Chapter XVII: Resting on the Laurels
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Hephaestus had done his fair share of traveling in his youth; it seemed so long ago, now, when he had been a wee lad of scantly twenty-ish years, with a penchant for adventuring. He had wanted to see the greatest sights in the world. And for the most part, he had!
He had climbed to the top of Tenochtitlan in Mexico, explored the reef barrier in Australia, and even taken a corny picture by the leaning tower of Pisa. He had seen more wonders than many people alive ever did, yet nothing he had seen could have prepared him for what he was now witnessing.
He stood at the edge of an outcropping, surrounded by strange moss and plants colored in a soft teal hue; that alone was strange enough, as they were unlike anything found in real life. What blew his mind, and made him want to leave his forge for a while to witness what Alterwelt had to offer, was the landscape unfolding before him: Rolling hills covered in softly glowing willow-like trees stretched as far as the eye could see, disappearing into a skyline littered with jagged peaks and ponderous mountains; rivers and rivulets glistened happily beneath a corn-yellow sun, sitting at the zenith of a beautiful cerulean vault—not a cloud marred the sky over kilometers; patches of greenery rustled softly with every gust of wind, their song faintly audible in the distance. What impressed Hephaestus the most, however, weren’t the vistas offered by the place.
No, what caught his imagination, and made his heart soar with its presence, were the floating islands dotting the landscape: Enormous, tremendous upside-down mountains, their upper, flat plateaus littered with trees the likes of which Hephaestus had never met; rivers cascaded magnificently from their edges, spilling their contents in a soft mist diffusing into nothingness; intricately built citadels decorated the tops of some of the islands, their colorful rooftops reflecting hues of emerald, ruby, sapphire and topaz. Nothing Hephaestus had ever seen could compare to the beauty unfolding in front of him, and he said as much.
“Breathtakin’ ain’t it?” Altara asked.
“Indeed. It’s just...” Hephaestus shrugged, “I don’t know. Can’t describe it.”
“It’s alright, you know? Some things, well, they don’t need no description, don’t they?”
“I guess so. It’s just... This kind of vistas, why aren’t more people around seeing them?”
The woman shrugged, “Because when you see something amazin’ for too long, it stops bein’ amazin’, it becomes normal, mundane even.” She shrugged again; nostalgia took her as she said “Baratus wasn’t like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she said, “He liked to appreciate this kind of thing, you know? The floatin’ isles, the impossible plants, said he saw more beauty in the game world than the real one,” she chuckled sadly, “Except when he saw me.”
“Oh?”
“Nothin’, nothin’, just him bein’ corny outside, is all.”
“Hmm,” Hephaestus sat down, cross-legged, on the outcropping, “I forget you knew him outside the game. He was your boyfriend?”
“In a way,” she said.
“In a way?”
“It don’t matter no more, Hephy. It’s the past, it’s gone.”
“Hmm, well, you know, there’s something I learned the hard way.”
“To shut up and listen?”
“Hah, funny. No,” he took a deep breath, “I learned the hard way, that there are two kinds of past: The good, and the bad.”
“That’s deep, Hephy.”
“Oh shut up. That’s not the point, obviously.”
“Then enlighten me,” she said, sitting in front of him, “What’s the good, and what’s the bad?”
“Well, the good are the parts you remember fondly, I don’t know, the birth of my kids, my wedding with Zinnia, the first weapon I made, those are all good past, and they’re worth keeping alive, remembering them fondly.”
“They sound like nice things, alright,” sighed Altara. “And the bad?”
“The bad, well, the things that hurt you, painful stuff, bad stuff, obviously.”
“Mhm, and what do you do with it?”
“Ah, now that’s the good question. Well, it depends: If it was your mistake, you learn from it; if it was someone else’s, you forget it, and if it was something beyond your control,” he shrugged, “you learn to accept it.”
“Hm. It ain’t that easy though, you know? Can’t just up and forget the awful shit that happens now can you?”
“Well no. It takes time—a lifetime, sometimes, but, well, in the end it’s worth it.”
“Right,” she said, looking towards the horizon. She took a deep, shuddering breath, “And what about when the bad past contaminates the good?”
“What do you mean?” She said nothing. “Hmm, well, those are difficult cases. You see, good things and bad things sometimes go hand in hand, ain’t no going around that. Only, well, I guess in these cases, it’s your choice.”
“Meanin’?”
“Meaning,” Hephaestus said, “You need to choose if it’s worth it to let the bad things soil the good things. My opinion?” Altara nodded, “The good can stand on its own, regardless of the bad.”
“Some wishful thinkin’ right there, Hephy.”
“Right.”
They stayed silent for a long while, simply contemplating the light bobbing of the floating islands. Birds and other creatures sailed from island to island, as well as impressive, floating barges. The sun had begun to set in the horizon, turning the sky various hues of reds, pinks, and purples, until a deep, dark-blue was all that remained. Then the stars appeared, millions—billions of them, dotting the vault above.
“You know?” said Hephaestus.
“Hm?”
“I realized something, earlier today: I was lying on my bed, looking at the sky, you know what I saw?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It was bare, just a black expanse without any damn stars, and I say to myself ‘you know, the sky is prettier in Alterwelt.’”
“Didn’t take you for an astronomic enthusiast, Hephy.”
“I know, right? I realized that I hadn’t stopped to look up at the sky, here, and contemplate the stars. Yet I still saw them.”
“How?”
“Well,” he said, “whenever I look into your eyes.”
“Ew, come on Hephy, that’s corny as balls!” She said with a huge smile.
“I know, but hey,” said Hephaestus, “I made you smile.”
“So what? Shut up!”
“You were looking damn gloomy there, tried to brighten you up a little.”
“Alright, alright, you managed it, happy?”
“Mhm. Talking about difficult stuff can get, well, difficult.”
“You don’t say, Hephy?” Altara sighed. “Well, I know you say it in jest, but you know? Baratus once said that to me. Seems too long ago, now.”
“Hm,” grunted the blacksmith. “You miss him?”
“’Course I do. Damn asshole, had to go and...” she let out a choked sob, “Sorry. It’s ridiculous, I know, but... Ah, nevermind.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Hephaestus said, “we go back to good, and bad past.”
“We do?”
“Mhm. And you know? Sometimes, the bad is so bad, it just doesn’t go away.”
“Psh,” she scoffed, “like you know about that.”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I do. Dead wife, remember?”
“Right! Oh, shit Hephy, I’m sorry I—”
Hephaestus interrupted her, “It’s alright. It’s not something I speak about often because, well,” he shrugged,
“seems too long ago now, but it still feels fresh,” he paused. “Doesn’t it?”
“Heh, you know it, chief.”
They remained silent a while longer. On the far eastern horizon, two satellites began making their way through the heavenly vault: A large, pale green circle, itself surrounded by smaller satellites, and a smaller, pale orange moon but a fraction in size of the larger one. “Huh,” said Hephaestus, “a moon with moons. I hadn’t noticed that before.”
Altara chuckled, “Devs got creative with the moons, too. Gave Alterwelt two of ‘em, and one even has its own satellites. Baratus used to joke that one’s the mother and the others are moonlings.” She paused, before adding “Sorry. Seems I can’t stop bringin’ him up tonight, eh?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hephaestus said, “It’s not a wonder, considering the events of the evening.”
“Quite an eventful one at that, eh?”
“Indeed. At least we got back at Libby, didn’t we?”
Altara scoffed, “Bastard, he deserves more than public humiliation.”
“Not gonna contest that.”
“It’s just... it’s unfair, you know?” she asked.
“Why so?”
“Because he just got away mostly scot-free, while Baratus, he... he...” she sobbed. “Sorry, I don’t like thinkin’ about it.”
“Hm.” Hephaestus looked towards the sky, contemplating the two moons’ trajectory along the blackness of space. “You know? While I was outside, though just a few minutes passed,” he shrugged, “I had time to think.”
“You think?” she joked, “That’s new.”
“I’m full of surprises. But truly, now, well, I’ve told you what I am in the real world, no?”
“Angus Bjornson, master blacksmith, Baratus’ idol.”
“Yes. And also a cripple?”
“Hm?”
“I’m old, Altara. Too damn old to be able to work at a forge any more. My arms won’t lift a hammer, my legs won’t support me – truth be told,” he chuckled, “all that’s left to me is waiting for death to come. So I thought: ‘You know? If I were to be banned from Alterwelt,’” Hephaestus shrugged before matter-of-factly saying “I would kill myself.”
Altara’s gaze turned violently towards Hephaestus. “Don’t you dare say that!”
“It’s the truth, though. I have nothing left to live for – I’m nearing a hundred damn years of age, and I can’t pursue my life’s passion anymore, namely, I can’t forge. In here, in Alterwelt, well, I believe I told you before: I have another chance at life. A life that’s worth living.”
“A life that’s worth livin’, heh,” she laughed sadly, “I’ve heard that one before.”
“You have?”
“More often than I want to think ‘bout it, really.” She looked up towards the sky, contemplating the stars above. “That’s what this game was to Baratus.”
“Was it?”
“Mhm. I think you would have understood each other greatly, you know? His life’s passion was forging and making stuff, too. He used to say, ‘when I grow up, I want to be like Angus Bjornson!” she chuckled, “Fuckin’ luck would have it, that I get to meet his idol,” she paused, sniffling, “and he didn’t.”
“Well, if it helps at all,” the blacksmith said, “I’d have liked to meet him, too. He sounds like the kind of person I’d have gotten along with famously.”
“Hah, I wish. You’d have had to steel yourself for quite a sad sight, you know.”
“Why so?”
“I... Well, ah,” her voice broke briefly, “sorry. It’s just a difficult thing, you know? Heh, not a good past, truth be told.”
“That’s alright,” said the smith, “you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t—”
“Nah, it’s okay, Hephy. I’ve been bottlin’ it up for so long. In-game years, truly, though outside,” she shrugged, “it’s been scant few weeks. That’s the problem with differing time speeds, don’t you think? Hah, years can go by within the game, but outside,” she shrugged, “the wound’s as fresh as a damned lettuce.”
“Altara...”
“You opened Pandora’s box, Hephy. Now, shut up and listen.”
“No, I meant to ask if you wanted to lie down, gaze at the stars while you told me?”
“Why?”
Hephaestus shrugged, “I like gazing at the stars.”
“Fine, suit yourself.” She lay next to Hephaestus, looking at the sky above. “I did know Baratus outside the game, long before we even joined in, in fact.”
“How comes?”
“Well,” she said, “We were betrothed.”
“No shit!?”
“None, Hephy. Baratus – Brandon, his name was, hah, but it don’t matter no more, does it? Baratus, well, he and I had quite the thin’ goin’. We did everythin’ together, and wouldn’t you know? We liked extreme sports.”
“Such as?”
She shrugged, “Sky divin’, surfin’, snowboardin’, you name it, we did it. And well, from now on, I guess the story becomes predictable, don’t it?”
“Assume me ignorant.”
“Well, Baratus had an accident. Lost mobility over the right half of his body, was deemed lucky to be alive,” she sniffled, “Had to piss in a bag, and couldn’t do so much as feed himself,” she chuckled sadly, “I never cared, though. He was my man, and I’d be damned if I left him because of that.”
“I see. And you got him a neuro-virtual rig?”
Altara sighed sadly. “Baratus lost more than his mobility, you know? Very often, too often in fact, he said he’d have rather lost his legs, become a paraplegic, than losing half his body – had he lost only his legs, he could’ve still used his hands, found a way to cope. As it was, however, he could no longer pursue his life’s passion. So yes,” she said, locking her gaze with Hephaestus’, “I got ‘im the rig, and I got ‘im Alterwelt.”
“Why this game, though?”
She shrugged, “’Twas the only one that offered something akin to blacksmithin’, the only one which could let ‘im feel like his idol.”
“Like me?”
“Like you. And don’t misunderstand me for one moment, Hephy, we... Baratus and I,” she smiled sadly, fondly, “we spent a lifetime in the game – years, and years spent by each other’s side. Just as in real life, we did everythin’ together: Kill stuff, grind, farm materials, anythin’ you can imagine, we did.”
“Anything?”
She glanced at him sideways, “Anythin’ – this ain’t no children’s game, Hephy, you gotta be over eighteen to even purchase a rig.”
“Right. Spare me the details.”
“Oh I will! But well, I think you get the point, don’t you?”
“Mhm. Long, happy, virtual life.”
“Right, and it was wonderful, Hephy. Best years of my life,” she chuckled, “Or months, rather. Then,” she shrugged, “Liberath came.”
“I see. And he came with an offer Baratus couldn’t refuse?”
“More or less. Baratus was never big about makin’ bank, you know? He was in it for the fun of craftin’ and hanging around.”
“I can understand,” Hephaestus grunted, “and respect that.”
“You’re kindred souls, him and you. So you’ll understand that Baratus told Liberath to kindly shove it up ‘is ass, right?”
“Mhm.”
“Well,” she shrugged, “That Libby, he’s a spoiled twat, didn’t take kindly to what he colorfully called a ‘lowly shitstain ‘neath ‘is boot’ tellin’ him off. So, he concocted every devious plan he could to get Baratus to bend the knee!”
“Let me guess,” said Hephaestus, looking sideways at the woman, “Baratus refused at every turn?”
“More like, Libby had nothin’ against ‘im, not like he did against you – no means for a cease-and-desist, no economic leverage, as Baratus wasn’t in it for the money; come to think of it, Baratus was a small-fry compa
red to you!”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he didn’t have lines o’ people callin’ for his services; he didn’t have droves of fans, nor was he the talk of half Alterwelt, with the other half already waitin’ on their commissions. He was just a fella who enjoyed makin’ stuff, and most of the stuff he made was for us, anyways,” unconsciously, she clutched her necklace. She continued, “So really, the more I think of it, the more I’m convinced Libby screwed ‘im over out of spite.”
“I see. But why would Liberath do that?”
Altara shrugged, “Why do awful people do awful shite, Hephy?”
“Hmm, to show they can, and go unpunished?”
She shrugged again. “I guess so. Can’t really know what kind o’ crap goes on in these people’s minds and, truth be told, I don’t wanna know. Some rotten issues in there, no doubt – too many spankin’s by their daddies? Not enough luv from their mummies?” Yet another, more dramatic shrug, “Dunno, dun’ care. But well, bein’ a lord has its perks, and Libby sure did made use of ‘em; he reported Baratus as a hacker.”
“How, though?”
“Hah, don’t be thick, Hephaestus. He’s an admin, he can report you if you so much as fart in ‘is general direction.”
“I hate politicians. Well, what happened then?”
“The logical thing: Baratus didn’t take kindly to it, of course, so he appealed, and was given a testin’ period, where he had to make an item, this ring,” she said, lifting her hand, “in front of a qualified observer. Well, back then, we didn’t know ‘twas Libby who had done the reportin,’ and really, so far he had shown ‘imself as a friendly fella,” she spat, “Fuckin’ prick.”
“Hmm, let me guess, you didn’t suspect him?”
Altara shook her head, rustling the soft grass beneath her hair. “Not for a moment, Hephy, no. We trusted ‘im, that’s why Baratus handed the ring to ‘im. Libby, bein’ the so-called qualified observer had the duty to report that, in fact, Baratus had made the damn thing ‘imself without the use of any trainers or otherwise. Well, once he gave Libby the ring, Baratus was asked to log off for a couple hours, so the admins could solve the issue and lift the report.”
“I see. So, he logged off, and what did you do?”
True Smithing: A Crafting LitRPG Series Page 24
