"You all seem… distant. You're following simple rules, acting on base instinct. Build, create, do something… new."

The villager hummed and stared blankly. It seemed disinterested, like Steve just mentioned the weather or made some other meaningless comment. Then, as they all do, it walked in the general direction of not here, showing no capacity for sentient thought.

Irritated, Steve moved on, hoping some casual mining would introduce some variety to his life. He walked to the village perimeter, and opened the door. Looking up, he admired the glass dome he had built around the village. Twenty five stacks of glass in total. Beat that, Villager, he thought to himself.

He hopped in his minecart and flicked a lever. His rail system began him on the short journey home. Looking around, he took a moment to admire the environment. The skull carved into the mountain caught his eye.

He grabbed his mining kit. Potions, tools, the water bucket. "I swear I'm missing somet- oh, here it is." He grabbed a stack of wood and headed off to his mine.

Nothing about the mining trip was out of the ordinary. Twelve diamonds were a decent yield for a one hour mine, and the monster count was fairly manageable.

That is… until he found the book. It was tossed in some chest sitting in a cave. There were no mineshafts or spawners nearby. Actually, the chest seemed to be crafted out of dark oak. He hadn't seen anything like it.

He had skimmed it, seeing references to events long past. Every time he opened to a new page he saw something new – odd black lakes, shulker eggs and something called 'The Great Cure.'

He figured he would read it from the beginning. Jumping around seemed to raise nothing but questions. Perhaps if he read the book as it was intended, he'd stumble on some context.

Recovered from the Great Library

A Madman's Game

Why am I here, you ask? What could bring a simple blacksmith to a place of such evil? Let me tell you why I traded my hammer for a sword, my sanity for passion.

Do you remember your mother? She died when you were young. She carried her sword unto battle like I am today, and war took her life. War takes so many lives.

She lost her mother before her. Her father as well. As far as anyone can remember, we've been at war. This can't go on.

This is a madman's game, but I intend to play it. The twisted villagers that inhabit this place are the pawns. A floor of dark oak is the board. Fate, I suppose, is the dice.

If I can find the blackness that fuels their emerald eyes, maybe I can turn this war. Maybe you won't have to take up the sword.

Recovered from the Great Library

Title unknown

This may surprise you, child, but once we used the mind and not the sword. We mined our stone from the quarries by the lake, reaped the forest of its crops.

You see us as the architects of war. You see us craft our stone and wood into swords. This was never our intention.

The world has changed, and with it, we must as well. Remember us, child. Remember what we built. Remember what we started.

Tonight, I drink the poison from the lake. Tomorrow, I will not start. I only end. I give my mind, my freedom, and my tools to the End.

Remember my face, child, while it's still of flesh. When the lake takes me, it will be black. I will be an Enderman. Let me save our people before they need to cast you into the lake. Let me be the last to drink your father's poison

Recovered from the Great Library

The Price of Business

I know this note is in vain. If my people ever find it, they won't read it. It will be just another object, some useless piece of paper.

And yet, I feel the need to write this. At the very least, if this note is used as fuel to cook a meal, let the meal know my story.

The loremaster told us to stay away. He drove that thought into our minds. He scared us, and rightly so.

What sane person would approach those with the emerald eyes? Well, sanity is something we can no longer afford.

The Plague is consuming my people. They become… something else. They attack, seek us out – our golems can't fend them off.

I stand before the ones with the emerald eyes. Their alchemy can cure us, but magic always has its cost.

If I drink their potion, the Plague will have no effect on me. However, my mind will never be the same. The potion cures by body, but my creativity is lost forever.

Today, I bought a poison, but I saved us from a Plague. My people will survive, but at great cost.

Recovered from the Western Stronghold

A Worker's Note

I've never disobeyed my queen. We can't survive without her rule. Still, this feels… dangerous.

I've seen what the green liquid does to our young. They can put up a fight, but something seems strange about them. It's like their thoughts are jumbled.

Many can't speak at all. Others make no sense. I worry our queen has poisoned the eggs, but I continue. I work hard to keep the shulker eggs warm, and the younglings fed.

My queen says we need strong soldiers for the war. I wouldn't want to disobey and be crushed by her wings. My shell still feels icky when I put the liquid into their mouths.

Recovered from the Great Library

New ideas

Yesterday, the butcher asked why we always build the same house. I laughed at the idea. Why would we try something new?

He always has these crazy ideas. We always tell him the same thing. Swords work fine with two diamonds, why add three? Why make a house out of stone instead of wood?

I've never seen anything like it. I mean, I've been to quite a few villages in my day. I've talked to hundreds of other villagers in that time. He's just… different.

I suppose I'm overthinking things. He's not causing any trouble, and no one will go along with his crazy ideas anyway. We don't change anything around here. It's nice. I like it when things are predictable.

We tried doing things differently during the war. Look where that got us. One day he'll learn to trust the way we do things. The way we always do thing.