I am traveling across the world of Minecraft, not sure what I will find. I’m finding this world is far more populated than I expected, which brings me solace, but the horrors are multiplying, which brings me sadness.
This is my journey. My only goal is to tell a good story.
To build an altar, I’d need stone. Before I went on an adventure, though, I dropped all my valuables in the chest for safe keeping.
I ventured to the east, leaving a trail of torches as I went. I needed to find a cave, and once there, I needed to find my way back again.
I found a gaping hole in the ground, my best shot yet at cave diving. I went in cautiously, lighting torches as I went. I killed a skeleton archer; other than that, the cave was clear. I went about mining, breaking several pick-axes in the process.
Once I had enough stone and coal I went home. Mined stone is broken, called cobblestone. I needed to refine it back to its natural state. That meant fire. I built a second furnace and slowly refined the stone. As I did so, I began construction on the altar.
First the base. Nothing fancy, but to build something as high as I had in mind, I needed a solid foundation.
Then I built the Cross of Salvation, 14 meters tall. I put torches on the top and sides so that it serves as a beacon for the wayward traveler.
Who knew that wayward traveler would be me?
As night fell on the 14th day, I tidied up the home, laying fresh carpet, fitting the walls with nice smooth stone, rearranging the furniture. I planned on leaving in the morning, and before I depart, I always trash my useless, extra, or unnecessary items.
While in the cave, I scooped up a bucket of lava. Throwing my trash in a lava pool is my favorite way to dispose of it. Unfortunately, this lava pool would be my downfall.
The soil around the hole was slippery, and before I knew it I slipped inside. The hole was too deep for me to climb out of before I was consumed by fire.
Half of my possessions, gone. My weapons, Shiner, my diamond encrusted sword, my tools, my stone, my torches, my bread, my sand, my iron, my armor. Everything was gone.
I respawned: I have died twice now in less than 2 weeks. Because I’d moved my bed around to make things look nice, I respawned back in the fields. It was raining, and visibility was low. These fields, which three nights ago were devoid of monsters, now brimmed with the undead. It seems the rain makes them grow.
So I ran. I had no weapons, no time to craft anything. Spiders chased me, and I was getting beaten.
Then I saw the Cross of Salvation in the distance, the altar I’d created for lost souls. What a blessing! I ran as fast as I could.
Above the entrance, the welcoming signs I’d left for an intended other:
I checked my chest: inside was some food and some riches. Not everything I’d need, but it was better than nothing. The iron armor and tools that I had laboriously crafted over the last two days would be a big help right now.
Before I went to bed, I looked at the message I’d left on the wall:
It seems God likes to play jokes on me. Here I thought I was creating this altar as a testament to His blessing, and as a service to anybody else who might be lost.
The altar is a testament, but how foolish of me to think that I was found.