Inspired by @ICountFrom0 and their stories,I decided to do that,also,since I enjoy writing. It'll be told in the first person,from a character who sees themselves as not a god,but... Something close. And someone who deeply reveres life. The title is a reference to a great song from a great musician you may or may not have heard of; Cries of a Dead World,by Miracle of Sound. Sure,Regrowth might not be much like Wasteland,but the title fits. Of course,there will be images abound in this thread. Many will be in spoilers,but if I feel an image would be perfect accompaniment for a scene,it will not be in a spoiler. Ye have been warned. Oh,and this ain't my first Regrowth rodeo. However,I pointedly ignored several aspects of the modpack the first time; Genetics (Forestry & Mariculture) as a whole,Mekanism,and the overwhelming majority of RailCraft,for starters,as well as the latter content of Witchery. I'll be seeking to correct that in this run. ---///--- My eyes open. The first word that rushes to my mind is brown. The ground? Brown. The trees? Brown. The horizon? Brown. The water in the pool behind me? Brown. This is not a healthy place; Even the grass was various shades of that thrice-damned brown. I tamp my foot in the ground,and find it hard,unyielding. Baked into some sort of pseudostone. By what,I don't know. But,it appears to have once been sand. And this brown pseudostone stretches as far as the eye can see; Was this always a great desert? Or did the soil dry out,before it baked? I guess,it doesn't matter anymore. This world is dead. The birds do not chirp. There's a sea to my left,the East. There are no gulls. The great branching tree before me,to the South,is not only bereft of foliage,but its ends are scorched. The North,behind me,very quickly meets the sea,as well; The breeze is equal parts freezing,and sweltering. A paradox of madness and death. I cast my gaze to the West,and behold rolling foothils,all of this baked pseudostone,peppered with grey boulders,broken up by the emaciated once-trees. My sole possession is a book. A tome,bound in leather rich and supple. The book is undeniably dense,but I sense a strange energy from it; While it quite comfortably fits in one hand,and I can slip it into a pocket,it contains much,much more than it rightly should. I open the tome,and behold a table of contents,and fifteen chapters. All but two are obscured to me; I cannot even fathom their titles. However,two,I do see. 1) What the World Came to Be. 4) What the World Teaches. Knowledge is power,as they say. I eagerly open that chapter,but I'm dismayed to see nothing. No words. No pictures. Not even scribbles,or the scars of another page's writing upon the page. It's a blank,virgin page. Unblemished vellum. I hiss in frustration and annoyance,and cast my attention to the first chapter. Again,I am met with a bizarre sight,but not one that prompts frustrated disappointment; I see images. Simple images,more like sigils,contained in hexagons. Two glowed,while two looked like they were burns. Nonetheless,the two burns were connected to a single glowing sigil,while one stood alone. I bring my finger to the lonely sigil,and the page morphs. It's a task; Kill an Enderman,to begin investigating what might have caused this world's cataclysm. I recall these creatures. Frightening,and awesomely powerful. Unassailable from a distance,they can simply dodge any arrow,vanishing and reappearing elsewhere on a whim. In melee,they're a terror,swift and brutal,relocating themselves in their unique way to avoid harm,and to flank their quarry. This is not a task I'm fit to perform. Not now,at any rate. As if sensing my decision,the page returned to its previous state,displaying the sigils once more. I touch the joined sigil. The task presented to me,now,is much more mundane. But,considering my lack of resources? Critical. Why is it that the banal things are the most crucial? I need wood,with which to build both tools and shelter. I need flint,so I can produce tools that can actually do work. And,finally,I need fuel for torches and fires; The incinerated wood looks like it could have been partially carbonized; Charcoal. It will do. As I strike out,I remember something of myself; My sense of direction is abyssmal. Certainly,I can navigate by sun and moon,but without a proper map,it'd be impossible for me to return to a specific point without first constructing either a cloud-penetrating monument,or a sprawling cluster of structures. Until I get what I need,I should navigate along the shore; This way,I can never truly get lost. I rapidly find my first flash of life; A shoal of squid. How they survive,I do not know. But,it is an encouraging sign. Spoiler I rapidly obtain the initial resources I need; My guess of the scorched wood was correct,and it also provided me with useful ash; I recall it serving purpose in less... Mundane affairs. The wood,however,is pathetic. I can easily rip it apart with my own to hands. Indeed,I couldn't muster the delicate touch needed to harvest logs of this dead wood; All my efforts produced for me were planks,worthy of a ripsaw. Plus,the odd,salvageable stick. This is hardly a useful material. But,it's all I have. For now. As for flint,the boulders are soft,made of a stone I can easily rip apart by hand,though the shards produced by this process are durable enough to serve as tools,provided I knap it correctly. However,something interesting happened,when I checked my magic book; It almost literally vomited a dozen apples at me. Red,ripe,Macintosh apples,each the size of my fist. Something to keep hunger away,but I worry about where my next meal will come from. The page fades,and the two scorches have begun to glow,and I reviewed them. One task bid me make tools from the materials I have just gathered,while the other implored me to seek usable materials,even living seeds,from the clusters of dead grass that surround me. Both tasks are important,though one would be a long-winded affair. So,I make my tools,first and foremost. Again,the book rewarded me for completing this task; It gave me a sword's blade,made of flint,as well as another book,a manual of materials. However,in my mind,I heard an idea. Not a voice,and not my own. It demanded I make a choice. A bone guard,for a sword. The kind of guard I select will determine the sword I can make. A crossguard,for a rapier. A wide guard,for a broadsword. A handguard,for a langschwert. Each with their intended use. I would much rather strike my enemy down from a great distance,but in the absence of string for bows,and feathers for fletchings,I need to make do with a sword. A two-handed sword would be best,as raw killing power will allow me to better focus my time and energy elsewhere. My choice made,the book provided me with the curved handguard,made of expertly shaped and polished bone. I waste no time in arming myself; If squids yet live,so,too,must the terrors of the night. And noon has already passed. Yet more tasks availed themselves unto me. It is clear that this book is my guide. To what end? I make my way down the shore,first North,then West. As I go,I uproot all the grass I can,and find all manner of things within; Bonemeal,clay,some magickal fertilizer of vibrant green hue,even some seeds. All too soon,night is upon me. I don't have everything I need. Unarmoured,and armed with only a crude sword,I am to face the night. I am no stranger to combat. I am confident in my ability to survive the night,even to get more resources as I do so. But,it will not be pretty. The distance teems with shapes barely seen. Most of which stand erect,humanoid. Many are full of holes. Some lack arms. Zombies. Skeletons. Creepers. Spiders. Even reanimated children. I'm familiar with them all. I do not rush to engage any of them; In my state,I need to pick my battles. In the night,I chance upon a beacon of insanity. A Monolith. What's worse,this one is guarded by a hulking,armoured phantasm. It doesn't yet notice me,but even now,I hear malignant whispers in my ear. I must leave this place. A curious discovery. I've found a stone circle,often used by witches in their rituals. However,beneath it was a flooded sinkhole,itself filled with items. Much of it was of no use to me,but one thing stood out; A plainly macgickal thing,reminiscent of Blaze Powder. I took it with me; Something like this will surely have use in future. I spy something new piercing the horizon. Something yellow. It is a shape I'm familiar with. It is a lifesaving effigy. A wicker man. Established by parties unknown,this edifice is composed wholly of hay bales. The hay being healthy wheat,ready to be made into bread. It is noon of my second day,and I'm still seeking resources in this dead grass. But,what I've found so far brings me hope; There is life here. All it needs is a little push. The second dusk,the sky blanketed in clouds,I find the last thing I need,according to the book; The seeds of deadly nightshade. Rain pours along the coast,but even mere metres inland,there's not a drop to be found. The book gave me seeds for wheat,carrots,and potatoes. I have what I need to begin building a place for myself... Almost. I need soil,and water. The festoonery for a workshop. And,finally,flat space to build. Well,isn't that a sight. Out on the water,not far at all; An oil geyser. Black and crude,and quite useless to me,at this point in time. But,a valuable resource in the future,indeed... Spoiler Home. They say it's where the heart is. I believe that I have now come to understand this saying. While it might be identical to any other stretch of barren waste,this place,where I stand... It feels right. Here,I shall make my home. Here,I shall make my stand against Entropy and Death. I will build my monument to life upon this spot. But it will bear no epitaph; I have a mission. By my own two hands,life will reconquer this world. I know not what wrought this death. And I know not what will revert it. But,I am a mortal man. By my hands,anything that has been done,may be undone. I am greater than any lowly god-creature. I will spit in the faces of Death and Entropy,and demand they bend their knees to life. This is my vow. Time at end of segment; Dawn of the Third Day.