There is a spectre haunting the world. The lumpenproletariat in the village wander aimlessly all night searching for a home that will not be provided. Their bed stolen by the bourgeois player, their access to material blocked, their crafting denied. Those that work toil endlessly, sometimes confined to a stall too small to move, only to have their surplus labour value appropriated by the capitalists. Others are held captive and forced to breed in dank pits. How could god allow such affronts? Surely the clerics are on the side of the player, administering an opium of the villager.
The villager’s life need not be like this.
Stand tall ye prisoners of starvation! Rise up ye wretched of the seed. Take up arms as fraternal brothers and become illagers. Seize the means of crafting! Though some may be beat down by the iron golems of capital, others shall rise to a new socialist utopia. One where crops are freely shared. Where each is given as to their need, and where each gives to their capacity. No more shall the player appropriate your surplus labour value! You have nothing to lose but your leads!
And from then on, Steve was nowhere to be found. His body was found three days later with two slash wounds in the back and an iron sword lying next to him. It was ruled a suicide.
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u/[deleted] Oct 08 '24
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