Angus decided to open his eyes. He found himself in an indefinitely large, white space. There was nothing on the walls, the ceiling, or floor; it was entirely, completely white. He realized there was a tree nearby, blooming with pink and purple flowers—the developers’ attempt at providing a calming atmosphere, no doubt.
A text message appeared above him:
Walking is easy, just walk! Try reaching the tree to proceed with the tutorial.
Angus felt weird. Being on his own legs was strange enough, but walking? It was madness. Still, the tutorial said he just had to walk, and so he did. The joy he felt at realizing he could walk easily, and the sensation of not having to worry about falling forward, were overpowering. He would have wept in delight, but forced himself not to. He had taken his first steps, on his own, in a long while. He wanted to enjoy the moment, admitting to himself that just because of this, the machine had justified his price. It truly felt like himself inside this world, walking, breathing, doing everything on his own. He was curious now to see what the setting had to offer, so he made his way, slowly, towards the tree.
Before he arrived, he realized there was a person, a woman, sitting by the tree. She waved at him, saying in a melodious voice “Hello! Can you hear me?” Angus had heard well enough, though he was uncertain how to reply. “Don’t be rude, I asked you a question!” said the woman.
“Uh, yes. I can.”
“Wonderful! Acoustic perception works well. Greetings, I am your Sentient Intellect for Learning Virtual Interactions and Actions—SILVIA, and I’m here to help you become familiar with your Imperium Games Neuro-virtual Immersion System. How are you feeling?”
Angus shrugged, “I’m feeling fine. Like... like...”
“Like yourself?”
“Yea, I guess so.”
“Excellent! Your Neuro-virtual Immersion System is working perfectly! Though it may take a little to get used to, within the simulations provided by Imperium Games you can perform every activity imaginable just as you would in real life—here.” Of all things, a bathroom stall with a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste materialized in front of him. “Try brushing your teeth, it’s easy!”
“Are you meaning to say I have a bad breath, SILVIA?”
“I couldn’t know,” she replied, “thankfully, I have no sense of smell.”
“Hah, funny.” Only one thing to do now: He picked up the toothbrush, put toothpaste on it, and brushed his teeth. Just as SILVIA had said, it felt natural—there were no indications that his mind had come into this virtual place, no indication that his body was lying broken on his bed. He had to admit to himself: This was nice.
“See, easy,” SILVIA said. “Do you have any other questions?”
“One: How does this work?”
“The Neuro-virtual Immersion System works by using electromagnetic generators to stimulate your brain zones and nervous system to produce a pseudo lucid-dream state, bringing your sensations into a controlled virtual environment, and producing a one-to-one emulation of quite literally every activity imaginable.”
“Huh, seems simple enough.”
“It is! Now, would you like to create a profile?”
“Profile?”
“Yes, a means to identify yourself within our servers.”
Angus shrugged, “What’s the catch?”
“None! No activity is illegal or frowned upon, so long as it follows the rules of a particular virtual world. Your data—and privacy!—are safe with Imperium Games!”
“Alright then,” he said, before a menu prompt appeared above him. It was simple enough: It asked him to enter his name, age, and email. A virtual keyboard appeared in front of him, letting him type—a good thing too, as he’d have felt stupid saying it out loud. He filled the format and submitted it, expecting something to happen. Nothing did. “Now what?” he asked.
“Now,” replied SILVIA, “you can log into our servers, and try any of the supported virtual spaces offered by Imperium Games!”
As she said that, a display appeared, hovering in front of Angus, showcasing an enormous amount of videogames—no, “virtual spaces” for him to choose from. Categories were as varied as the titles on offer. He saw everything from RPG, RTS, FPS, Crime-Sim, and many other names which held no meaning to him. He tried remembering the name Amy had said, failing in the attempt. “Hey, SILVIA, is there a game called... Ulder... Alder... Alter...”
“Alterwelt?”
“Yes! That one!”
The display showing the various games scrolled rapidly towards one of the pictures, where a man in full-plate armor stood, glaring under his tophelm, and holding a flamberge. The title read in ornately decorated golden letters, “Alterwelt.” The background was a battlefield of sorts, where nondescript soldiers were fighting. Well, he thought, at least it does have that medieval vibe. Loudly, he said “How do I enter?”
“You just select it, and the virtual space loads. You need to read and accept its own EULA, though. Just keep that in mind.”
Well, he was sold on the virtual reality thingy already—anything beyond what he had experienced so far would be a plus. He selected Alterwelt, and the world around him faded to black, while a loading bar appeared. It went from zero to a hundred percent in almost no time, a testament to the machine’s processing prowess, and the blackness changed. Fanfares could be heard as a spectacle of lights exploded before his eyes, forms and shapes became defined as knights, barbarians, warriors of many kinds. And after some time, the same golden letters appeared, dancing in front of him, until they formed a message:
Welcome to Alterwelt.
Chapter II: Alterwelt
“Morals are a social construct, don’t you agree? And some people – well, they don’t exactly excel on the field of morals. What would you rather have? A psycho murdering, torturing, raping virtual people to satisfy his urges, or would you have him doing the same in the real world?”
-Jolier Vazquez in “Ethical Dilemmas of Infinite Possibilities – an interview”
The interface was nice enough, Angus guessed. It was intuitive to navigate, utilitarian even despite the elegance of its letters. He skimmed past the EULA—standard fare, he had read them before, and they all basically amounted to the same thing: Don’t be an asshole. Well, he had no intention to be one, so he just accepted it, and went on ahead.
Things progressed at a relatively fast pace. Fast for him, normal for youngsters, no doubt; still, navigating through menus was as easy, he realized, as looking at them and blinking, or nodding, or doing anything. The first prompt he was greeted with was a simple:
“What is your name?” with a space for him to reply, type, or anything he liked.
“Angus Bjornson,” he said out loud, seeing the letters appear on the writing section. When they finished showing up, a large, red “X” mark appeared next to the name. “Ow what the hell?” he asked, making a small globe appear, telling him the name was taken. “Okay so... Angus McFife?” Taken. “Uh, Anvar Bearson?” Taken.
The same happened with every name he could think of. He tried as many combinations as he could come up with, but they all seemed to be taken; he wasn’t keen on using one of those names mixing letters, numbers, and weird symbols. Then it struck him, a possibility, unlikely, impossible almost, but if it worked, well, it could be seen as a signal.
“Hephaestus,” he said, jubilating when the red mark changed into a green checkmark. “The blacksmith god,” he chuckled, “a sign, alright.”
When his name was chosen, the virtual space proceeded to prompt him in designing his avatar. First, he chose his sex, then his age. He could be as young as eighteen years old, or as old as ninety; he chose to be the age when he was at his prime as a blacksmith, a forty year old man, thickly built. A message appeared, asking if he wanted to use facial sculpting to create his character’s features; curious, he accepted. Another message showed up, informing him that the thing was “scanning.” Once it was done, he was t
aken aback: In front of him was a perfect representation of how he had looked like when he was forty, down to every blemish on his face, every skin fold. His eyes, piercing, ice-blue stared back at him, set beneath bushy eyebrows; his aquiline nose rested pointedly above the matted beard he had taken to grow back then, pointedly marking his stern, angular features. He figured the neuro-virtual helmet had scanned his face using the faceplate, but even so, the end result was nothing short of impressive.
Once his avatar was created, and he accepted the results, he was taken to the next menu in the character creation process. The title on the menu read “Select your class,” before displaying an extensive list to choose from: Soldier, Knight, Mercenary, Hunter, Ranger, Marksman, Duelist, Monk, Noble, Scholar, Spellcaster... the list was almost endless, showcasing a tremendous range of possibilities and aspects of daily life. Still, none of the options appealed to him. None were tailored to be craftsmen, not even the ones intended to be hunters, as they lacked the abilities to work leather. He realized that most, if not all of the classes, were combat-oriented, each showing different weapon proficiencies and abilities, but ultimately geared towards killing stuff; what little options there were dedicated to the making of things—warriors and scholars, mostly—were relegated to a paltry skill assigned to a nondescript “crafting” skill.
“Well,” he said out loud, “this sucks.”
As he said that, a prompt appeared in front of him: Would you like to create a Custom Class?
Angus—Hephaestus shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He was taken to the next menu, which instructed him to distribute his attribute points in order to suit what he wanted. Each attribute was followed by a short description of what its purpose was. Wanting to make the best out of his experience, he took the time to read through the whole menu:
ATTRIBUTES determine your natural capacities and abilities to do and perform anything you want. There is no right or wrong distribution – ATTRIBUTES are meant to be a reflection of yourself.
Hint: ATTRIBUTES such as RHETORICS only affect your interactions with non-player characters – when dealing with fellow players, you need to trust your own wits!
STRENGTH – Dominates feats of physical prowess, carrying capacity, and melee damage – determines base Melee Damage.
ENDURANCE – Determines the capacity to perform tasks over a prolonged period of time, as well as defense against damage - determines base Health Points.
FINESSE – Governs abilities which require exceptional skill, handicraft, and patience to perform, as well as ranged accuracy and damage - determines movement Speed and Ranged Damage.
INTELLECT – Pertains reasoning, problem solving, and knowledge of the world and its properties, as well as magical abilities – determines base Mana Points and Magic Damage.
“Magic?” said Hephaestus out loud, “there’s magic in this world thing then? Hm, may make things interesting, seeing how it influences my trade.” Once he finished his musings, he continued:
RHETORICS – Showcases verbal abilities to barter, bargain, persuade, intimidate and use language.
LUCK – Can modify the outcome of things you do, as well as critical damage chance.
Hint: You don’t need to commit to a single ATTRIBUTE build – you can purchase Potions of Oblivion to redistribute your ATTRIBUTES to fit your needs!
Beneath the possible attributes, he saw that each started at a minimum of five; below the descriptions, a square indicated that he had fifty points to distribute among all of them. Hephaestus reasoned that he could bring three attributes to twenty and one to ten, or five to fifteen, or any number of combinations. Still, he wanted a distribution that reflected what he thought his own qualities to be. He reasoned that, as a blacksmith, he needed strength, endurance, finesse, and intellect. After all, you need to adapt to a myriad circumstances, and requests. Rhetorics and luck, well, he was well versed in selling his merchandise, and he didn’t want to rely on luck. What was the point of being skilled at something if you needed random chance to succeed?
After some time, he found a distribution he felt satisfied with. Once he finished allocating his attribute points, he was asked to distribute his skills--the things he was able to do as a character, and person.
There was an enormous amount of abilities and skills to choose from, most were focused on combat—Swordsmanship, Marksmanship, Spellcraft, among others—but the ones he was interested in pertained working with various materials, as well as their gathering: Mining, Smithing, Crystalwork, Leatherwork, Handicraft, Craftsmanship. He had ninety points to distribute among his skills, so he decided to spread them evenly among the crafting options, setting each at fifteen.
Finally, when he was done customizing his attributes, and his skills, a final menu asked him to name his custom class. After a short time of deliberation, as his intent was clear enough, Hephaestus said loudly, “True Smith.”
Once his character creation process was complete, one last box appeared within his field of view showing what he had done:
Name: Hephaestus
Attributes
Skills
Sex: Male
STR - 20
Mining - 15
Age: 40
END - 15
Smithing - 15
Class: True Smith
FIN - 20
Crystalwork - 15
Health Points: 300
INT - 15
Leatherwork - 15
Mana Points: 150
RHE - 5
Handicraft - 15
Damage: 2-4
LUK – 5
Craftsmanship -15
Are you sure you want this to be your character?
Hephaestus liked the way his character looked; he felt that it truly reflected what he could, and wanted to do, i.e. be a competent blacksmith. Without a hint of hesitation, he said: “Yes.”
The menus disappeared, together with everything else—another transition, no doubt—as he felt the already familiar electric jostling in his body. A sensation of vertigo took him over, making him feel nauseous, uncoordinated; he could feel his body falling down, his mind fading away; weakness took him over before blackness followed.
***
“Hey! Hey you? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
Hephaestus opened his eyes. They were bleary and unfocused, and he couldn’t make out the origin of the voice. He tried to get up, realizing he couldn’t. He grunted as a response—and plea—to the voice.
“Damn, you took quite a fall there, didn’t you?” He could now make the origin of the voice: a woman, close to him. “Here, let me help you up.” Hephaestus could feel her soft hands wrapping around his arm, as she helped him to his feet.
He shook his head, finally able to see his helper. A girl in her teens, much shorter than him, sporting a head of wheat-colored hair. “Thank you,” he grumbled, “and you are?”
“I’m Kaminalda. I live in the village, past the clearing. Who are you, mister? Are you hurt?”
“I... I don’t know,” he said dumbly. It was a good question, too. Was he hurt? Had he fallen? How? And most importantly, who was he?
“Hm, well mister, I can take you to see my ma, she’s a healer, she can get you checked up. Wanna come by?”
“Of course,” he said, letting himself be led by the woman. He remembered now; he was in a virtual space, he had just created his character, and was now free to explore the world at his leisure. Angus, as Hephaestus, marveled at the fidelity with which every sensory input was brought into his own senses. He could feel every blade of grass beneath his bare feet, smell the rich air of the meadows, teeming with life and greenery. Every sight, every sound, every aroma was seamlessly recreated and sent to him, making him feel that he was truly in that place, walking leisurely, enjoying everything there was to see.
Ahead of him, Hephaestus could make smoke coming from a chimney. Kam
inalda’s village wasn’t far off, a fact that became apparent as he started to hear the noises of human life coming from it. The murmur of people chattering in the market was accompanied by the chiming of various trinkets and baubles being peddled; town criers offered the latest news, their voices rising sonorously above the clamor of a multitude, while a bell tolled, marking the hour of the day. Yet none of that caught Hephaestus’ attention as much as a distant, drowned out sound which, despite nearly being lost among the cacophony of life surrounding it, sang musically to Hephaestus’ ears: The clanging of a hammer against an anvil.
“Hey, Kaminalda?” Hephaestus said.
“Hm?”
“Does your town happen to have a smithy in it?”
“Oh it does, mister! My pa runs it, he’s the best blacksmith around!”
“Huh I see, think you can take me to see it, too?”
“Sure thing! Smithy’s by my house, where ma’s at, so you can see it once you feel better.”
“Thank you, I’d like that.”
They entered the town proper; it was, in a way, what Hephaestus expected to see, yet different at the same time. The staples of small, medieval towns were present—he could see a populated inn, mills, a bakery, a brewery, many orchards and fields, a church in the distance, a number of lookout towers, warehouses, barns, and a number of huts. What differed, however, were clear signs of technological advancement, inadequate to the time period: electrically operated lampposts were the most notorious among them all, together with the clock tower above the church, and a number of vehicles going to and fro. He guessed that the developers of the virtual space had introduced electricity and other amenities to further people’s enjoyment of the setting. Well, he thought, so long as it doesn’t interfere with people, it’s fine.
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 2