-Jolier Vazquez, in “Virtual Business Practices – Social Norms and Contracts”
“I told you, sir, you need to wait in line!”
“Jesus... damn it there’s quite literally no one around!”
“I don’t make the rules, sir, I only enforce them, now please, get in line!”
Hephaestus threw his hands in the air out of frustration, but finally acquiesced, stepping into a non-existing line at the Arken Permits and Census office. He found it ridiculous that even inside a virtual space, he had to deal with stupid lines…just as it had been when he filed for his pension, or whenever he needed a checkup, or, damn it, if he so much wanted to take a leak at the mall. Lines, damned lines everywhere!
“Chill out, da,” said Falcata next to him, “there’s no one here, I doubt it’ll take long for you to get called.”
“That’s precisely my problem, there’s no one, yet the idiot in charge of seeing me just won’t!”
“Bureaucrats ruin everything, don’t they?” Talwar said, shrugging. “Might well accept our fate and conform to the almighty system.”
“Since when are you one to conform, Talwar?”
His son shrugged again, “Since we can do nothing right now but wait.”
“Hey, cool it off y’all,” Altara said, reclining on the chair she occupied. “Important part is that Hephy’s gonna get his permit, yes?”
“What about his forge?” Falcata asked.
“What ‘bout it? When he can purchase it, he’ll purchase it.”
“I don’t get it,” Talwar said, “what’s the point in having a Forgemaster’s Permit if he doesn’t have a forge?”
“Hey, Talwar was it?” asked Altara, receiving a nod in reply, “you never ran a forge, have you?”
“Only dad’s, outside.”
“Well, ‘ere it works a bit differently. If you’re a manual just like your pa, and you wanna make stuffs, there’s two things you need to take into account. First, you need forging permits per item.”
“Uhuh. Second?”
“There’s a cap o’ five things a day. So, a Forgemaster’s permit does two things: It removes the need for havin’ to purchase permits, and it increases the item cap to twelve. A whole set o’ stuff.”
“Hmm, that is useful,” Talwar said, “I can see why dad wants one.”
“And I’d get it, if it weren’t over these damn meddling bureaucrats!”
“Bureaucrats, my dear blacksmith, can truly be a nuisance, can’t they?” said an oily voice nearby.
The four of them turned towards the origin of the voice, seeing a thin, even lanky man in his thirties walking their way. He was closely followed by an older, dour-looking man dressed in all-black, his hands crossed behind his back. Hephaestus noticed two things: The man’s ankle-length coat, tailored in a Victorian style, was impressively ornamented with gold-thread and silk linings. The other thing he noticed was Altara’s knuckles pressed white.
The man reached Hephaestus, extending a thin, manicured hand: “Lord Liberath Saldigraad at your service, Master...?”
The smith took the man’s hand, noticing it felt more womanly than Altara’s. “Hephaestus.”
“Indeed, the blacksmithing marvel of the Arenas. It truly is an honor to meet you.”
“Thank you,” Hephaestus said curtly.
Silence prolonged itself awkwardly, becoming heavy and oppressive. Breaking the silence, Liberath said “Right, the reason why it is such an honor is because I have come with a proposition fo—”
“Not interested,” Hephaestus said, “sorry.”
“W... Why, you haven’t listened to it, master smith.”
“True enough, and I do apologize over my bluntness. However, as you stated, I am a blacksmith, and paying attention is one of the tools of the trade.”
The older man leaned over to whisper in Liberath’s ear; the lord lifted his hand, stalling the other man, and saying “I’m afraid, master smith, I fail to see why is that relevant.”
“Well,” replied Hephaestus, “for one, I noticed you mentioned being a lord. I must say I have an ingrained, knee-jerk fear of anyone who must introduce themselves using a title. Second, and most important,” he said, looking at Altara, “you are making my friend uncomfortable.”
“Your friend?” asked Liberath, turning towards Altara, his face twisting evilly, before returning into a well-acted smile “My apologies, but I don’t think we’ve met, she’s got no reason to—”
“Still a slimy fuckin’ snake ain’t you?” Altara spat.
“My, such unwarranted rudeness! Is this a way to treat one of the rulers in Alterwelt?”
“Ruler my ass,” the woman replied, “and quit playin’ the fool too.” She turned towards the blacksmith, “Hephaestus, this is the bastard who conspired to get Baratus banned,” directing a venomous glare towards Liberath, she added “And he’d have gotten my ass too, had I not played it smart.”
“Smart, lass,” said the lord, “doesn’t seem to exist within your lexicon, considering your... behavior.” Turning towards Hephaestus, grin back on his face, Liberath continued “Master smith, you are a sensible man, certainly you appreciate the value of... better company?”
“I do,” Hephaestus said.
“Wonderful!” cried Liberath, “Then I suggest we leave for—”
“And I would like to ask you to stop talking to us. Our conversation is over.”
As Hephaestus finished talking, a vein twitched on Liberath’s face; his grin, acted as it was, became oddly feral as he said “I’ll ignore the slight, master smith, and ask if you would humor me, and listen to what I have to offer you?”
Hephaestus crossed his arms on his chest. “Fine.”
“Well, considering we’re putting things prosaically, I’ll be blunt: You are a freelance blacksmith, and that’s not the way things happen around here. So, I offer you a place in one of my metalworkers’ guilds! See, easy.”
“Not interested.”
Liberath laughed mirthlessly, “Master smith, I phrased my words as a proposal out of politeness, but in truth,” he said, pausing as his grin grew larger, “you don’t have a choice.”
“Seems to me,” the blacksmith said, “I do have a choice: Not joining your guild, and getting my own forge.”
“Master smith, please, try to be reasonable and understand, I am trying to work with you here! Now, the only way for anyone who’s even remotely serious about crafting to thrive is—”
“Ah shut your trap,” interrupted Altara. “Hephy, he’s lyin. You can be a freelance smith and do much better than ‘is cookie-cutter guildies. That’s why Baratus got banned.”
“Baratus,” spat Liberath “was a known hacker, and an... undesirable, lady. He got what’s came to him,” turning towards Hephaestus, he added “As does anyone who doesn’t play by the rules.”
“And what,” Hephaestus asked, “would those rules be?”
“Now that’s a good question. Rules, my dear smith, are the lubricants of daily interactions, wouldn’t you agree? They keep us from barbarism, anarchy and—”
“To the point. Please,” the smith interrupted.
The vein twitched again before Liberath said “Point is, Alterwelt is a place of custom, and custom dictates,” he paused, letting the threat linger for a moment. “You play nicely, with me. Besides,” he continued, “you strike me as a most... sensible man. There are certain advantages to having friends in high places, yes?”
“I couldn’t know,” replied the blacksmith, “I am not prone to prostituting myself.”
“Prostitution is too strong a word, master smith. You would be more of a... partner, really.”
“Hm.” Hephaestus looked at Altara, noticing a subtle, unconscious shake of her head, before he said “Thank you.”
“Excellent, I will—”
“But I’m not interested.”
Liberath’s expression darkened almost immediately, becoming dan
gerous. “You are making quite a mistake, smith.”
“Am I, though?” Hephaestus asked, before shrugging, “Well, if I am, then I am. It’s nothing to warrant being banned about though, is it?”
“No,” Liberath said in a slick drawl, “it’s not. But who knows the kind of things that might get one sacked, hm?”
“I presume you would, being a lord and all.”
“Oh, master smith,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, “you have no idea.”
As the lord finished talking, an old man waddled towards Hephaestus, dressed in formal attire topped by a stole on his shoulders. “Pardon my delay, it’s been some time since anyone’s wanted a Forgemaster’s Permit. Now, who is the crafter in question?”
Hephaestus lifted his hand, “I am.”
“Good! Then I assume you have the fifty thousand gold necessary?” Hephaestus nodded, “Excellent, then we may—”
“Actually, my good man,” injected Liberath, “we may not.”
“Why would... oh... Oh! Lord Liberath, fancy seeing you here! To what do we owe your illustrious presence?”
“My presence, my good man, is due to this smith before you. Alas, alack, and whataday, I am afraid you must not provide him with the permit he requests.”
“But my Lord, why wouldn’t I? He has the money and—”
“Because,” said Liberath imperatively, “he is going against the rules.”
“The... the rules, Lord?”
“Indeed, for don’t they state anyone who would request a Forgemaster’s Permit must, unequivocally, belong to a crafter’s guild?”
“Bullshit!” yelled Altara.
Liberath turned towards her, his face twisted into a sneer, “Shut your mouth when you are not spoken to, wench!”
“Or what? You’re goin’ to concoct some petty lie to get me sacked too?” She chuckled mirthlessly, “I’d like to see you try.”
“I wouldn’t speak to one such as you. The rules,” he said, returning his gaze to the older man, “State that one must belong to a guild in order to—”
“If you want,” interrupted Altara, “we could call a Game Master.”
Liberath froze. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Actually,” added Hephaestus, “that would be a sensible way to solve this misunderstanding, lord... Libertine?”
The vein pulsed again. “Li-be-RATH!”
“Apologies.”
“Let it not repeat itself.”
“Right, Liberate. Calling a Game Master would, no doubt, put the matter to rest,” turning towards the older man, he said “Wouldn’t it?”
“Uh... well, certainly, of course, of course! I myself had never heard of such a rule’s existence, I must say, so I would very much like to—”
Liberath interrupted by lifting a hand. “FINE! Let’s put the matter to rest, shall we? You may grant this... artisan the permit he requests. Take it as a sign of my good will. And Hephaestus?”
“Hm?”
“I assure you, you want me as your friend,” his eyes narrowed, “not your enemy.”
“I believe myself adept at picking my friends, Loverat.”
“Right. Ilmer, let’s go. And... wench,” said the lord, turning towards Altara, “If you see Baratus, in the outside world, that is, do give him my regards. Or if necessary,” he chuckled, “a bouquet of flowers,” he turned around, laughing under his breath.
Hephaestus felt, rather than saw something snap in Altara. Things happened almost too quickly for the blacksmith to react; he barely saw the dagger appear in the woman’s hand, just as he barely saw her lifting her arm and lunging towards Liberath. Had he been a split second late, his fingers wouldn’t have dragged Altara’s wrist into his hand, stopping her from stabbing Liberath. He could feel her struggle under his grasp as she tried to tear herself loose. She stopped when Hephaestus leaned in, whispering “It’s not worth it.”
Altara relented, becoming slack and loose in Hephaestus’ grip. She sheathed her dagger, shaking her head and saying “Just get your fuckin’ permit will you?”
Hephaestus nodded, turning towards the older man. “A Forgemaster’s permit. Please.”
The older man nodded, giving him the permit, and taking the fifty thousand gold necessary for the transaction. The four of them left the edifice, heading towards the central plaza in Arken, walking silently as they evaded the throngs of people.
After some time, Talwar broke the silence: “Well, that was...”
“Fucking awkward,” added Falcata. “Mind telling us what the hell was that?”
“Nothin’,” replied Altara “doesn’t matter. Let’s just go back to the forge, shall we?”
“Altara,” Hephaestus said calmly, “I believe we might be owed an explanation for this.”
“You’re owed nothin’!” she barked. Noticing their expressions, Altara closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap. Just... that asshole back there? He’s the one who spread the rumors which got Baratus banned.”
“Why did he do that?” Talwar asked.
“Why? Hah, well, because Baratus was much like your pa.”
“Explain,” commanded Falcata.
“Well, Baratus admired Angus Bjornson, the way he crafted his pieces, his artisan’s abilities,” nostalgia crept into her voice when she said “he used to joke that when he grew up, he’d have loved to be just like ‘im, you know?”
“Very cute,” said Falcata, “but it doesn’t explain anything.”
Altara shot a glare at Hephaestus’ daughter, “It is a sensitive topic you’re askin’ about. Don’t worry, if you want, I can shut it and never talk ‘bout it again.”
“Fine, go on.”
“Thank you. Well, to make a long story short, Baratus did the two worst things you can do to that Liberath: One, he refused the yoke of joining a guild, and second,” she chuckled, “he made better stuff than the crap his guildies make.”
“How is that possible,” Hephaestus asked, “considering Liberath has people working for him, it seems.”
Falcata shrugged, “Thing is, most peeps don’t want the hassle o’ findin’ materials, craftin’ their stuff and whatnot—not even usin’ the game’s systems, since it takes away some of their skill points. Instead, they prefer to completely disregard them craftin’ skills, and pay the guilds to get their stuffs made. That’s why Baratus thrived in his day; he made better, greater things but, more than anythin’, he put himself into everythin’ he made.” Unconsciously, she clutched at the pendant around her neck.
Hephaestus noticed the gesture, adding “I’d love to meet this Baratus fellow, in the outside world, that is.”
Altara chuckled sadly, “Keep wantin’ then, Hephy, as that’s a no-can-do situation.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she shrugged, “necromancy don’t exist in the outside world.” Saying that, she turned around and started walking, heading towards the forge.
Hephaestus was numb struck, but decided against following Altara for the time being. He turned towards his kids, “Necromancy, what did she mean?”
“Uh, dad,” Talwar said, “Necromancy is the art of talking to, and raising the dead.”
“Truly? But that doesn’t tell us much, does it?”
“Dad,” said Falcata, her jaw muscles bunched tightly, “it means that guy, Baratus, is dead.”
“Oh.” Realization rushed into Hephaestus as he understood why the topic was so upsetting for Altara. Baratus was dead, not only in the game, but outside as well. But why? He wondered. Perhaps Altara would tell him in time, perhaps not; the one thing he was certain of for the time being, is that if that guy, Liberath, tried to pull a stunt on Hephaestus and his forging, well, he wasn’t keen on just stepping aside, especially for a videogame lordling.
Chapter XIII: First Orders
“We try our best to prevent nepotism and unfair advantages within the virtual spaces we support. After all
, our goal is to provide an ideal version of what life should be, not keeping people waiting in line at the virtual supermarket!”
-Jolier Vazquez, in “The Limits of Simulated Realism, an interview.”
When they reached the forge, they found Altara tidying the place up. Though every machine was already fully functional—a fact Hephaestus knew well, having used most of them one way or another—the floor, walls, and the machines themselves were grimy with oil, iron dust, rust, and other inevitabilities of time and decay; none were to be seen, however, as most of the machines looked damn near pristine, as did the floors and ceilings of the forge were clean, nearly sparkling.
Altara, sitting on a chair, saw Hephaestus and his kids. “Hey,” she called, lifting a tankard in her right hand, “Wondered how much longer y’all would take.”
“Did some summer cleaning, Altara?” asked Talwar.
“Nah,” she replied, climbing to her feet, “I figured since Hephaestus is now goin’ to get more business, it wouldn’t hurt havin’ a clean smithy, no?”
“Well,” chuckled Falcata, “dad would tell you that a dirty forge is a happy forge.”
“He would?” asked Altara, turning towards the blacksmith, “Why would that be?”
“Because it means you are using it, and its tools. No forge remains clean for a long time. Only those which never feel the heat of a furnace can stay squeaky clean.”
“Well in that case,” said the woman, “let’s make it dirty, shall we?” She noticed the silence, and the kids’ expressions. “That’s NOT at all what I meant!”
“Sure, sure, whatever you said,” joked Falcata, somehow warmer towards the woman. “Anyhow dad, I think it’s time for us to go.”
“What? You quitting the game?”
“No, we’re going hunting.”
“Yea dad,” her brother added, “there’s an experience event going on right now. Besides, we gotta get you materials to work with.”
“Hm,” Hephaestus nodded towards his son, thanking him. “You gonna be alright?”
“Sure thing dad,” Falcata said, “just killing a few mobs, gathering resources…nothing out of this world, I promise.”
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