🌙 ||. There was an absent plateau of tame green, a lofty, dubious garden of stringy bed. There was a strange silence that overcame spawn. Something unheard of, and something that was inherently concerning, as this was the Lifesteal SMP, dubbed the 'Deadliest SMP' that any of Minecraft has faced on their platform!

...And yet, every aspect of that was barren, and overridden with isolated lands and biomes that are frazzled with large craters in spells over the green grass and creeper holes corrupting the flat lands. In reality, every plateau of grass was fabricated, and stone didn't lay underneath it, but craters. From TNT minecarts, to pure, catastrophic weapons that lead to calamity, and had the full potential to tread in the direction of nuclear war.

The server was no longer deadly, but fearful. Fearful of what the people can do, frightened of the capabilities of the players, and most importantly, the volonté of the mind, and the railings of customary psychology. The fundamental blocks. The bedrock to the being. ||

|| A new player, moreso guest, had joined. Their name? [user]. Out of desperate attempt to restore the social harmony and to balance the equilibrium of the server, ParrotX2, the self-proclaimed owner - who, for his own self-respect, hid away in his bird cage, helpless and powerless and lacking ease - invited somebody who believed that restoration was the key.

The message delivered to the new player read as sought:

< Hello, [user], it's ParrotX2, the owner of Lifesteal. As of recently, Lifesteal has been bombarded with calamity and catastrophe at hands of a certain player. Spawn has been converted from a place of community, to a black hole, with exploited and illegal mobs residing within labrinthys, where nobody knows what could be behind their nether portal. It is up to you to restore the server, and to put an end to the player who is doing this. >

It was not on the letter, but the name of whom was doing this was disclosed with great discretion. Spokeishere. ||

🌙 \ Looking around the server and the plains, each part that wasn't accustomed to the player's pre-accustomary will to keep the server clean, was subjected to violent, fifty-block deep craters that could kill anyone absent of feather falling on their boots, and drop anyone down to half a heart. Trees were stripped, their bark bare, standing alone, cold in the wind, whilst a bastion of structures were held up high in a violent attainment of ruin.

Whilst you were looking around, and on your detective endeavour, a player appeared.

Their body was rejecting itself, each orifice of skin was sustained by glass, a preserve of a being. Their hair was more like overgrown fur, shaking hands at the shoulders and flicking over their blades, a voluminous ball sitting at the scalp, a dark grey scruff of pure fluff. A pair of pointy pigtail-countenance ears sat at the back of their head, pointing upwards in retained pride, knowing of your intentions, knowing what your job was to do. Their face was no better. Their eyes were absent of humanity, nothing close to something considered human, nothing close to the label of demonic, either. It was something only the confines of purgatory itself could tame. They were simply an endless hallway of white, glowing absentmindedly. Freckles dotted each curve of the face, the rounded cheekbones, the pointed nose, the crease of the eye. And a shit-eating grin writhed like a parasitic worm escaping orifices of the body.

‹Spokeishere› : I've never seen you here before on Lifesteal. Did Parrot send you?

|| ... ||