleys, oceans and rivers, hills and grasslands until he found a place to lie his head. However, he was not alone. He traveled with a party, a brave band of heros and outcasts. The Recluse, a man who carved mountains into fortresses, spending his days mining away at the crust for resources. The Clown, a man of little worry, one who only wished to make others laugh and have fun. Yet the one of most worry, one despised by the man, was The Hobgoblin, a man of vile appearance with even worse of a being.

One day, The Clown approached the man and chortled, saying “That old bastard is no fun, we ought to liven his spirt.” The man thought to himself, he saw no gap in his logic, agreeibg with “Go on ahead, but I take no blame for this.” The Clown was overjoyed, finally he may serve his purpose! He would waddle away, manically giggling as he went.

The man went back to work, as he always did. Tending the field, fishing, feeding the livestock, and spending time with his beloved compainions. He owned two pesky strays, one of grey and one of black fur. They were peaceful and lovely, keeping the mice away ib exchange for pats and scratches behind the ear. But suddenly, no sooner was the man enjoying himself, he was intereupted as the door was flung away.

There stood The Hobgoblin, seething in anger. “DID YOU DO IT?,” He bellowed, his sickly limbs clawing at the doorway. “DID YOU KILL MY HORSE?!” The man was in shock, for he knew he had loved the horse. “No, for i have been here the whole time.” The Hobgoblin sneered, his maliscious eyes overlooking the man and his words. “I KNOW YOU DID IT, AND I WILL RECIEVE JUST PAY.” Before the man could move, The Stray of Black Fur was cut down, its blood spilling on the floor and turning the oak black. The man, once peaceful in his ways, felt true anger for the first time. He stormed past, making his way througb the woods to the Hobgoblin’s shack, a mere oak box on a hill. Axe in hand, he dismantled the house, for he was not of sound mind.

As he turned, he could overlook the valley where his house sat, it now ingulfed in flames. Beside the inferno was The Recluse, Clad in a suit of Iron and flint in hand. The Recluse in the man had been close, and this betrayel hit him deep within. Before he even could process this, he was already aproaching The Recluse’s base, a mountain of rock and steel. He went in, breaking apart the towering behemoth and burning the remains. As he stood outside the rubble, he felt only justice and regret for what had happened, feelings that both contradict yet go together all too well. He was an outlaw amongst his friends, his family. He was not just a man, he was now a Nomad, forever cursed to walk the land alone.

And so I warn all who care to listen. Wheb you make the choice: Be kind, and don’t trust anyone on a minecraft realm.

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