Confusion took over the blacksmith; “I thought you liked those items of yours? Legendary, too.”
“’Legendary’ is just a term, really. Their bonuses? They suck, though not as much as the ones you chose, ah, no offense.”
“None taken.”
“Good. And well, their designs... I gotta tell you, I’ve never been much of a fan of the designs most guilds use. Really big, show-off type stuff. Your gear, it’s like, it’s not even trying to be awesome, yet it is.”
“You flatter me,” said Hephaestus, “do you want items like those, then?”
“Of course! Stuff that looks like actual weapons and armor, can you make them?”
“As I said, of course I can! Except, I don’t know about prices.”
“Hmm,” Rothmund placed his hand on his chin, thinking. “Well dude, see, you’re still pretty low-level, and don’t misunderstand me, your stuff is damn awesome, but it’s still, well, lower level than what the guilds would offer.” When he finished talking, he returned to thinking; Hephaestus could feel tension building within him, as he wondered whether Rothmund would commission an item or not. After some deliberation, the arena champion said “Would you do it for a hundred a piece?”
“A hundred gold?”
Rothmund laughed loudly, surprised by the blacksmith’s words. “Don’t be ridiculous, that’d be stupid! A hundred thousand, of course.”
Hephaestus was struck speechless. A hundred thousand a piece! “You’re kidding me.”
“I know it’s low compared to most rates,” Rothmund said pleadingly, “but understand you’re still low level. Besides, well, I’ll be wearing it to the arena and, hopefully, I’ll climb to the arenas in Tyr, and eventually Baldera, even Cragshire! So what I don’t pay you in gold, you’ll get in recognition I guess.”
“Hah,” chuckled Hephaestus, “Paid with exposure, just as the first days.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, just rambling. How many pieces do you need done?”
“Hm, to start with, I’d say weapon, armor, pauldrons, helmet, gloves, greaves, and boots. Seven items, that good for you?”
“Magnificent.”
“Excellent! Then uh, which forge are you going to use?”
“I, uh...” Well, crap. He knew, instinctively, that the offer was too good to be true, and there was the caveat: He had no forge. “Well I—”
“He’ll be usin’ Baratus’ forge,” interrupted Altara, surprising Hephaestus.
“Baratus?” Rothmund asked, “Thought he wasn’t around anymore? What happened to him anyways?”
“He ain’t around, nepotism and prepotency happened, but that matters none. Hephaestus here will be usin’ his forge,” she turned towards Hephaestus, “If he wants. For a price, of course.”
In reply, the smith folded his hands over his chest. “Hmm, eighty-twenty.”
“Eighty for me,” Altara replied.
“Wrong.”
“Figured. Seventy-five, twenty-five.”
“Sixty-forty.”
“It’s my forge.”
“It’s my skill.”
“Hmm. Fifty-fifty, ain’t goin’ below that. Besides, you’ll have enough for your own forge eventually.”
“Deal. Rothmund, I’ll be using Baratus’ forge.”
Rothmund clapped his hands, saying “Great! Can I come by the forge later, so we can discuss the details and stuff?”
“Of course,” Hephaestus replied, “Swing by, and we can discuss the details.”
“Looking forward to it! Oh by the way,” said Rothmund, a pensive look in his face, “That sword you made, Zinnia, is it, well important to you?”
Hephaestus shrugged, “The person it’s named after was... quite important to me.”
“I see.”
A trading request coming from Rothmund appeared into Hephaestus’ view. The moment he accepted, Rothmund placed Zinnia into the trade window, and confirmed the trade. The blacksmith was taken aback, as he had considered his weapon as lost. “Why?” he asked.
Rothmund shrugged, “Well, it’s important to you, so I figure I would be a total douche if I didn’t give it back to you.”
“Thank you, Rothmund. What about the rest of the armor?”
The champion grinned mirthfully, “Come now, smith, I need to win something, don’t I?” Saying that, Rothmund turned on his heels, whistling a jolly tune as he walked away. He had surprised Hephaestus. The smith assumed Rothmund to be a common jerk, instead, he had proven himself to be a decent guy.
He turned towards Altara, “Still wanna work together, huh?”
She shrugged, “Well, you’re a good enough fella, and you’re skilled, and I’ve got a forge, so...”
“So,” added the smith, “you want to collaborate. Why, though? Seems to me like I really did you dirty by failing at the arena, wasting your permits and all.”
Altara sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. Something seemed to trouble her, Hephaestus noticed, opting for letting her speak. After a few seconds, she sighed once more, staring intently at him. “Look, Hephy, it’s somethin’ quite difficult, quite personal, alright? And though I like you, well, I don’t really wanna talk about it right now, I’m sorry.”
Hephaestus shook his head, he understood the feeling. By god, there were things he didn’t even want to talk about with his children. To Altara he was still mostly a stranger, and her life was her own. “It’s alright, Altara. I get it. Some stuff, it’s just not the kind you wanna talk about,” he chuckled, “especially with a damn noob.”
Altara grinned, mirth apparent in her eyes, “Now you’re gettin’ it! Well, let’s get that old place up to speed. After all,” she said joyously, “you just got your first commission!”
He nodded, following after her. He had, indeed, landed his first commission in Alterwelt. Sure, it came after being destroyed at the arena, but still, he would get to do as he loved, while benefiting from it; it was a great feeling.
He wished his kids were there to share it with him.
Chapter VIII: Working Ethics
“People remain people—you need to understand this—so even though some of the worlds we support are dystopian, lawless hellscapes, there remain some semblances of order. The social contract is so deeply ingrained into us, that even in a fully open, fully free reality, you can still find damn bureaucrats!”
-Jolier Vazquez, in “Virtual Business Practices – Social Norms and Contracts”
Both Falcata and Talwar were in a hurry. Hephaestus had, of course, respawned outside of the arena, likely naked, alone, and confused. To their chagrin, the throng of people had prevented the siblings from a quick exit, causing them to miss the defeated man altogether. When they reached the atrium of the arena, there was no sign of him, making them worry.
“I told you we had to be faster,” Falcata said.
“And I told you we should have left before the inevitable happened, but no! You wanted to stay!” Falcata glared at him, saying nothing, before stomping outside of the atrium. “Okay, yeesh.” As he started after his sister, Talwar collided against a whistling man; neither fell, though Talwar said “Apologies! I didn’t see you.”
The man shrugged, “It’s alright, accidents do happen. I mean,” he chuckled, “I almost died moments ago!”
“Huh?”
“Ah sorry,” the man said, “I forget people don’t recognize me out of this,” when he finished talking, Rothmund’s armor appeared on him, before returning to his casual clothes. “See? Nearly got killed by that man! Magnificent craftsman though, see, I just commissioned some gear off of him, a few—”
Talwar placed his hands on Rothmund’s shoulders. “You saw where he went? Where to? Where is he!?”
“Okay, okay, chill! Jeeze, sir! He’s going to Baratus’ old forge to work on my items, while I’m going to fetch the stuff he needs.”
“Baratus?” The name rang a bell, though he couldn’t quite pl
ace it. Suddenly it came to him, “Wait, Baratus? Banned Baratus?”
“The same, yes.”
“Shit, what the hell is he doing going there?”
Rothmund shrugged. “Dunno, the lady said he’d use the forge, and Hephaestus agreed.”
“Damn it. Hey, do you know where the forge is at?”
“I... uh, sure! Here, let me show you.” Rothmund’s expression became vacant as he toyed with his map, before an alert came into Talwar’s view: Marker Placed. “There you go, should be easy enough to find.”
“Indeed, thank you.” Damn it, he thought, this is bad. “Falcata! Falcata wait! Damn it!” He ran after his sister, trying not to push people away. Rudeness never paid after all. She had gone a ways ahead while he conferred with Rothmund; at least he now had an inkling about where to go.
He found his sister a few steps ahead, sitting by the steps of a fountain, her hands on her forehead; she looked angry, defeated even. Talwar tried to understand—he truly did—why she was so adamant on reaching their father; Talwar himself knew he’d be alright; he was stubborn as a mule, and tougher than that. Still, Falcata seemed to worry too much about their father, maybe as a means to express some form of guilt?
Speaking of, he thought, remembering his scathing comment back at the arena. He knew he was being unfair with Falcata, though it still chaffed whenever he thought about her actions; granted she was an adult, and capable of making her own choices. If she needed her own space, it was her right to find her own place and live however she wanted. It wasn’t as if she never visited, either: Falcata—Amy—still took their father’s commissions now and then, keeping the Bjornson name aloft among blacksmithing enthusiasts. Hell, she was the head of finances of their small company! Even so, since she stopped living with them, their house felt empty. It hadn’t felt this empty since... Well, back then. He shook his head, no point in having such thoughts, not right now. Instead, he plopped next to his sister, saying “Been a while since we’ve been in Arken, eh? Not since we were... what? Level thirty?” She said nothing. “Moody are we? Well, I think I can cheer you up.”
“Talwar, please, not now.”
“No? Well,” he said with a shrug, “then I guess you don’t wanna go where pa might be at.”
Her attention perked up, “You know where he’s at?”
“Mhm, guess who I met outside the arena?”
“Dad?”
“No, Rothmund. He commissioned some items from Hephaestus, so all we gotta do is get to the forge he’ll be using.”
“Right, and where’s that?”
“Baratus’.”
Falcata’s eyes narrowed into thin slits, “You serious?”
“Positive. Seems some woman was with him.”
“Shit. What the hell are we doing wasting time then? C’me on, let’s go!”
Well, he thought, at least she’s cheerier.
***
“So, Hephy! I didn’t get to ask you, how did you like this ‘ere modest forge?”
Modest, thought Hephaestus, was too small a term. Having worked with the tools at the smithy, he had seen the quality of items, resources which had been at Baratus’ disposal. Even if using correct formulae didn’t yield the same results as in the real world, well, at least the process remained enjoyable, especially with the tools at hand. “It’s amazing,” he replied, “This Baratus must have had a knack for smithing, too.”
“Mhm. And jewelry, crystal workin’, wood carvin’…you name it. He was quite the artisan.” The familiar hint of sadness came momentarily over her, vanishing as soon as it appeared. “Anyhow! Gotta clean up this mess a little, it’s fallen in a bit of disrepair, seein’ as I didn’t really use it, but hey! I knew it’d be useful to keep around. Now, you’re the brains, Hephy: See anythin’ needs be brought up to speed?”
“Hmm.” Hephaestus walked around the smithy, further surveying its equipment. Even though he had used a number of the available machines before, there remained a number he hadn’t seen: odd machines which he had no knowledge about, strange devices and apparatuses, and other, weird designs. “Mostly, Altara, I need to know what these do,” said he, pointing at the various machines in the forge.
“These? Hmm, well, I don’t rightly know about all of ‘em, but a few,” she shrugged, “I can figure out.” She walked towards one of the machines; “This thin’, well, you put a piece of metal in and it tells you what it’s made of, its components, like.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, put in a piece of auricuprium, and it’ll tell you it’s made out of gold and copper.”
Hephaestus understood: “A spectroscope!”
“A specter what?”
“It’s a er... a thing, to see the mineral composition of a piece of metal. Quite useful. Damn expensive.”
She shrugged, “In real life perhaps, here? Well, it’s part of an advanced forge’s perks. Now this,” she said, pointing at a machine shaped as two pieces of metal hovering over a large, rectangular box, “is actually a lathe. The two bits of metal lock into place, holdin’ whatever you wanna make. Now that,” aiming towards what looked as a glass chamber connected to a decanter, “is a refinement chamber, so you can extract certain materials for monster pieces and the like, and this—”
“IS FUCKING OVER!”
Hephaestus and Altara were startled by the shrill woman’s voice coming from the entrance of the forge. Two people had entered, the woman in her twenties, and a man of about the same age. The woman stomped towards Altara, her eyes burning with anger as she said “Who’d have thought we’d find a little filthy hacker prowlin’ around eh?”
Altara chuckled, “Them’s fightin’ words, lass, aimed at someone you barely know.”
“Oh I know you alright. And you,” she said pointing towards Hephaestus, “Angus Bjornson.”
“Wha— how the hell do you know my name? Who are you?”
The woman smiled. “Hey dad.”
“Yo, pa,” said the man.
Hephaestus’ eyes widened, “Wait, Amy? Jonas? Hell you doing here?”
“Looking for you, pa, though here,” said his son, “Our names are Falcata and Talwar.”
“Wait, Hephy, these two your kids?”
“Well, yes.”
Surprise, bordering on adulation, beamed on Altara’s face “And you... you’re Angus fuckin’ Bjornson!?”
“I... well, yes, that’s my name outside.”
“NO WAY! You’re a damn legend, like... Holy CRAP! Baratus wou’da loved to meet you, he—”
“Stop talking,” Falcata said imperatively. “Dad’s gonna have nothing to do with a damn hacker!”
“Hell you know, bitch? Just ‘cause Baratus was played dirty, it doesn’t mean he was a hacker!”
“He was, and got his ass banned because of that! Well-deserved, if you ask me!”
“ALRIGHT ENOUGH!” yelled Hephaestus. “Both of you, cut it out, will you? Amy, what the hell do you mean by hackers?”
“Oh,” she said, glaring at Altara, “You didn’t tell him, did you? That your little boyfriend was banned from Alterwelt because his so-called crafted items were made using hacks?”
“No use in tellin’ him,” replied the woman, planting her hands on her hips, “about somethin’ that didn’t happen.”
“It didn’t happen? Of course! That’s why there was a public announcement, recall of the items crafted by him, and compensation to everyone who ever commissioned anything from him!”
“That,” she said angrily, “was him gettin’ played dirty.”
“Whatever,” Falcata turned towards Hephaestus, “Dad, let’s go, don’t mingle with this... rabble.”
She took Hephaestus’ hand, trying to make him move. “Hold on right there, Amy.” His daughter stopped, turning to look at him, a vexed expression on her face. “I’m working together with Altara here, using this forge.”
Falcata sighed in exasperation, taking her fingers to her temp
les before saying “Look, pa, I know you want to be a smith here, and you can be. We... Talwar and I, we’ll help you get your own forge, but we’ve got to get away from here.”
“Amelia, stop,” said Hephaestus calmly, “I don’t really know what happened with Altara and that guy, Baratus, and I don’t quite care either. She’s been helping me so far, and I appreciate that. I’m staying here. Besides, I’ve got a commission to make.”
Anger flared in Falcata’s features. “Dad, you’re making a big mistake.”
“I’m making a choice, Falcata. And it’s final.”
“That so?” When she said that, she disappeared.
“Where’s she gone?”
“Shit! Dad, she’s disconnected,” Talwar said, “she’s gone out!”
“Gone out? Meaning?”
“Dad, look, whatever happens don’t—”
His son’s words were interrupted by a sudden feeling of displacement; the world seemed to warp and shift around him, receding into nothingness as his senses began to become dull. He tumbled in the darkness, his mind being jostled to and fro as he flailed helplessly; Hephaestus could feel his body falling into the abyss, a never-ending void threatening to engulf him whole. The sensation was worse than the recession of his senses when Rothmund finished him off at the arena.
His thoughts became jumbled, painful. Pieces jumped into view, vanishing as soon as they came. Pictures, sounds, sensations paraded across his senses, forming a nonsensical kaleidoscope; after some time, certain pieces began to form clear pictures: The shape of a woman, two wriggling bundles of cloth, a shriek, and a piercing sensation being driven through his heart.
After some time, he could feel his breath becoming shallow, belabored; every heaving gasp hurt, his lungs felt close to bursting, and his head felt near to splitting. His arms felt weak, their energy nearly gone, just as his legs were painfully useless below his hip. Sight returned to him, greeting him with a black cover over his face, no light came through the screen molded to his features. He realized he could feel sweat in his pate and face, as he had sweated beneath the helm-like virtual apparatus.
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