“Hmm,” Ilmer racked his mind trying to see his liegelord’s point; after a moment, it finally clicked. “Well sire, way I see it, we can easily bring Hephaestus down!”
“We can?”
“We can! You see, one of our guilds is registered already as Bjornsons’ Arms and Armor, after the real life smithy, of course, but that’s of no consequence; thing is that since we already registered the name, making it ours for use, he can’t have a similar name while still operating. That would be the easiest avenue to bring him down.”
“But wouldn’t that be suspicious, having him brought down on a technicality?”
“Well sire,” Ilmer added, clasping his hands, “that’s where ingenuity comes in: show the switch and give the fodder, or so they say. We show people the switch by making an example out of Hephaestus, just another hacker trying to soil a guild workshop’s good name, then give them the fodder by significantly lowering our unique crafting prices.”
Liberath struggled into a sitting position, his eyes red and puffy from the excess alcohol. “Wouldn’t that be financially irresponsible, though?”
“Not really, no, as the change wouldn’t be permanent. Give people enough time to learn how to rely on the guilds once more, let them need us again, and then, well, once you have control over the market, you can do whatever the hell you want with the prices.”
“So, we show them a pretty face before we screw them over?”
Ilmer leaned in, grinning manically, “Precisely, sire.”
“Right, right. See Ilmer? Things work better when you pay attention to my ideas.”
The aide sighed, “Indeed, sire, your ideas.”
“Well then, how do we go about doing this?”
“First,” Ilmer said, “we send a cease and desist letter. Nothing too fancy, standard fare telling him to quit his crap before we move against him. If it all goes as planned, that’s the only thing we’ll need to do.”
“But things rarely go as planned, don’t they?”
“No sire, they do not. That’s why when, not if, the plan fails, we’ll have a reason to strike him in force, all within legality.”
“Legality...” whispered Liberath, “tell me, who was the idiot who thought having a legal system in a fantasy world was a smart idea?”
Ilmer shrugged, “Someone with a penchant for immersion, I’m sure.”
“Hm. In any case,” Liberath continued, “we can spin this situation to our benefit, take down Hephaestus, make an example out of him.”
“Just as I said, sire. Should we seek to have him banned?”
“Sure, why not? After all, I did offer him the opportunity to join a guild, and he deliberately refused. Besides,” Liberath said, drunkenness wearing off of him, “Should we see a repeat of the Baratus situation, we can acquire most of the items he produced, and sell them back to collectors of ‘hacker’ memorabilia.”
“I would advise against that, sire,” Ilmer chuckled, “at least at first.”
“Whatever you say, Ilmer. I remain bothered, however.”
“Why so, sire?”
“Because,” said the lord, standing up and managing not to wobble, “a single man managed to prove the brittleness of our current system. A single man, with nothing to his name other than a humiliating defeat at Arken has managed to make fools of us!”
“I must insist, sire, you are thinking too much about things. Hephaestus, just as Baratus before him, is but a fad. It too, shall pass.”
“Hm.” Liberath wished he could feel as confident as his aide; there was something about Hephaestus which unsettled him. Baratus? He had been predictable, manageable even. A simpleton, and nothing more; Liberath disliked simpletons in conversation, as they were a bore, but in business? There were no other people he liked more: Simpletons asked no questions, needed no reasons, they merely smiled, laughed, and were eager to please someone they saw as a superior, their superior. In Liberath’s case, that was easy enough to achieve. Then again, he wondered, recalling Baratus himself; perhaps he wasn’t as much of a simpleton as he gave him credit for, after all, he had refused working with a guild, much as Hephaestus had.
Think, he thought, what do these two have in common? Liberath thought back to his encounter with Hephaestus, the calm, nonchalant way he refused his offer, the solid demeanor, his concern over the woman when she... “That’s IT!” he exclaimed.
“Sire?”
“I get it now, Ilmer, HAH! I got it!”
“Got what, sire?”
“It’s the woman, don’t you see, Ilmer?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t, pah. Stay with me here, I want to be alone. Now listen! The one thing both Hephaestus and Baratus had in common isn’t the fact that they want to rebel against a tried and true system, but the fact they are both backed by that infernal woman, that... Altara!”
“Well sire,” Ilmer asked, “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting,” he said, interlacing his hands before a sickly grin, “That if things go awry, then perhaps we’re not targeting the right person. Take away someone’s support, and they will topple surely enough. I propose, as such, a plan B.”
“Sire?”
“It’s simple, Ilmer: If we fail to bring down Baratus,” Liberath said, his self-satisfied smile growing even larger, “We get rid of the woman!”
Ilmer shuddered as Liberath began to laugh. If there ever was a case-study on the perils of continuous exposure to a virtual space, Liberath was it. I’m glad, he thought, I can just log off.
Chapter XVI: Terms of Service
“Of course we protect intellectual properties! It’s a pretty murky place, you know? If you come up with something within a virtual space, is it yours, or does it belong to the owners of the space? Of course, it belongs to you – if your gameplay logs prove that you came up with it on your own. If they don’t, ownership passes onto the legal owners of the virtual space. It’s quite simple, really.”
-Jolier Vazques, in “Virtual Business Practices – Intellectual Properties”
“I don’t know what surprises me the most,” laughed Hephaestus as he scanned over the piece of paper. “That some asshole is actually trying to pull this off, or that some bigger, meaner asshole actually thought about adding lawyers to the game!”
“I assure you, sir,” replied the lanky man, “that this is no laughing matter.”
“And I assure you,” added a guffawing blacksmith, “That you truly have no legal ground to stand on!”
“My... Sir, don’t you understand what’s happening?”
“Assume me as ignorant as I assume you think I am.”
“I er... Well, sir, understand that you are violating copyright laws within Alterwelt due to the fact you’ve named this establishment ‘Bjornson and Baratus Arms and Armor.’”
“So?”
“So, the only titular owner of the intellectual name, as registered in the Patents Office of—”
“To the point,” said the smith gruffly, “please.”
“I... Harrumph! Well, point is: You are in violation, simple as that.”
Hephaestus’ grin became wider. “As I understand, however, this relates to the use of the name within this virtual space, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Now, there’s a point I would like you to clarify,” Hephaestus said as he crossed his arms over his chest, “a small point of interest, if you would humor me.”
“Of course.”
“As I understand it,” he said with a nod, “out-of-space legalities take precedence over Alterwelt’s, correct?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“So, if the owner, the true owner of the Bjornson brand were to make an appeal, their case would be stronger than Liberath’s, yes?”
The man stammered as he said “There’s... there’s no such thing as a... who’s-his-name!”
“My sir,” scoffed Hephaest
us, “don’t insult my intelligence. This... ‘cease and desist’ bullshit comes from one of the guilds which, coincidentally, happens to be called Bjornson Arms and Armor, a guild which, I assume, is part of the monopoly within Alterwelt. A monopoly I know for a fact is owned by one lord Liberath, whom I had a run-in with. Am I correct?”
“I... This is ludicrous! My client demanded absolute anonymity in this procedure, and the fact you are suggesting such a thing is, quite frankly, offensive!”
“Offensive? Hah, Altara?”
The woman stepped out from a shadowed corner, a wry grin on her face. “Yes, Hephy?”
“Do you find my uggestion that Liberath is the bastard behind these shenanigans to be offensive?”
“Truly Hephy,” she scoffed, “I find it to be realistic, considerin’ he’s the same mewlin’ quim who screwed Baratus up.”
The lawyer was clearly flustered, trying—and failing—to keep his composure. “My lady, the case regarding notorious hacker Baratus was settled a long time ago, I suggest that…”
“You ain’t suggestin’ nothin’,” Altara said, “Baratus was, much as Hephaestus ‘ere, ruined ‘cause he refused to join into Liberath’s scheme.”
“And now,” added in the blacksmith, “Liberath’s trying to strong-arm me into closing shop, why? So he can prove his point, that he owns the crafting market in Alterwelt?”
“Sir, I assure you I possess answers to none of your questions! What I possess is the legal personality to represent my client in a litigious process. What my client is offering you,” said the lawyer, “is an amicable cease-and-desist proposition, intended to avoid further legal consequences. Now, will you accept the proposal, cease any activities within and/or related to this establishment?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Altara?”
The woman stepped forward, and took the order from Hephaestus’ hands. She skimmed over it, chuckling before holding it in front of her, and cleanly ripping it in half. “Kindly tell your client to go fuck himself.”
“Wh... Why, the audacity! Very well, if this is how you want things to be, I say good day! To you I say, good day!” The lawyer turned on his heels, sputtering insults as he walked away.
Altara was simply laughing. “Ballsy move, Hephy. Now, I don’t take you for one to not back your words but...”
“But?” asked Hephaestus.
The woman shrugged, “As I said, ballsy move.”
“Well,” grunted Hephaestus, “ballsy for whom?”
“You’re steppin’ on some people’s heels, Hephy. Libby ain’t gonna take kindly to you thrashin’ his lackey.”
“Libby?”
“Heh, just a cutesy nickname for lord bastard. Oughta call ‘im that next time I see ‘is ugly mug.” After her chuckle, Altara’s mien darkened, “In all seriousness now, Hephaestus, that man walkin’ away?” she shook her head, “he’s goin’ to report straight at Liberath, no doubt ‘bout that.”
“I’m counting on it,” Hephaestus said, sitting on a nearby chair.
“Look, Hephy, you’ve grown a lot in the few game-weeks you’ve been ‘round, but,” she shrugged, “this reminds me an awful lot ‘bout that first time, you know?”
“When?”
“At the arena, when you got your arse handled to you by Rothmund?”
“Hm,” Hephaestus stood up, slowly making his way to a barrel filled with metal scraps: faulty swords, broken handles, rusted ingots. He bent over the barrel, picked up a sword blade, and held it towards Altara. “What do you see here?” he asked not unkindly.
She lifted her eyebrow, “A smartass tryin’ to shit me.”
“Be serious, Altara.”
She sighed, “Fine, I’ll bite. What am I seein’?”
“Well,” the smith said, swinging the blade to and fro, “from the general shape of this sword blade, you’d think it’s an acceptable piece. Put a handle, a crossguard, bit of polish, and it’s ready, no?” Altara nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Right, but if you sat down to really look into it, you’d notice the different coloring here, and here; you might see the tiny crack over here, by the tang; you would see the slight bend to the tip... A myriad tiny things which, combined, work against it to make it a useless piece of junk.”
“’Fraid I don’t follow. What are you gettin’ at?”
“What I’m getting at, Altara, is that not knowing, and not being attentive to details are both dangerous things. One goes ahead and acts based on what they assume is right—that this is a fine weapon, for example—when, in truth,” as he spoke, he smashed the sword blade against a dummy, breaking it in half, “such a mistake can be fatal. It happened to me when I thought that by just crafting good items I would do well at the arena, and now,” he added with an enormous grin, “Libby’s made the same mistake.”
“Did he, though?”
“Damn it Altara, think! He’s trying to shut us down on the grounds that he owns the Bjornson name within Alterwelt. Do you remember my question to the lawyer?”
As soon as the question was posed, recognition clicked in Altara’s mind: “Hephy! You mean...?”
Nodding, Hephaestus confirmed Altara’s thoughts: “He assumed I’m some boor, intellectually bankrupt enough to take an already used name,” he shrugged, “granted, the name is already used, but not by him, by me.”
“Alright Hephy, fine and dandy, but you don’t have the docs to prove your ownership ‘ere now do you?”
“I don’t, for now.”
“Right, you’re aware that you’ve pretty much sent a declaration o’ war against Libby right? He’s goin’ to be sendin’ his legalizers in no time and when they do,” she shrugged, “your arse’s gonna get manhandled.”
“I don’t think so,” the smith replied, “say, let’s suppose these people come. Would you be able to hold them off for a while?”
“Hold ‘em off? Are you nuts!?”
Hephaestus merely grinned, and said “Be right back,” and logged off of the game, leaving an angry Altara cursing in his wake.
***
First sense to return was hearing, and Angus heard nothing at all. Then came his perception of self, and he could feel how everything quite literally hurt. At least the experience of logging off on his own was far easier on his mind than getting ripped out of the game, for that much at least he was grateful. Now, he had to act quickly: He left Altara alone within Alterwelt, awaiting an angry Liberath.
Angus removed the rig from his head, cupped his hands and yelled “Amy! Jonas! You still here?”
He heard rushed footsteps climbing up to his bedroom and, after moments, his children appeared in the doorframe. “Yea dad, what’s up?” Jonas asked.
“What time is it?”
“Uh,” said his son, checking his watch, “quarter past seven, why?”
“Right. Jonas, Amy, how long would it take you to get me every legal document of Bjornson Arms and Armor?”
The siblings looked at each other. “Er, dad, why would you have us do that?” Amelia asked.
“No questions right now, do it!”
“Alright, alright, jeez!”
His kids left on their errand, leaving him alone in his bedroom. He took a deep breath, feeling his sore throat, his airways aching. Quarter past seven, I’ve been there for little over a few hours. In-game, weeks had passed; outside, it had been the equivalent of a lazy Sunday. He looked at the window, the sky was growing dark already, a few stars had begun to show in the blackening vault above.
Too few of them, he thought. In Alterwelt, stars shone majestically in the sky, unimpeded by electric lights and pollution; here, however, he was lucky if he managed to spot one or two. Another deep breath, Hephaestus—no, Angus—found himself missing Alterwelt; somehow, the virtual world seemed more real, more tangible than his true, broken shape lying prostrate on his bed, waiting for his children to come back with a bunch of papers he could vaguely understand.
How come, he won
dered, that a glorified videogame seemed more real, more desirable than a true life where he had tangible accomplishments? He had formed a family, made his forge grow into a multinational affair, made a name for himself... And even then, at this point, he worried much more about what would happen to his in-game forge and, more so, Altara, than the current state of his finances in the real world.
Lying on his bed, alone, in silent contemplation while waiting for his children to come, gave him time to think about things he wouldn’t ponder otherwise. As he reflected on the past weeks, no, mere hours, he realized something which, though true, shook him to his core: He would rather die, right there, right then, rather than being unable to log into Alterwelt ever again.
Inside the virtual space, he was a master blacksmith. True, he was in real life, too, but his age and his failing body prevented him from doing so much as lifting a hammer. Within Alterwelt, he had a constant trickle of commissions he wouldn’t otherwise see, things which ranged from the creative to the bizarre, each and all challenging the limits of his imagination and his abilities. Out here, well, he was a crippled old man, waiting to kick the bucket.
It clicked for him then: He was risking getting banned. Liberath, he assumed, had some iota of power within the game; could said power be used to oust him? If he were, could he return to the game, using another account, another character? Was banning permanent? Moreover, what would he do if he were to be banned?
He chuckled mirthlessly: I’d kill myself.
Something else clicked in his mind, something he hadn’t been thinking about, though it went parallel with his train of thought: If he’d commit suicide were he unable to keep using Alterwelt, was he the only one who thought that way? Had Baratus done it? It started to make sense to him, the way Altara used to deflect questions about the man, the turning-point of him getting banned, and the woman’s vitriolic hatred against Liberath; it just fit, the way he thought of it, especially Altara’s interest on getting Baratus’ ring back. He might ask her about it later, after the dust settled. Gotta give her something in return, though.
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 21
