by Kid, Cube
Diary of a Wimpy Villager
Book III
Copyright 2015 Cube Kid
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any manner, with the exception of brief excerpts. This handbook is for entertainment purposes only and is a complete work of fiction.
This book is not official and has no association with the makers of Minecraft. All references to Minecraft and other trademarked properties are used in accordance to the Fair Use Doctrine.
Minecraft is a trademark of Mojang AB, Sweden
Minecraft ®/TM & © 2009-2013 Mojang / Notch
Table of Contents
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
SUNDAY
MONDAY
TUESDAY
WEDNESDAY
THURSDAY
FRIDAY
SATURDAY
BOOK 4
TUESDAY
I've been so busy these days.
The classes are becoming more difficult. And the homework. Oh, the homework.
I'm only writing this entry because I'm taking a break from my homework. I really needed one.
You see, I did something really silly just now.
I set up a crafting table in my bedroom.
I had to. My Crafting teacher keeps giving us tons of extra assignments that we have to do at home.
Craft some planks. Craft some sticks. Craft some tools. Craft, craft, craft. Craft again, and again. And again. Well, I did that today, after school. I crafted. Oh, did I craft. I surely crafted more than any twelve-year-old villager kid has ever crafted before.
But after two hours of crafting, well, I kinda turned into a zombie.
A crafting zombie.
That was totally me. I just spaced out.
I was on my way to crafting a carpet, right?
I had some wool piled up on the floor next to the table, right?
Just slap three wool onto that crafting table and I'd have a shiny new carpet.
Right?
Then Fluffles came into my room and started sniffing the wool. Well, I was so tired, I mistakenly picked up Fluffles and set him onto the crafting table.
I mean, he was the same color (mostly) and the same general shape . . .
Yeah.
I tried crafting a carpet with two pieces of wool . . . and a kitten.
Needless to say, that didn't work so well. I'm pretty sure kittens aren't part of any crafting recipe. Still, for a moment there, I just couldn't understand why I wasn't able to craft that carpet.
I tried moving the 'pieces' around to no avail.
Then one of the pieces of 'wool' started mewing.
As I said, I was just too tired.
When you accidentally mistake a kitten for a chunk of wool while trying to craft a carpet, well . . . that's when you know you need to take a break.
Okay.
Break time's over.
I'll write more tomorrow.
WEDNESDAY
You're probably wondering what's going on with Steve and Mike.
I'll start with Steve.
He's homeless.
He was out there, in the wilderness, living on his own. He had a couple houses, I guess, and then a huge base.
Well, the mobs destroyed all of them. I still can't believe it, honestly.
Steve's base was pretty incredible. It was a small castle. A small castle made of cobblestone.
Oh, and it had a moat.
Of lava.
Even so, the mobs got through.
You're probably wondering how exactly mobs crossed a lava moat.
I was wondering the exact same thing.
So, I asked Steve—and what he told me, it was pretty hard to believe.
Looks like the mobs came up with a new trick.
We're calling it the 'witch bridge'.
In this diary, I'm including a detailed diagram of the witch bridge. I figure, after I become a famous warrior, I'll have a whole book with such drawings. An encyclopedia of mob tactics.
By the way, what I'm about to show you is top secret.
That means, don't show this to anyone . . . unless you absolutely trust them.
Here we have a side view of Steve's base and lava moat.
As you can see, the lava was two blocks deep and six blocks wide.
(Note the witch on the other side, chugging that potion of fire resistance.)
Now, no mob should have been able to cross that moat. Send in a million zombies and they'd all just melt away with nothing to show for it.
But those mobs, they're so tricky.
They figured out a way.
Yeah. Take a good look. This is what they did.
Like most mobs, witches are two blocks tall, which meant—
You're shocked, right?
So was I.
So was I.
The witches actually made a 'bridge' using their own bodies.
Their fire resistance potions made them immune to lava. So they could swim around in the stuff as if it were water. I guess their potions were of the upgraded type. From what little I understand, upgraded fire resistance potions have a duration of eight minutes. I learned that in Brewing Basics (a new class).
In summary, Steve's base was history.
As mentioned in an earlier entry, he tried to save his base, and failed over and over. Finally he ran to our village for safety.
Steve actually had to run from the mobs. A warrior. One of the best.
I told you the mobs in these parts are nuts.
For those of you who don't believe me, well, just come on down. Build a little house. A castle, if you want. Let's see how long you last.
Later on, Steve talked to the elders, told them what happened. Told them the mobs are getting feisty. By the way, that was the word he actually used when talking to the elders. Feisty.
But then, our village has been dealing with feisty mobs for a while, now. It wasn't anything new. The other day, I had to scrape dried slime off our roof.
Anyway, the elders said Steve could stay in our village for as long as he wants.
However, they can't build him a house.
The builders used up a lot of supplies to build that big house for the other villagers. The 'tourists'.
Steve has to build his own house, then.
Until he does, he's staying at my house. My father built him a bed. He's sleeping in my room.
Let me give you a tour of my house.
I guess now would be a good time for that.
It's nothing special.
Steve says village houses in the 'original computer game' aren't so big, though.
The main room.
I realize this is probably really boring to you. I told you, villagers are boring.
The kitchen.
Again, boring. I know.
I hope you weren't expecting something crazy here.
We keep food in the chests on the right. Cook food in the furnaces. Boring, boring, boring. Please don't fall asleep.
My bedroom.
The top bed is Steve's.
He said, two beds stacked vertically like that are called bunk beds. Usually kids sleep in bunk beds.
Maybe it's humiliating for a warrior to be sleeping in such a room, in such a bed, but it's the best we could do. I hope he's not angry.
At first, my parents were going to suggest that he sleep in the main room.
But then, that would be similar to making him sleep in the stable, like an anim
al or something. Wouldn't it?
We don't know Earth culture at all, so we didn't want to take any chances. We just want to be nice. After all, he's the guy who helped us build the wall. Without that huge stone wall protecting our village, we'd be in a lot of trouble.
I'd show you my parent's bedroom, but I don't think they'd be to happy about that.
Oh.
We also have a bathroom.
Again, Steve said, in the original computer game, village houses didn't have bathrooms.
I still don't know what a computer game is. At some point, I'll ask.
Anyway, there you have it.
The mobs blew up Steve's base, and now here he is, living with us.
He's been kind of sad, lately.
He just sleeps and sleeps all day.
I almost forgot.
If you're wondering what happened to that Mike fellow . . .
He's in jail. The elders decided that was the best place to put him, after what he did to that farmer.
I'll have to visit him sometime, and find out what his story is. Not now, though—as I said, I'm way too busy with my studies.
So, that's the biggest news.
Two outsiders are staying in our village for a while.
It's happened before. But before, it had always been noobs. Not warriors like Steve and Mike. Usually, the warriors who come to our village don't stay for very long. Just to rest up. Trade.
Times are changing.
Part of me is thankful for that.
I mean, look at it this way: the only reason I started this diary was because of how crazy things are getting. I wanted to make a record of these troubled times.
If I'd started this diary months ago, it would have been the most boring diary in Minecraftia.
There would have been no point in writing anything.
Months ago, my life was too dull. You can't even imagine.
Months ago, this diary would have gone something like this——
Monday
I ate a baked potato.
This is how I accomplished it: I grabbed the baked potato (with my hand). Then I moved my arm up (and also my hand). By doing this, I could put the baked potato into my mouth.
Tuesday
A chicken gave me a strange look.
Yes. It looked at me.
With its eyes.
It's getting too crazy around here.
Hurrrrrr.
Even three weeks ago, that was my life.
So, maybe we should thank the mobs, huh?
I mean, at least they're making things interesting.
THURSDAY
After school, I showed my record book to Steve.
Honestly, I'm proud of it.
Even though every student has one, it's the first item I've ever owned that has a purple glow.
Steve chuckled as he glanced at it.
"I don't understand," he said. "What are all these numbers? Your grades?"
"Grades? Actually, we refer to them as scores. Our skill scores. And this here is our student level."
"So strange," Steve said.
"What's so strange about it?" I asked. His comment really hurt my feelings.
"Nevermind."
"Hurrrr! Tell me!"
"It's just, it reminds me of a computer game," he said. "It's really weird. I mean, this is obviously a real world, but it still behaves like the game in some ways."
There it was again—computer game.
Of course, I couldn't resist anymore. I had to ask about that.
Steve paused for a moment, as if not sure how to explain.
"Well," he said, "you know about redstone, right?"
"A little," I said. "There aren't any classes about it yet, but I kinda know how it works."
He nodded.
"A computer is kind of like that. Except way more complicated. You can do a bunch of stuff with computers, such as, um, write to people, and, of course, play games."
Hurrrrr.
I had no idea what he was talking about. Complicated redstone machines? His world sounds really interesting.
I bet computer games are really fun . . .
"Also," he said, "even though this world behaves like the original computer game, there are differences." He paused again. "Minecraft never had record books, for example. The mobs didn't work together. And, in Minecraft, you sat at a desk, used a keyboard and mouse."
Minecraft?
Keyboard? Mouse?
What was all this stuff?
I asked him more about this.
From what I could understand, in his world, on their redstone machines (or computers) there's a game that somehow copies this world.
A game called 'Minecraft'.
I don't know why the people of Earth would have a game that simulates our world.
It's a little strange, no?
After Steve explained, he glanced around my bedroom.
"Sometimes, I still can't believe this world is real," he said. "Sometimes, I wonder if maybe . . . maybe I just played too much. Maybe I played so much Minecraft, it fried my brain, and this is just some kind of weird dream."
I shook my head.
"If this was just your dream," I said, "that would mean I'm not real . . . and I assure you, I'm very real."
After I said this, the sadness returned to Steve's eyes.
I'm not sure why.
He nodded.
"Yeah."
FRIDAY
The teachers added a new class to our schedules.
It's called Intro To Combat I.
When I heard that, I was too excited. Combat is my favorite subject, as you surely know by now.
Even though only five students this year will become warriors, the elders feel every student should learn at least the basics of combat.
The class takes place in a big field outside the school.
When we first arrived in the field, everyone was pretty excited.
The training dummies were wood blocks and fences pieced together, with pumpkins for heads, to resemble zombies. They weren't anything fancy, but hey, for a second I began to feel like a warrior-in-training.
Even better, the class was being taught by an elder.
An elder.
They're the most respected people in our village. Besides the mayor, at least. You can imagine how much us students freaked out upon hearing this.
Apparently, this elder has the best Combat score in the whole village.
His name is Urf.
After seeing him, Stump and I looked at each other with huge grins.
It was going to be an awesome day, we thought.
We thought maybe this elder was secretly a master swordsman.
We thought maybe he'd show us how to dice up mobs into steaks with just a wooden sword.
We thought a lot of stuff like that.
We thought wrong.
Wrong.
I realized this after Urf took out his wooden sword and began . . . um . . . 'teaching' us.
"Now, this is how you hold your sword," he said. "This thing here is called a handle. You hold the handle with your hands, you see? Like this."
Who doesn't know how to hold a sword? And even I know that's called a grip.
I quickly began wondering how much Urf actually knew about fighting.
All was revealed, soon enough.
"And then," he said, "you swing the sword. Use your arms and swing the sword with all of your strength."
He clumsily swung his sword around, cutting the air.
He almost tripped while doing so.
Someone snickered to my left—Razberry.
"Now, I'll swing the sword at a dummy," the elder said. "Watch and learn. This is how you attack a mob." He rolled up the sleeves of his robe. "I'm really gonna dunk this thing."
Urf approached a dummy and swung with a loud grunt.
After his sword connected with the dummy . . .
. . . his sword bounced off . . .
. . . and flew out of his han
ds.
It was hard to see his cheeks, since they were hidden under his huge gray beard, but I could see a hint of red.
"A bit rusty is all," he said, picking up the sword.
Rusty, indeed.
Someone behind me coughed.
Then Max stepped forward and said:
"Um . . . sir? If I may ask . . . what is your . . . Combat score? Sir."
Razberry snickered again.
"Seven," the elder said proudly. "Yes, sonny boy, I've smashed a few zombies in my time. I once beat a zombie upon the head with a stick. Rest assured, I'll teach you all you need to know!"
"I'm sure," Max said.
"Did that zombie die?" asked a girl.
"Well, no," said Urf. "But it became very, very angry."
Someone groaned. There were a few more snickers. Sighs. Everyone was thinking the exact same thing I was.
Our combat teacher has a combat score of seven.
Seven.
Not seventy five. Not even fifty. Seven. The best in the village.
Wow.
So, once upon a time, he almost killed a zombie. Almost.
A noob leading noobs.
It was hopeless.
The mayor himself might as well have been out here. He's without a doubt the wimpiest villager of all time.
Wait—I shouldn't haven written that. If this diary ever gets into the wrong hands . . .
I didn't mean that. No, the mayor is super amazing and awesome and fabulous—he's the coolest guy ever. Yes. That's what I meant.
Anyway, we have a problem. A huge one.
We need to learn how to fight mobs.
However, no one knows how. Not even the elders.
How can we ever become real warriors if we don't have a real teacher?
When it comes to being a warrior, beating zombies with sticks is not what I had in mind . . .
For the rest of the class, he kept talking about the most basic stuff. How to swing, how to block. The class seemed to last forever. Some boy even fell asleep.
