I became a medieval poet on a fantasy Minecraft server

Emma's Adventures was a monthly column created for Eurogamer Supporters that ran throughout 2023. In it, Emma Kent explored online virtual worlds in a way that's become uniquely her own - usually involving an obscure pursuit in a very hostile environment. She's done horse dressage in Red Dead Online, delivered crab to people in Elden Ring, whether they wanted it or not, and created a fashion boutique in the irradiated warzone of Fallout 76, to name a few. And there are always unexpected twists in her tales. Some of these articles are now a year old, so rather than have them gather dust in an archive, we thought we'd open them up. We'll open a new one each month.

Today, Emma heads to one of Minecraft's longest running role-play servers to see if she can make it there as a medieval poet. She integrates herself with society and soon begins performing her work. And I do mean performing: she does dramatic readings for them. Will they like it, will they not? Read on, dear reader, read on.

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I'm ready to admit that Baldur's Gate 3 has given me complete and total brain worms, in many senses of the term, over the past few weeks. When I'm not playing it, I've been thinking about it. My poor family has been subjected to extensive descriptions of my cat-throwing antics and strange habit of putting bodies in my pocket to resurrect at a later point. (I ignored the expressions of mild concern on their faces.) Such has my obsession spiralled that I've been seeking out this fantasy role-playing experience in other games, where I can similarly shape my character's arc and set out on new adventures across dangerous fantasy realms.

Which brought me, somewhat unexpectedly, to Minecraft. With blocky heads and limited animations, it may seem a far cry from the meticulously mo-capped expressions and models of Baldur's Gate 3. Yet Minecraft provides an incredibly versatile platform for users to build their own world-sized stages, with players able to act out character plotlines over the course of years. One of these role-playing servers, Lord of the Craft, has been running for over 12 years - and even has its own wiki to explain its dense lore, history and family trees. And as I would discover, it is still astonishingly active: I would consistently log in to find over 160 people playing at any one time.

Curious to delve into this world and its mysteries, I decided to try to become a medieval foot messenger; the intention being that this would allow me to see the world's sights while carrying letters across borders. As usual, however, things didn't go exactly to plan. Somehow, I ended up becoming the town poet instead. And the story gets as ridiculous as you would imagine.

As with many role-play servers, Lord of the Craft has a specific application process in order to explain its rules and weed out troublemakers. Before I could get stuck into my role-playing, I would first have to fill out a form and establish my character. With the idea of being a messenger in mind, I envisioned my character as a hardy but naive young woman, who wanted to leave her village for a life of adventure. I initially thought it would be amusing, too, to make my character illiterate and unable to read the messages she was delivering. Looking at the established communities on the Lord of the Craft wiki, I decided to make her a Highlander, and named her Grisell Balfour. I was going for a distinctly Scottish flavour, and was keen to make her unassuming: for once, I didn't want to be the hero of the story.

After a few days of waiting, my application was accepted and I was able to join for my first session, where I was spawned onto the tutorial island. Excited to start, I took my first steps forward. "Balfour these NUTS" was the first message I saw in the out-of-character chat channel. Quite the welcome. I continued forwards and learned about some of the systems used on the server, such as the different chat channels that would determine the volume of my words (whispering, shouting, and talking out of character being just some of those). Character dialogue could be written in quotation marks, while using an asterisk would allow you to write descriptions of your character's actions.

I then stepped towards one of the island's teleportation 'posts', which I'm embarrassed to say took me a good ten minutes to figure out how to work. At one point, I also managed to fall off the spawn island completely, and found myself stranded in the sea. Eventually, I managed to sink to the bottom of the ocean where I then used a teleportation device (called a "soul stone") to return to the island. Phew. The adventure was nearly over before it had even begun.

With my feet once again firmly planted on the floating island, I returned to the teleportation poles. I already had an idea of which region I wanted to visit, because as soon as I had joined the server, I received an automated message advertising a region known as Haense, with the note promising jobs and accommodation for those new to the area.

So I made my way to the capital city Valdev - a large walled city with beautiful stonework, an impressive moat, and decapitated heads lining the bridge towards it. Ah. In the distance, I could hear a man yelling about how the city was a "sh**hole" and that everyone could go rot there. I didn't let any of this phase me, however, and I called out for a guard to let me in. Instead, a merchant called Tuvya greeted me.

"Hello, I'm Grisell, and I'm looking to become a messenger here - is there anywhere I can find work?" I asked politely. (I was still figuring out my in-game accent, which would later take on a much more Scottish flavour.)

Tuvya took me through to the town square and quickly introduced me to one of the city's noble families, led by a duchess known as Ileana Kortrevich. She quickly shut down my idea of becoming a messenger.

"Vy must know that messages are sent through the aviary," she said, leaning into what seemed to be a Slavic-inspired accent. "Ea am afraid ea would not have much work for vy."

I couldn't believe it: I had already been made redundant by technological advances within minutes of starting my new courier career. Damn those pigeons!

"Ea have an idea though," Ileana continued. "Vy could become my scribe, if vy wish? Vy would write up notes on formal meetings and dinners, both in the household and with other nobles."

Deciding on the spot that my character would go from illiterate to being exceptionally talented at writing, I accepted the position.

Ileana led me through the streets to House Kortrevich's townhouse (a much larger manor was currently being constructed, she assured me), where she gave me keys to the lodgings, and my own chest to store items. She told me that a ball was scheduled to take place later that evening - and that if I met her in the town square, we could travel there together. Not one to miss a party, I eagerly agreed.

We travelled up a vast mountain of rocky crags, ice caverns and massive ravines until we reached a gothic-looking castle built into the cliff face, where a small doorway led us into an enormously busy ballroom. I couldn't believe my eyes: there must have been about thirty people there, all conversing very slowly over text chat and pretending to dance. Lord and Lady Ludovar - the party hosts - encouraged us to join the dancing, and provided us with a link to orchestral background music on YouTube. Later in the evening there was even a 'best-dressed' competition where spaniels were given out as prizes.

I partnered with Tuvya for my dancing (the same merchant who had earlier let me into the city) and pretended to clumsily but enthusiastically perform the dance moves, at one point stumbling over his toes. "Hmm" was his response. He asked me about my background and I had to frantically Google the name of Scottish towns so I could invent a remote hamlet. "Eeeer it's called Anstruthe?" I blagged. He seemed to buy it, or at least, he didn't ask again.

Due to the large number of people in the ballroom, the chat quickly became chaotic, so I pretended that my character was overwhelmed and needed to step outside for a breather. As I was looking around at the snow and stars, I was joined by another young woman called Haylene, who I discovered had a remarkably similar background to my own: we both came from farming villages and were seeking to build new lives for ourselves in Valdev. She told me she was looking to become a healer, and planned to work at the city's clinic. Pleased that I had managed to make at least one new friend, I excused myself for the evening, and made my way back down to Valdev.

The next day, all seemed quiet in the city - perhaps because everyone was nursing a hangover. I had been keen to start my work as a scribe, but with my patron absent, I decided to make my way to the tavern instead. There, I bumped into Haylene again, who was absorbed in her notebook. "I'm writing notes about herbs," Haylene explained. "We're heading out on a foraging trip shortly - you should come!"

So, naturally, I joined in. There were about 15 people on the foraging trip in total, and we made our way towards some massive trees near the city walls. As we all moseyed around collecting mushrooms for dinner - discussing the best way to make mushroom soup - I felt that things were getting a little too placid. So I decided to spice things up. (A man in the distance was starting his own subplot about hiding the body of someone he'd murdered, but unfortunately I was too far away to take part.)

"I'm feelin' a bit hungry, might munch on one o' these as a snack," I mentioned to Haylene while chomping down on one of the mushrooms. I then made a bunch of gurgling sounds and pretended to turn a pale shade of green, all while insisting I was perfectly fine.

"Nooo, I think that's enough for today," Haylene said, artfully scooting around a pool of my vomit and taking me by the arm. "Let's head to the clinic."

We made our way back to the city, where - after a lot of shouting for aid - two healers arrived at the hospital. The doctor and her assistant asked me about my symptoms, the type of mushroom I had eaten, and how long ago I had eaten it. They seemed to conclude that the best thing to help would be drinking a glass of milk, which didn't sound like a particularly medical solution to me. As I was discussing the details of this with them (and puking into a bucket), three nuns suddenly rushed into the room.

"We are collecting money for the poor" they explained, as they blocked the door and huddled around us like a gang. "We want to build a new orphanage, will you make a contribution? With every donation comes a chicken nugget made directly from our kitchen."

The doctor seemed rather suspicious of these nuns, and frankly, so was I. It seemed a little strange that they were asking for donations from the sick, and would happily interrupt a medical consultation to do so. But, eager to simply leave the hospital and head home in peace, I gave a small donation and snuck out the back door, where I returned to House Kortrevich and decided to call it a day.

By this point in time, I started to realise that my job as a scribe wasn't working out. I never seemed to be online at the same time as the senior members of House Kortrevich, and worse still, I wasn't being paid a fixed salary - I would only receive money for work completed. I needed to find a way to supplement my income, or else I would soon be bankrupted by nuns. Scratching my head, I considered the several ridiculous events I had already witnessed on the server. Perhaps I could simply write about those? And so once again I decided to pivot my character towards another profession: becoming a part-time poet. Surely, this would provide financial security.

In real life I have, handily, spent a considerable amount of time studying poetry and taking LAMDA verse exams, so I was already in a good position to start writing words of my own. I began by looking up some actual medieval poems and considering their rhyme patterns, structures and metres (rhythm). I also thought back to my time studying Chaucer, and how he would critique corrupt church officials through playful satire. And so using these observations, I began to write a couple of humorous poems in modern English, but with a Middle English flavour. In true medieval fashion, there may also have been a couple of embellishments to the truth. The first poem was a simple rhyme about my mushroom mishap, while the second was written as a dig at the nuns' behaviour. Hopefully the latter would be subtle enough that I wouldn't get in trouble for blasphemy.

Pleased with my initial efforts, I decided to branch out into some more serious subject matter. The journey up towards the ball, and my character's awkwardness connecting with the nobles within, felt like ideal material for something melancholy and brooding. And so I wrote a poem about Grisell's hidden sadness at leaving her homeland.

I then thought back to my very first experience in Lord of the Craft - falling off the spawn island and being unable to either teleport or die - and decided to dramatise it. I took inspiration from the traditional 'ballade' poetry form, which uses a repeated refrain to add musicality and weight to the repeated lines. I then reimagined my experience as some sort of spiritual experience, and felt that it would be amusing to give my character a potentially very ominous backstory. If anyone read this poem, it would leave them with serious questions about the state of Grisell's soul. But this is all just fairy tales and fiction. Isn't it?

Meanwhile, as I was busily working on all these poems, strange events continued to occur within the city. As it turns out, House Kortrevich was located directly next to the courthouse, and one evening I logged in to hear the start of a legal trial. Along with everyone else in the city, I piled into the public gallery to watch the proceedings.

The defendant was none other than the man I had heard shouting obscenities about the city on the very first day I'd arrived, and the judge was Lord Ludovar - the host of the mountain ball. The defendant, named Talinn, was accused of slandering a noble, yet he seemed totally unbothered by his situation. Even when he was found guilty and told he would lose a hand as punishment, he seemed unperturbed. "Ay he's got the devil en him!" I made sure to yell out from the crowd, as we watched the scene unfold.

And indeed, he continued to smile even after he'd lost his hand, and then challenged the noble to a duel. It was most disturbing to witness. We were spared any further bloodshed, however, because at that point another character entered the town square to accuse Talinn of another crime: conspiring with darkspawn to lead brotherhood members to necromancers, where they were then afflicted with necrosis. Clearly, this was part of some ongoing storyline. Talinn was led away to the royal palace to be "tested for darkspawn". The gathered crowds in the town square were left in a state of shock, stunned by what they had just witnessed.

Wanting to reflect the general feeling of the populace - with whom Talinn was not a popular figure - I drafted a mocking poem inspired by medieval nursery rhymes. (A little like Mary Mary Quite Contrary or Baa Baa Black Sheep, but a lot more direct.) I did, however, spare some of the gory details. I also changed Talinn's name to Toby Spouth, simply because this would work with the rhyme scheme.

Inspired by the sing-song quality of the rhyme, I then penned one final poem. During my adventures I had noticed that many of the characters in Valdev were children (although they were all played by adults, as everyone on the server was required to be over the age of 18). These child characters would typically be exceptionally annoying. Players would often over-act when portraying children, resorting to yelling and flapping around, and interrupting conversations to make themselves the centre of attention. So I wrote a couple of verses on this topic, which seemed to naturally set itself to a melody in my head. I recorded a vocal version, and turned it into a musical round.

With all my poems complete, it was time to start promoting myself. I copied all the verses into an in-game book, titled it the Book of Valdev, and set out across the city to share my poetry.

"Young Grisell, this is fascinating," said a fortune teller. "I will make sure to spread the voice among other folk about you!"

"This is certainly a thorough piece of work," said a noble I managed to corner with my book. "The prose is beautifully writ, as far as my eyes have seen."

Feeling bolstered by this positive early feedback, I walked towards the palace to give the king and queen a copy of my book. Royal recognition would surely be the fastest route to fame and fortune, I surmised. But alas, when I arrived there, I discovered that they were not taking petitions that day. They were in the middle of a full-on darkspawn inquisition, slowly prodding all thirty people assembled at court with special blades to see if they were corrupt.

Thankfully, I had another plan. You see, Lord of the Craft has its own forums where users can share in-character messages and creations. So I 'published' my book there, along with the recording of the musical round. We'll pretend that the book was enchanted to project my voice, or something. And low and behold, this actually worked. I soon received a message from Queen Amaya of Haense herself:

"To the esteemed musician Grisell Balfour,

"I caught wind of the lovely little tune you've written and I am stunned by your talent. Should you ever seek a place within the Royal Courts as a courtier of the arts - a courtly bard, musician, or otherwise, please write back at your earliest convenience."

(Hidden under a spoiler tag was an out-of-character remark: "this is so cool!!! You have talent my friend.")

The Book of Valdev, performed by Grisell Balfour (Emma Kent)

This was brilliant news: if I wished, I could now receive a place within the royal court. It wasn't that working in a noble household was a bad position to be in, but I feel like if the royal family offers you a promotion, you really have to take it. So I wrote back, expressing my interest in discussing the role with her, and pledging to give the royal family the first edition of my poetry book. I have yet to come online at the same time as the royals since receiving this message, but at some point, I will make good on my promise.

And so ends my adventures as a medieval fantasy poet - for now, at least. Although I spent only a week in the Lord of the Craft server and explored just one city, I was surprised by the sheer complexity of its world and the level of activity within it. I would frequently recognise characters that I had bumped into previously, and nearly every time I logged on, there seemed to be some major event happening. I'm intrigued to see what happens with that ongoing darkspawn plotline.

I also learned that, somewhere deep down, I am a medieval bard at heart. The next step for my character? Travelling between cities and writing poetry on behalf of Haense's royal court. This poet is Gawain places.