True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series

by Jared Mandani

  But first, he needed his own forge.

  Hephaestus saw a smithy he found to his liking, a small place set on a corner, both sides open to the street, called The Kiln and Crucible. The person working inside was intent on forging what seemed to be a number of weapons made with a green hued metal he didn’t recognize. He decided to go talk to the blacksmith in charge. “Good afternoon,” he said, waving his hand in greeting. He saw no response. “Er, excuse me?” Again, no reply. “Sir? Pardon me?”

  “He ain’t goin’ to answer you;” said a female voice behind him, “That guy o’er there? He’s a bloody bot, same with most other forgers you’ll find ‘round.”

  Hephaestus turned around to see a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a ridiculous suit of armor—more of a glorified metal tank-top than an actual breastplate—with leather vambraces and knee-high studded boots; a shortbow was slung over her back, a quiver on her left hip, and an arming sword on her right. Not knowing what she meant, he simply asked, “A bot? What do you mean by that?”

  She chuckled, “New ‘round here are you? Well rookie, most forges use automated workers. Ain’t nobody wanna hang ‘round all day makin’ stuff, you know? Say, you lookin’ for good quality weapons and armor?”

  “Actually,” he replied, “I’m looking to have my own forge.”

  “Your own forge, eh? You one of those types who prefer city-life over goin’ out to the wilderness skewerin’ bandits and havin’ adventures?” Hephaestus responded by raising an eyebrow; the woman shrugged. “Eh, to each their own ey? Well friend, ‘fraid it ain’t as easy as it used to be. Supply and demand, you see?”

  “That always ruins things doesn’t it?” Hephaestus said. “Still, do you have any idea how I can go around getting my own forge?”

  “Determined are we? Well, you need a Forgemaster’s Permit, to begin with. And before you ask, well, you get it from Castle Arken. Bureaucracy comes into the best of worlds, don’t it? Once you have that, you purchase a small plot of land and designate it as a basic forge.”

  “Sounds simple enough, what’s the catch?”

  “Now that’s the question. Purchasin’ a Forgemaster’s Permit ain’t no easy feat, monetarily speakin’ of course.”

  “How much?” grunted Hephaestus.

  “To the point, I like that. Should set you back some fifty k.”

  “Fifty kay?”

  She laughed. “God you really are a rookie ain’t you? Fifty thousand.”

  Hephaestus’ eyes widened at the amount, “Fifty thousand what…gold pieces?”

  “You got it.”

  “How am I supposed to make that much money!?”

  She shrugged. “Well, you can go questin’, gather resources, kill creatures and people, become a mercenary. The possibilities are endless, really, and it shouldn’t take you o’er... two months, three maybe.”

  Hephaestus shrugged. In fairness, he admitted, making one’s own forge wasn’t an easy feat, no matter, it seemed, if the world was physical or virtual. “Let’s say I don’t want to wait two or three months, how would you go about it?”

  “Me?”

  “Well, you seem to be well acquainted with the... mechanics of this place. How would an absolute newcomer go around making that money, relatively quickly?”

  “Hm, well, there’s an option you may consider at some point, but I wouldn’t quite recommend it.”

  “Tell me about it?”

  She sighed, “Damned rookie. Well, you can become a gladiator in the arena. Payment is good, combat is fun, and you may even gain some fame out of that.”

  “But?”

  “But, if you die in the arena, well you lose all your gains. Y’know, money, items, experience, the whole lot. And you can’t participate anymore. Fightin’ is to the death, you see, and since you can’t exactly ‘die’ around ‘ere, well, bannin’ you from ever competin’ again.”

  “Hm. Sounds harsh.”

  She shrugged, “Ain’t too bad, really, as long as you have top tier gear.”

  “And what exactly,” asked Hephaestus, crossing his arms over his chest, “constitutes ‘top-tier’ gear?”

  “Damn it dude, haven’t you ever played other RPG games?”

  “Dungeons and Dragons.”

  “Well, that may be—”

  “Second edition,” he interrupted.

  She took her palm to her forehead, her eyebrows widening in surprise as she inquired, “Shit man, how old are you?”

  “Very. Now, top-tier gear, please?”

  “Alright, alright. I’ll show ya.” When she finished talking, a prompt appeared in Hephaestus’ view, reading:

  Altara wishes to Trade – Accept?

  He nodded, thinking, So, Altara it is? He realized that, up to that point, he didn’t know her name, but from the way she talked, he surmised she was a real person. Another player, so to speak, as non-player characters, he assumed, must be more unresponsive or clichéd. Then again, what about Kaminalda? Angus? Alva? They seemed real enough. To me at least. He would have time to worry about whether they were part of the simulation or not; for now, he accepted the prompt. Three rectangular windows appeared; two were encompassed within a larger rectangle, with his own name above them, representing his tradable items and gold, and the ones he wanted to trade; the other one, with her name above it, showed what she wished to trade. The interface was simple enough, Hephaestus thought, eager to see what Altara meant with item tiers.

  His question was quickly answered as she placed five items into her window: A longsword, a spear, a pair of boots, her shortbow, and an amulet. Each item was surrounded by a different colored gleam, something he had failed to notice before, just as each gleam was shinier than the last; the first item was surrounded by a dull grey, the second item by a noticeable green gleam, the third one had a blue aura around it, the fourth one was adorned in violet, while the fifth one had a resplendent golden hue around it.

  Before Hephaestus could analyze the items, Altara began talking; “Hephaestus eh? Ain’t heard such a name before, but well, you see, each item has a glow ‘round them, yes?” He nodded. “Right, it denotes the quality tier of the item; from left to right: Gray is a common, run o’ the mill piece of crap; green is a slightly better, still crappy uncommon stuff; blue’s where we begin’ talkin’, as those are good, rare items; purple, you’re lucky to ever see or get one, as they are legendary stuffs. Many even have a name and backstory to them!”

  She said nothing more, opening herself to questioning; Hephaestus took the bait, “What about golden?” he asked, knowing he was expected to.

  She smiled. “Golden’s what you get when you’re a fuckin’ badass. Those items? They ain’t in the game’s loot, they’re crafted by hand, by the crazy bastards who like to work—as in, really work—the forges; you know, those who shut down auto-mode and really get their hands dirty. Crazy fuckers, one and all,” a strange look of fondness crossed briefly over her features, disappearing almost as soon as it appeared. “Unique items can even have customized descriptions by the one makin’ them, too, but that ain’t important. Each item tier has increasingly better stats, they give better stuff and bonuses, and of course, they’re worth bucketloads more. But don’t take my word for it, have a look for yourself!”

  Hephaestus did so, curious about what he would see; as he focused his sight on each item, their attributes were revealed in a smaller, popup square:

  Longsword (grey hue)

  -common-

  Damage: 2-5

  Value: 15 GP

  Spear of Piercing (green hue)

  -uncommon-

  Damage: 2-5

  Bonus: Damage +1

  Value: 35 GP

  Swift Boots of the Knave (blue hue)

  -rare-

  AC: 15

  Bonus: Rhetorics +1

  Bonus: Finesse +1

  Value: 2,000 GP

  Widowmaker’s Warbow (shortbow – purple hue)


  -legendary-

  Damage: 15-20

  Bonus: Marksmanship +10

  Bonus: Damage +5

  Bonus: Attack Speed +2

  Value: 15,000 GP

  Lore: When renowned markswoman Eleanor Farlong decided to join in defending Baldera from tyrant raiders, everyone expected her to stay behind the ranks—as other women did—tending to the wounded and consoling widows. No one expected her to sling her late husband’s warbow, and ride a horse into battle, raining arrows with deadly accuracy on every tyrant she laid eyes on. They had made her a widow, it was just right that she returned the favor a thousand fold.

  Though the bit of lore on Altara’s shortbow was interesting enough, what Hephaestus was truly curious about was her amulet. The way she had described the item, someone had actually worked them by themselves, by hand, rather than through using the simplified crafting system available to most people. The fact became quite apparent as he looked over the item: It was a perfectly crafted piece. To the untrained eye, it would look as a crude, slightly irregular circle of metal with a handle above it for a cord to be threaded through it; in his view, however, he could see the intention behind every dent, and every irregularity was intentionally made. Its body was lovingly engraved with Celtic-like patterns, knotting one over another, forming a flowing pattern which embraced the entirety of the metallic surface. That, Hephaestus saw, was a work of passion. He read the item’s description eagerly:

  Handcrafted Amulet of the Eternal Bond (golden hue)

  -unique-

  Bonus: Health Points +1500

  Bonus: All Attributes +10

  Bonus: Damage +30

  Bonus: Defense +50

  Value: 80,000 GP

  Description: Alastara, let this be my final legacy to you, the culmination of my efforts before—

  “Alrighty, Hephy, that’s enough oglin’”, said the woman, shutting down the trade window before Hephaestus could finish reading through the last item; the last thing he managed to see before it closed was a name, at the bottom of a heartfelt missive:

  Crafted by Baratus.

  “Now, you see what I mean by item tiers? The higher the item, the better, no excuse.”

  “Hm,” he grunted. “What do the values mean, however? Damage, bonus, all that?”

  She shrugged. “Truth be told, they are rather arbitrary numbers. For example, you can have somethin’ with like, one to two damage, and still murder someone much stronger than you are. They’re a means to see how good or bad an item is, really. The higher the better, of course. Same goes for skills. They serve more as an indication to others, than a true reflection of your capacities.”

  “Why is that?”

  She shrugged, “Bluffing is a part of the game, too. Most players pump all their attribute points into strength, and their skills into combat abilities to look more menacin’ and deal more automatic damage. Truth is, though, the game is skewed towards manuals.”

  “Manuals?”

  “The people who actually take the time to live the simulation and do things manually, rather than pattin’ themselves on the back after lettin’ the software do everythin’ by itself.”

  “I see,” he said. “Another question, if I may…Baratus?”

  A hint of something dark passed over her features. “You may not, I’m ‘fraid.”

  “Hm,” touchy topic, he thought. Well, he had no right to know about it if it was personal, he would pry no further. Still, there was something he could do to lighten the mood. “There’s something I can show you, too.”

  “Truly?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what may that be?”

  “Er;” said Hephaestus, feeling dumb as he asked, “How... how do I open the trade interface?”

  Altara blinked rapidly, as if unable to lend credence to what she was hearing. “You, ah, open your inventory and choose the trade interface, enter my name, and that’s it.”

  “Huh,” he said, doing as he was told. He noticed the button showing a hand handling over merchandise, symbolizing the act of trading; when its prompt opened, he entered Altara’s name, and the same interface opened, followed by a popup message reading:

  Altara has accepted your trade request.

  He took a deep breath, admitting to himself that he would boast about his handiwork, more to show off than anything, still, what wrong was there in taking pride in one’s work? He placed his handcrafted dagger into the trade interface, seeing as Altara examined it. Had her eyebrows climbed any higher, they would have fused with her hairline. “You made this? This your dagger?”

  “Mhm.”

  She was taken aback, struggling to find the words to express herself. “I can’t believe it, you truly made that thing? As in, at a forge, with your own two hands? But how, when?”

  “Slow down there, lady,” said Hephaestus, “Calm down before you have a paroxysm! To answer your questions, in order: Yes, I made that dagger myself, as the name says; yes, at a forge, with my own two hands, eyes, and a number of tools. How? By using a forge myself, through my own skills; when? When I first saw a damned forge.” He scoffed, “Any other questions?”

  Altara narrowed her eyes. “Say, how long you’ve been in ‘ere for?”

  How long indeed? He wondered. To his perception, no more than a handful of hours had passed. Hours... he thought; throughout that time, he had felt no need to excrete, eat, or sleep. Thinking back on it, he had traveled over kilometers, from the small town, through forests and prairies until he reached Arken, yet he felt no exhaustion, no weariness, no tiredness. Hephaestus shrugged, answering honestly when he said “I don’t know. No more than a few hours, I guess.”

  “A few hours?” she asked, “In-game hours?”

  “Yea, why?”

  “Hm,” she took her hand to her chin, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Say, Hephy—”

  “Please, call me Hephaestus.”

  “Whatever. Do you know how time works ‘round ‘ere?”

  He shrugged once more. “Not really, no. It’s my first time in one of these... neural virtual simulation thingies.”

  “Truly? Hm, well that’s just weird then. Nah, don’t make that face, no need to worry ‘bout it, really. It’s just that most people have had previous experience with a virtual space before.”

  “Well, not I. Is that a problem?”

  “None at all, cool off, man! Now, as I was goin’ to say ‘fore you interrupted me, time is a weird thing ‘ere. Minutes and hours pass normally enough. That is, you feel them passing alright, and daylight and whatnot reflect it. However, that doesn’t mean the same happens outside.”

  Hephaestus’ brow lowered as he struggled to understand. “Explain,” he requested, trying to grasp what Altara was trying to say.

  She continued, “Right so, you say you’ve been ‘ere a number of hours, yes? Let’s assume you’ve been ‘round for ten hours. Just to give a number, mind you. At the rate time in ‘ere advances, outside, no more than ten minutes must’ve passed.”

  It was the blacksmith’s turn to be surprised, “You’re messing with me.”

  “Ain’t bullshittin’ none, Hephy. One real-world minute means one Alterwelt hour. That’s the beauty of it. You can be ‘ere for days, months, years even without needin’ to log off. That too,” she added somberly, “is the risk. The longer you spend in ‘ere, the harder it is to get out.” The odd fondness returned to her eyes, as briefly as before, except this time, Hephaestus noticed, laced with sadness. A smug grin appeared on her face, erasing the look in her eyes, “Anyhow, that would mean you’re a natural smith, no?”

  Trying, and failing not to be smug, Hephaestus said “I’ve had some experience with metalworking.”

  “Only metal?”

  He shrugged, “leather, wood, glass, crystals…nearly everything to do with armors and weapons. I am... was, a blacksmith.”

  “Hmm,” she took her hand to her chin once more, this time, an appraisi
ng look appeared on her features, as a plan was forming in her head. “Well, if that piece’o work you’ve got there’s any indication, I’m inclined to believe you. SO!” she said, clapping her hands at the end, “I think I might’ve a proposition for you!”

  Her tone, though casual, spoke of an underlying shrewdness for business practices. “I’m listening,” he said cautiously.

  “You say you want your own forge, yes?” He nodded, “And we agree that fifty-k is an effin’ huge amount of cash, yes?”

  “Now you mind your language?”

  “Ain’t matter none, you want to hear my proposal or not?”

  “Fine, fine, yeesh!”

  “Then shut it, old man! Now, we are also in agreement that becomin’ a gladiator might be the best way to go ‘round it, yes?”

  “Get to the point,” he said sternly, adding “Please.”

  “Manners matter, smithy boy. Now, there’s an even quicker way which may be mutually beneficial for both of us.”

  “Oh no,” Hephaestus said, “I can see where this is going.”

  The woman grinned slyly, “Truly? And where would this be, hm?”

  Hephaestus pointed a strong finger towards her, calling “You want to become my damned manager!”

  A mix of bewilderment, disappointment, and amusement passed through Altara’s face as, shaking her head, she said “Man, you can be thick sometimes. Let me spell it out for you: I’m goin’ to bet all my dosh on you.”

  “Huh?”

  “If you’re a watcher in the arena, you can place some really hefty bets—idiotically large bets, to be precise, and nobody bats an eye if you, say, place about five thousand gold into a newbie, trying your luck.”

  “Hmm, I see. And what would the return be?”

  “It depends on who you’re crazy ‘nuff to challenge. If you, as a newcomer, fight against another noob, well, the return would be about one tenth of my wager; that is, in this case, I’d get some five hundred gold; if you face someone of a higher tier, well, the return would be larger of course.”