The Story of Dusk Beam
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Minecraft: Dusk Beam's Journey

The Story of Dusk Beam

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My name is Dusk Beam, and I leave this copy of my journal for any who may come after.

I shall start at the beginning.

I would like to say I remember well the day I came to the Overworld, but nothing special happened. Other than being transported to another plane. There was nothing really special going on in my life. It was just another day after a string of dull days going back and set before yet more days with equally monotonous forecasts.

One thing you ought to know about me is that I am a pegasus. I lived a simple life, free of worry, concerned with petty things. Occupied with personal drama in my weather squad, or maybe the latest bit of royal gossip.

I enjoy flying in the evening, and it was on the eve of a very special night that it happened.

Whether through some conflux of magical energy, or a bizarre teleportation spell gone awry, there was a bright flash while I flew. And it was abruptly daytime. The transition was instantaneous and jolting. My only clue that anything was wrong was Celestia’s own orb.

Why was it early morning?

Now I know what a mercy the daylight meant. I shudder to imagine how my experience would have differed should I have arrived at night.

Part of the reason I write this now is to hopefully spare any others from making the mistakes I made. How was I to know what a precious commodity daylight was in the Overworld? I did not even know the name of the land to which I had been transported, let alone what my immediate future held.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

That first day I was… Innocent. The land was lush and welcoming. I landed atop a small mountain and surveyed the verdant plains, the rolling hills and mountains. Forests as green and pure as any I had ever seen sprawled out joyously under the sun. There were larger peaks in the far distance, and the glimmer of water even further.

I wandered down from my perch, my eyes aching from the brightness of it all. There were so many sights and sounds. Colorful flowers grew wild in the tall grass. The rustling leaves lulled me into a trance of inquisitiveness. I wondered if I was dreaming.

There was so much to see I almost missed the small wooden chest nestled among a modest grove of oaks. Four torches surrounded it, marking the square container. I looked around to see if it belonged to somepony. The burning markers seemed freshly lit, but also like it had been left for someone else to find.

Curiosity bid me look inside. There was a wooden axe, some carved sticks, a leather pack, and a book. The book interested me the most.

It was a battered old thing with a much abused leather cover. The tome sits beside me now, having been a stalwart guide. When I first cracked its spine I skimmed through the many diagrams and instruction lists with little idea of how important they would become.

I donned the pack, took the book and axe, but left the rest. For a few hours I just wandered aimlessly about, seeing the sights. My whims took me along the border of the great forested plains and the mountains. A wandering whimsy is a common pony trait. Quickly I found myself yawning. It had been sunset when I had left my home.

At the time I had little worry about finding my way back to Canterlot, thinking that all it would take would be a few days of long flying. There are stories of stranger things happening than an unwary passerby being caught in some magical wormhole. I thought to simply fly up and nap on some clouds.

The Overworld has many strange characteristics and aberrations about it. Not least of which is the weather’s immunity to pegasus hooves. I passed through the white fluffy cumulus like I was an earth pony. It was baffling. I have since concluded that the Overworld and the places attached to it operate by different magical law.

Puzzled but nonplussed, I contented myself with resting on top of the thick canopy an oak provided. Before I knew it, the warm sun and gentle breeze had me dozing off. It was dark when an air splitting wave of thunder shocked me awake. The rain was not far behind.

As a weather patroller I have seen many abrupt storms and freak rains. I could literally see the wall of water sweeping across the plains. It hit me like a tidal wave. Under such force I tumbled down to the ground. I clung to the trunk of the oak for dear life and limb.

The torrential downpour cascaded all around me. Visibility was nearly zero. I look back on that first night with a shudder even now. It was a nightmarish introduction to the hours of darkness here. And with the knowledge I have now, it was a miracle I survived.

Out of the rain came what seemed to be another pony. I waved a leg to get their attention. A flash of lightning gave me a look that burned into my retinas. It was a zombie pony in its entire rotten splendor. The missing hunks of flesh, the slack jawed face, and single minded drive to kill and feed. For only a moment I was frozen.

The weather made it impossible for me to fly, so I just ran. Barreling through the woods I reeled from the horrors that lurched out of the rain. Skeletal arrows chased me; giant spiders skittered at my hooves, and darker things besides.

In my panicked state, my only desire was to go up. It is an instinctual reaction to go after higher ground, and it was a wise choice. I made a desperate run for the highest tree I could see in the strobe of lightning. Fear of the earth was greater than any fear of being struck by lightning.

In the grip of soul quaking fear, I burrowed into the heart of the great mother oak. I was shivering, soaked to the bone, and out of my mind with terror. I shut my eyes, curled up, and rocked foalishly.

Just as I would start to sleep something would wake me. Between the storm and the strange sounds of the creatures bellow, there was little rest to be had. When day finally broke and the storm ended an eternity later, I crawled atop my wooden guardian and slipped into oblivion.

Most of the day had passed when I awoke. I remember expecting to blink and it all just be a bad dream. For a long time I held on to the belief that all I would have to do to get home was fly far enough.

Trepidation for the night to come without shelter forced me to quit my roost to gather materials. Although it pained me to do so, I chopped down one of the smaller trees. What happened was rather strange. Not only did the trunk come apart in chunks, but once I had cut out the entire body of the tree the leaves melted away. The only thing left were some saplings and a bright, juicy apple. The contradiction of an apple growing from an oak tree was not lost on me. From a single tree, nearly everything I thought I knew was turned on its head.

There was no time to dwell as the dying light of eve beamed through the green. My load was light. It was easy to flap up to the big oak. The wood I had harvested split neatly into solid planks. My first effort was crude, little more than a nook to crawl in. But at least I would be warm and dry.

I spent two pointless days flying around, trying to find somepony, anypony, any sign of civilization. There were animals, but they did not speak. Their blank eyes crushed my brief hope and they became only so much background noise. Every night the mobs came out, only to disappear with the rising sun.

Afterwards, I did the most sensible thing since coming to the Overworld: I opened the book I had found.

It was a bestiary, geological profile, instruction manual, magical grimoire, and recipe book. The pages contained everything I would ever need to know. The more I read, the more I craved. I devoured the text, the diagrams, everything. I hardly slept at all that night, the insides of the untitled book illuminated under the full moon as the night crawled around the base of my tree. Sharper than any blade, more resilient than any diamond shield, is the gift of knowledge. Armed with it, there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome, no foe that cannot be beaten.

Everything about the Overworld is conductive to hooves with a purpose. Everything from dirt to stone can be shaped or altered. In just a day I had a spacious tree house with a slanted roof to keep out the rain. Being off the ground was the best defense I had found and it let me sleep peacefully, if not comfortably.

From there I set to work gathering what I would need to make my life easier and prepared for a long journey home. Some better tools were in order. I collected some stone from a nearby hill and set to work at the crafting table I had built out of the book. They were baby steps, but necessary ones.

At least food and fresh water were not a major concern. Wild flowers along with rich, savory grass was plentiful. I found wheat seeds among the taller grasses and sowed them around my tree. There was also a small lake just a few flaps away. It was crisp, blue, and crystal clear enough to see all the way to the bottom.

This world is rich in natural resources. Wealth beyond imagining lies just beneath the surface and above it too. The entry on iron ore said that it was found below sea level, and that it was prolific. I recall my distrust of caves with mirth. Pegasi naturally avoid enclosed spaces, but my paranoia was a little excessive. I did not venture even a dozen feet into the mouth of the cavern by my lake.

I got lucky, finding a generous vein of iron and coal. I was so excited over it. Like a foal over a bag of candy.

The stone furnace smelts, cooks, and more. Metalworking is not my special talent, but it could not have been easier to forge solid bars of iron. A trip to the crafting table and a set of shears later, I was out hunting sheep. The bleating balls of wool were easy to find.

That night, I slept in a real bed, with a real stuffed mattress and real warm sheets. After several half-sleeps on hard wood, it felt like a slice of heaven. After that I started making more permanent accommodations. They were my next real strides into a new world.

With new tools and book in hoof, I expanded my tree house and made a small farm, cultivating more than just a few patches of wheat.

Now, suffice it to say I could transcribe many tomes on the enraging destruction that creepers wreak on any and every construction effort. Suffice it to say that while digging a trough for water to flow from my lake to my crops I stayed out a little too late. There are few scourges of the Over world that I have cursed more than those green furred, hissing, sulfur ridden abominations. I have had many opportunities for revenge however.

Ahem.

I have written about the natural bounty, but not the miraculous properties of the soil. With a dash of bone meal (a little scorched, thank Celestia) trees and plants of all variety grow with all the monumental forces of life nearly instantly.

Hot bread, a warm bed, a safe house, clear open sky. What more could a pony ask for?

Innocence. Naivety.

I had seen the monsters, fought them a little in my caves. It all seemed part of the wild nature of the land. The rose-tinted glass would soon be shattered. As I grew more comfortable, I ranged further from my home hoping to find some sign of other ponies who were not rotten, black shapes, or bones.

Up on a mountain was a wooden cottage. At last, I thought, someone to help, to talk to! I could hardly contain myself and knocked with great enthusiasm only for it to creak inward. Dust lay across everything. The hearth was long cold and all the cabinets and chests were empty. A few torn pages from the poor soul’s own journal were all I found.

They described a familiar shock at finding themselves transported of particular interest was the fevered ramblings about ‘The End’ and how the Ender ponies were the key. Something about their eyes leading the way. I had seen the tall shadows moving with their glowing eyes, but had been too afraid to approach.

I found no trace of the house’s occupant.

When I left the cottage a thick mist had blanketed the forests. In the distance, just before the wall of mist stood a figure. A chestnut earth pony. My joy lasted until I got a good look at its face. There were no eyes, only empty sockets. It looked right at me for a few frozen seconds and turned to walk into the fog. I made no move to follow.

I have met a reaper, a ghost. His name is Stalibrine.

If I wanted to get home it would take more than flying. I had to fight.

In the book was a section I had for the most part avoided. Up until that point I had neglected the weapons and armor sections. The night was not something to be challenged. Hiding, avoiding, and running away was survival.

Deep beneath the earth were things that I needed. To get to them I have to face mobs where the sunlight could not reach. The first suit of armor I wore proudly, strutting about like a fashionista. Iron is solid, dependable, and if crafted well the weight is distributed so that it is not encumbering.

Back in Canterlot I had a friend in the royal guard. He showed me how a pegasus handles a spear, so a spear I made.

Caves in the Overworld form a never-ending network of tunnels. It is an underground labyrinth of massive proportions. Miles and miles of stone can lead you on a wild and fruitless chase. Getting lost or hopelessly turned around is a real and constant concern. Sometimes the only way out is to dig up.

There are few places full of greater perils.

Where do I begin?

Pitfalls that can break your leg are around many corners. Lava flows hot enough to scorch you alive. Strange cages that spawn endless streams of blood thirsty mobs are hidden in mossy stone rooms. Creepers become all the deadlier in those depths. Only the grace of my wings has saved me from plummeting to my death after a creeper opened a hidden chasm.

For the brave, the strong, and the lucky there is a prize that is the very pinnacle of spelunking, which makes it all worthwhile.

Diamonds.

They exist in the deepest shafts, often around lakes or flows of magma. In Equestria, gems of all manner are just beneath the surface in such abundance. Perhaps because of their scarcity, or maybe for their use and value, but there is a thrill unlike any other at catching that glisten in the stone. There is a giddy joy that overtakes you when you hold some of those sky blue jewels.

There was another material almost more difficult to obtain than diamond mostly because it required diamond to exhume. Obsidian forms in small to moderately large plots when water meets pools of lava. Only precious diamonds are strong enough to crack the volcanic glass.

I had what I thought to be a simply plan. According to the crazed ramblings that I had found in the abandoned cabin, Ender Eyes were the key. To make them, Ender Pearls and Blaze Powder. Blaze Powder came from Blaze Rods and Rods from Blazes themselves, whom were located in a place called ‘The Nether’.

All my prep work in the Overworld was to gather the materials necessary to make a Nether Portal. A short distance from my house I put up the frame and ignited the inside. With a quiet wish to Celestia that it might take me home I stepped into the shimmering purple swirls.

If there is a hell, then the Nether is a good reflection of that idea. My first sight past the portal was an ocean of fire. Well, lava to be specific, but there was plenty of lit Netherrack. The heat was oppressive, and the air reeked of sulfur. Using the portal was jarring and it took me a moment to shake the disorientation.

At first I did not venture far. The zombie pig pony… things, although disturbing are not aggressive unless provoked. The Ghasts are another matter. Their eerie howling echoes in the empty caverns and columns.

After several hours of singing my feathers I headed back through my portal to rest and resupply. The next day I returned and journeyed deep into the realm. Fortunately I brought enough obsidian for another portal. It was purely impulse and it doubtlessly saved my life.

I grew frustrated in my search and flew further and further into the land of death and the dead. Just as it seemed well and truly pointless, an anomaly to break up the monotony of endless Netherrack and lava. A large tower jutted up out of a lake of liquid stone. It was massive and connected to the nearby ‘rack by a large bridge.

Nether Fortresses are a strange thing. Who, or what built them, and why? They stand so long abandoned that their parapets of fire proof Nether Brick and walls are often crumbling. Many of their tunnels are truncated, snapped in two. The only thing left living in the halls are the occasional magma cube and zombie pig ponies.

There are certain rare treasures that can be found nowhere else. I have guesses on the fortress origins based on observation and instinct. Old ruins can be found abandoned throughout the Overworld and the Nether. Perhaps there was once a civilization that unlocked the many secrets hidden here. Or perhaps a group of outsiders like me all came together to tame and conquer and reap the riches to be had. How else can the Nether Wart plots be explained? Or the Blaze Spawners?

I found the Nether Wart first in a room with a large staircase. The book had a large section on the red fungus, it being the major preface to the section on brewing. I gathered all that I could find and some Soul Sand along with it. As with any rare, essential ingredients, always make sure you have the means to grow your own later.

Blazes are not the most dangerous creatures to lurk in these haunted places so long as you are prepared. If you have made it to a fortress, Ghasts have no doubt crossed your path. Blazes shoot similar, if smaller balls of flame. It is easy to predict and difficult to dodge because of the fiery aura that engulfs them. Be wary for they can be tricky to combat due to their ability to float. Because of that their remains often fall off into oblivion before the rods comprising their beings can be acquired.

Long ago, the pegasi tribe was a military state and the blood of my ancestors flows true in my veins. Latent skills came to the fore in my time fighting off zombies, skeletons and creepers. My spear sang through the air, striking true and slaying many Blazes. Waiting near the spawner, that strange burning cage, it was simple to kill them as they emerged. The spawners, I think, were the fortresses defense against intruders.

When my packs were heavy with spoils I went to the highest point of the fortress to get my bearings and return to my portal. It took me a little while to realize that I had no idea how to get there. This is one of the most vital lessons I have to impart. It can save your life almost more reliably than any other.

Bread Crumbs.

Torches, stone towers, lit blocks of Netherrack, use whatever you have to leave a trail to be followed. In my consternation and impatience I skipped this vital step, and was lost in the Nether. I made my best estimate and flew, but nothing looked familiar. Soon I could not even find the fortress. There is no water in the Nether and soon I had drunk all that I had brought with me. Sweating and overheating, dehydration was imminent.

Rattling my brain, I remembered the obsidian and my sinking heart leapt with hope. My hooves shook as I constructed a new frame. With flint and steel at the ready I hesitated. What if it did not work? Death in itself did not scare me. But a slow, lingering demise of thirst and heat? That thought dropped a like an iron bar in my stomach.

I held my breath as I raked the flint across the steel, sending a shower of sparks into the black and purple speckled frame. The portal ignited. I leapt through the vortex joyously.

I emerged into a cave of all things, my exit portal embedded in the wall of rock. I wasted no time digging an exit up to the surface. Never have I been so grateful to take in the warm rays of the run, or stare into the blue sky. The surface of my armor was blackened by flame and my fur stank of sulfur but I did not care. I flew up, thinking to see my mountain and my big mother oak. Of course, things are rarely that easy.

Due to the inextricable link between the Overworld and the Nether, they share certain dimensional quirks. For every step in the Nether, you have moved roughly ten steps in the surface. I figured I was far based on the unfamiliar biomes, but I did not think it could be hundreds of kilometers. That was the reality I faced.

Although at the time I did not know it, my accidental relocation would lead to one of my greatest discoveries. I made a small shelter and settled in for the night on a much smaller tree. Sailing over a sweeping expanse of grassland I followed the ocean to my right.

Along that sandy coast I found the village.

At first I thought it a trick, a cruel deception to make me feel aware of the sharp pangs of loneliness. I landed, expecting to find more empty cabins. Imagine my surprise to find a white robbed mare tending a long row of irrigated wheat. I landed in front of her and was at a loss for words. She looked stunned for only a moment.

‘Hello, Miner. It’s been a long time since one of your kind has passed through our village. Are you looking to trade?’

‘Do you know the way to Equestria?’ I blurted.

‘You are in the Overworld, Miner. There’s no Equestria around here.’ She went back to tending her crops as I digested her words. I could escape the truth no longer.

I had pushed it to the back of my mind. I had denied it, stepped around it, shunned it, and here it was smacking me in the face yet again. I was not in a distant land. No amount of flying would get me there. Hard truth is always difficult to swallow. Whatever exultation I may have felt at finding other ponies was crushed by the irrefutable.

I remember that heavy feeling. It brought me low like no mob ever has. I sat down on the edge of the raised patch and let my hooves dangle off the side. My helmet was hot so I pushed it off and splashed water over my head from the ditch.

Mane dripping, I sat under the sun, letting its warmth wrap me like a cozy blanket. A cool wind brushed through the seams of my armor. Despair sometimes just needs time to pass.

To whoever reads this now, there may be times when home seems unreachable. You may doubt or feel like it would just be easier to give up. A bottomless pit may drag you down and down, sinking you into an oily desolation.

It will pass.

Have faith in yourself. Believe that you can triumph.

A comforting hoof on my shoulder broke my melancholy trance.

‘What troubles you, Miner? Normally your kind are rather more… manic.’

‘I just want to get home.’

‘You need to get to the End. Just follow the Ender Eyes. I will tell you more if you join me in the library. It’s getting dark.’ I nodded and followed her.

That night I did not sleep. I learned much from the mare and her books. All of her fellows were earth ponies oddly enough. None had names, only occupations. The unicorns were the Ender Ponies. There was nothing with wings, no pegasi. Cutie marks were as dull as the inhabitants.

In the bright energy of the morn, we walked and talked, sharing stories, legends, and lore. She taught me about Stalibrine, and their beleif in the creator of their worlds, a being called Notch. She had no knowledge of the origins of the many ruins though she shared many of my speculations. The fables were many, but the practical history was almost nonexistent.

We trod by a house near the edge of the village. The door had been torn off its hinges, lying broken inside the dwelling. Fragments of glass and shattered wood crunched under hoof. Old blood stained the floor boards.

‘What happened here?’ I was afraid I already knew the answer.

‘The night. The mobs are relentless. This village used to be bigger, and we had a golem for protection but it fell defending us. Our doors don’t always hold back the night demons.’ The mare stepped carefully around me and looked around, remembering the former inhabitants.

After my narrow escape from the Nether, I was lost in body and in spirit. Seeing these ponies, a new purpose burgeoned within me.

‘Why don’t you build a wall? Or another golem?’

‘We have not the skill to manipulate stone like you and your kind, Miner.’

‘What if I did it for you?’ For the first time, I saw the glint of hope in the librarian’s smile. Before the moon had next risen, there was a two meter high wall surrounding the village. A barrier was only the beginning. I had ambitious undertakings planned beyond such a simple construction.

For the first time I was building with a purpose. Once one idea sprung to mind, other, bigger plans sprouted from the trunk of insight. My tree of thought sprouted, bloomed and flourished. It would take a lot of material of all types. Forested mountains lay within easy reach. I started up a sizable shaft and sunk it deep.

Fortifying was my first task. I extended and heightened the wall to enclose the farmland as well as the houses. Next was repairing the dwellings and plots of wheat. The well needed work too. After that I started on my own dwelling. It was the most fun creating since I had arrived.

The foundation was simple, situated in my own walled off plot and ended up growing vertically. After all my experiences I was more comfortable with my workrooms far off the ground. Various extensions climbing like branches sprouted from the main body as they occurred to me to add them. I had a forge, a modest library of my own with Glowstone lamps and even an enchanting table. An alchemy lab with several plots of Soul Sand ripe with cultivated Nether Wart was next. The roof was my garden. A clipping from my great mother oak had slipped in under what few spare diamonds I had packed away from my old house.

Along with the sapling, other crops were sown into the rich loam I transplanted. Melon, pumpkins, sugar cane, and my own patch of golden wheat. Even potatoes and carrots eventually. At first they were rather stingy, but eventually the villagers became more generous with what they were willing to trade and diverse foods populated my table.

Weeks passed and I settled into my new role. Trade flowed into the village and as my personal riches grew, so did my citadel. My library grew taller and wider, two dozen meters tall and wall to wall with books. The sapling grew into a fine offspring of its mother, huge and vibrant green. I spent many days relaxing and unwinding after a hard day in my mine.

Ugh, my days of learning archery. That certainly was interesting. I think the string slapped me in the face at least a hundred times before I figured out how to draw with my hooves. As the town grew in prosperity, it attracted ponies from other, distant villages. With more bodies, I was able to form a trained militia and forged many sets of armor and swords, plentiful bows and arrows.

One day however, a group of ragged refugees came to the gates. They spoke of an army of mobs led by Stalibrine only a few days away. I had been working on the skills of the militia with sword, spear, and bow, but they were not enough to take on an army. Not without some serious upgrades.

Somehow, in three days I accomplished one of my boldest construction efforts. On the fourth night they arrived. Moaning and howling in their hundreds. Stalibrine could be seen on a hill as the mobs marched in cohesion. Although he never moved, it was obvious a greater will directed the undead and other creatures. Fortunately, there were no Ender Ponies among the ranks.

I would not sit idly by and watch. My place was on the walls in shimmering diamond plate and spear at the ready. They would not harm my protectorate while I lived. I spoke to the ponies who stood beside me on the walls that night.

‘Steady! Every night before this we have survived, and this night shall be no different. These are enemies you have fought all your life, and beaten back a hundred times before. But we will survive. We will win!’

I flourished my spear. The weapon was forged of the finest diamonds and touched by the most powerful enchantments my magic books had to offer. The shaft was night unbreakable and the blade was sharp enough to cleave through iron like butter. More than anything, contained within was the primal power that banished all fear of the dark wild: Fire.

An arc of flame followed the passage of my spear and a hearty cheer rose up from the battlements.

And the battle was joined.

Explosions tore through the ranks of the enemy’s vanguard as they tripped pressure plates attached to TNT seeded before the walls. Next their front ranks were scythed down by volleys of arrows. And still the horde drove on. Before they could reach the walls there was one more line of defense. Every last scrap of iron we could spare was put into golems.

The animated guardians stood like rocks in a raging sea of doom. Their arms rose and fell continuously, throwing their broken foes like ragdolls. Arrows flitted freely between both sides. Several ponies along the walls stumbled, clutching shafts sprouting from their bodies. I could see no nearby healers so I threw one of my few splash potions. The glass shattered scattering its precious magic so they could take up their weapons again.

When the line of golems bowed inward, I sallied forth, my spear lopping off heads and setting swathes of mobs aflame. When my wings tired I flew back to lend an extra bow to the walls. One by one though, the golems fell, dragged down or blown apart by creepers. The tide crashed directly against the walls. Although I had hoped not to have to use it, there was a last resort. I pulled a lever and a glowing torrent engulfed the unnatural army.

I had used the three days to fill the inside of the outer wall with a reservoir of lava. With the flip of a switch, dozens of sticky pistons retracted to release the molten tide. A vengeful wave of purification swept the undead, arthropods, and creepers away.

The ponies around me took up a victory cry.

My eyes were drawn to the figure still standing on his hill. Stalibrine nodded to me once, ever so slightly. The sun broke the horizon behind him and blinded me. When my vision cleared, he was gone. With the light, the last mobs combusted on their own. We had held out.

Perhaps it was all a test. Or maybe just a game.

A few more weeks passed and the village has become a city. I have since located a fortress, plundered its lost treasures and activated the End Portal within. The villagers have known that this day would come. The librarian I met and befriended baked a cake, the sweet heart.

I have left instructions should another poor soul from Equestria find their way here. Listen to them. They will help. And good luck to you.