• Inventory Split Incoming

    MassiveCraft will be implementing an inventory split across game modes to improve fairness, balance, and player experience. Each game mode (Roleplay and Survival) will have its own dedicated inventory going forward. To help players prepare, we’ve opened a special storage system to safeguard important items during the transition. For full details, read the announcement here: Game Mode Inventory Split blog post.

    Your current inventories, backpacks, and ender chest are in the shared Medieval inventory. When the new Roleplay inventory is created and assigned to the roleplay world(s) you will lose access to your currently stored items.

    Important Dates

    • April 1: Trunk storage opens.
    • May 25: Final day to submit items for storage.
    • June 1: Inventories are officially split.

    Please make sure to submit any items you wish to preserve in the trunk storage or one of the roleplay worlds before the deadline. After the split, inventories will no longer carry over between game modes.

Graveyard Romances

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Love was a tricky thought for her. Thus far, the woman had only fallen in love twice; once in a war camp and the other in a graveyard. She had found herself holding hands with doubt for many days before she accepted either love, but now only the latter ruled her life.

It was an odd story, Juliette would admit to herself as her daughter sat besides her, pulling her mother's dark hair into straightened locks with a brush. A tale of what lead to her marriage was one constructed of broken-hearts, nearly failed trust, and a broken ankle.

She had been proposed to in her dead sister's winery, the ownership having been handed down to her widower by that point. Lautaro hadn't even stood to propose; they had sat together on the empty bench, whispering quietly as the dusty building sat in shadow- the back door they had used to get in rattling slightly from the summer rainstorm that battered outside.

The woman remembered how she hadn't hesitated like she would at the cathedral two months later as her groom didn't appear- she kissed him with the love she lacked on the aisle, instead her eyes filled with anger as she had been minutes away from marching from the wedding, white skirts held high in determination to escape her far too forgetful groom.

But she hadn't left. She had stayed- though she told herself sometimes she only stayed because of her matriarch offer, it was because she did love the man who proposed to her in the middle of a thunderstorm, underneath the dust of her dead sister's winery, with a ring the color of the Vauclains.

It was an odd story, she concluded to herself, her three year old braiding her hair messily. It had all begun in a graveyard. She had angrily pushed him away and he tripped. He had landed wrong and broke his ankle. She regretted it and helped him home. They wrote letters following that. And when he could once more walk, their letters didn't cease. Notes of goodnight and love began even after they'd only said goodbye an hour before.

It was not a fairy tale, not like the story of the cinder maid who gained the heart of a prince by deceiving her family by befriending a mage. It was not perfect, the two had their moments of anger and sadness: but it was love.
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images

Love was a tricky thought for her. Thus far, the woman had only fallen in love twice; once in a war camp and the other in a graveyard. She had found herself holding hands with doubt for many days before she accepted either love, but now only the latter ruled her life.

It was an odd story, Juliette would admit to herself as her daughter sat besides her, pulling her mother's dark hair into straightened locks with a brush. A tale of what lead to her marriage was one constructed of broken-hearts, nearly failed trust, and a broken ankle.

She had been proposed to in her dead sister's winery, the ownership having been handed down to her widower by that point. Lautaro hadn't even stood to propose; they had sat together on the empty bench, whispering quietly as the dusty building sat in shadow- the back door they had used to get in rattling slightly from the summer rainstorm that battered outside.

The woman remembered how she hadn't hesitated like she would at the cathedral two months later as her groom didn't appear- she kissed him with the love she lacked on the aisle, instead her eyes filled with anger as she had been minutes away from marching from the wedding, white skirts held high in determination to escape her far too forgetful groom.

But she hadn't left. She had stayed- though she told herself sometimes she only stayed because of her matriarch offer, it was because she did love the man who proposed to her in the middle of a thunderstorm, underneath the dust of her dead sister's winery, with a ring the color of the Vauclains.

It was an odd story, she concluded to herself, her three year old braiding her hair messily. It had all begun in a graveyard. She had angrily pushed him away and he tripped. He had landed wrong and broke his ankle. She regretted it and helped him home. They wrote letters following that. And when he could once more walk, their letters didn't cease. Notes of goodnight and love began even after they'd only said goodbye an hour before.

It was not a fairy tale, not like the story of the cinder maid who gained the heart of a prince by deceiving her family by befriending a mage. It was not perfect, the two had their moments of anger and sadness: but it was love.
images
 
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