The hell? Thought Hephaestus, How, why!? As he asked himself that, a message appeared into his line of sight:
User HEPHAESTUS, you have been reported for HACKING AND MISTREATING AN ADMINISTRATOR. We take these cases very seriously and, as such, have suspended your ability to CRAFT ANY OTHER DAMN THING UNTIL YOU ARE ALLOWED TO. Be assured that we will work together with you to bring this matter to a satisfying end. You can contact us at [email protected].
As the message disappeared, so did the unseen shackles holding Hephaestus. He fell to his knees, curling into a ball before retching onto his side. Altara knelt by him, placing her hand on his back, saying “It’s okay, Hephy, let it out, let it all out, now.”
“I... can’t,” spat Hephaestus.
“It’s alright Hephy, you don’t need to—”
“No... Understand... I can’t...” He took a deep breath, shuddering as he took air into his lungs. “Altara, I can’t forge.”
“The hell?”
“I can’t forge, craft anything. The message, it said they’ve suspended my ability to craft anything else until I’m allowed to.”
Altara’s eyes widened, “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me!”
Hephaestus shook his head, “I’m not. Liberath, the bastard, he’s gone for the nuclear option.”
“Hell do you mean?”
“He’s taken away the one thing that’s defined me throughout my entire stance in Alterwelt; namely, my ability to work the forge.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Altara, picking the hammer, and offering it to Hephaestus, “Here!”
“Altara?”
“Take the damn hammer, god damn it!” Hephaestus stretched his hand, trying to grip the blacksmith’s hammer. It phased effortlessly through the tool, a message appearing:
We’re sorry! Due to a report on your account, you can’t craft or make any items until further notice!
Hephaestus looked at his hand, taking in the sweat trails forming rivulets along his palm, and the back of his hand. He felt the same sensation he had felt, so long ago now, when his arms had refused to work at the forge, his forge, dropping the contents of a crucible next to him. He felt useless, powerless to pursue his passion; he felt crippled, damaged.
He felt defeated.
“I’m done,” he whispered weakly.
“Hephaestus?”
“I’m done, Altara. That’s it. I can’t work the forge,” he sighed, “Liberath’s won.”
“The hell do you mean?”
“Altara, remember what I told you?”
“Yes – you told me that so long as you were alive, a forge’s just a place.”
“Precisely. Well, our friend Libby, he’s effectively killed the part of me keeping the rest alive. Altara, understand: Without the forge, I’m no one.”
The woman sighed in exasperation, “Bollocks, Hephaestus! Listen, if there’s anythin’ I’ve learned from you is that even when things go into the crapper, you stand up, face them head on,” she said intensely, “And you fuckin’ make the best out of it!” Hephaestus turned up to look at her and, for the first time, Altara saw the man’s eyes red and teary. “Hephaestus, listen, cut this crap – you’re not finished.”
“You don’t understand, Altara! Without being able to make things, to work at the forge, I am nothing! Nothing at damn—” He was interrupted by Altara’s heavy, strong hand getting rammed against his cheek; the sting brought him back to the present as he stared, gape-mouthed at the woman. “Altara,” he said.
“Shut it, Hephaestus. Shut the hell up, and listen! You’re not ‘nobody,’ you are your children’s father, and you’re my friend. So now you quit your whining, bring your ass off of your self-pity hole, and fuckin’ think of somethin’, god damn it!”
“Think of something, my children... What can we do?” he asked weakly.
“You told me so yourself, you’ve got a lever against Liberath!”
“I do?”
“You do, you oaf,” she said, bringing up a trade request. Hephaestus accepted, and Altara placed Baratus’ ring into her trading screen. “This is the lever you need, this is the key, Hephaestus!”
“I don’t follow,” he said.
“Look, you need to write a mail straight to Imperium Games – forget about Alterwelt, go for the head honchos themselves. Explain your situation, and the fact that Liberath has pulled this crap before. Say some legal mumbo-jumbo about... I don’t know! Compensation, moral and personal damages, hell, whatever, just... Anythin’!”
“But Altara,” whimpered the blacksmith, “This is your ring.”
“You gave me that ring, and now I’m lendin’ it to you,” she smiled, “so you can go and kick Liberath’s arse once and for all. Now, pick yourself up, will you?”
Hephaestus sniffled, gritted his teeth, and accepted the trade. A message appeared into his view: Added – Baratus’ Last Plea. The ring was now in his possession, and now, it was Hephaestus’ turn to do something. “Thank you,” he said, “I will be right back.”
“Gotcha, Hephy. Go out, tell your kids to lend you a hand. And Hephaestus?”
“Yes?”
She gulped sonorously. “Please come back, will you?”
Hephaestus’ eyes widened; he smiled before he said “Of course I will,” then he logged off.
***
The first thing Angus did as soon as he regained consciousness was yell “JONAS, AMY, KIDS!”
He heard the rushed footsteps climbing up the stairs skidding in the hall, and entering his room. “Dad! I’m here,” Jonas said, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay, Jonas. Where’s Amy?”
“Back to her place, why?”
“Call her, tell her it’s important. Listen: I need the two of you.”
“Right dad, but tell me, what happened?”
“That son of a bitch Liberath, he reported me as a hacker!”
“He didn’t!” wheezed Angus’ son.
“Who else?” spat the aged smith, “Worse, he’s blocked me from forging anything at all, I’m a sitting duck in there.”
“When did this happen?”
“Just now. But that doesn’t matter, go! Call your sister, get your laptop, and a legal dictionary.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Angus angrily, “We’re going to write a polite, but damn firm letter to Imperium Games.”
***
It was incredible, Altara mused, how a place so large, so full with people—both living and digital—could feel so empty, so lonely the moment a single person left the game. She set off away from the forge, she couldn’t bear the sight of it. Though it had been rebuilt, it remained a shadow of what it had been before. It was now Hephaestus’ forge, true and through, as nothing of Baratus remained there.
No, she thought, that’s not fair at all. The place’s name was still Bjornson and Baratus, a really kind gesture from Hephaestus, really, but somehow not enough. She felt she had lost too much when the forge was destroyed. Then again, she wondered, had she truly lost that much? The place was far livelier, far more active than it had ever been, even under Baratus’ care. She smiled fondly, knowing that, if anything, if Baratus could see the place, even in its current state, she knew he would be proud of it.
“God damn it, you idiot,” she said out loud, “Why did you have to go get yourself done for?” She sighed, feeling the weight of her negligence on her shoulders, surprising herself by realizing that she didn’t want Hephaestus to go through the same fate.
Sure, he had his kids, he wasn’t alone as Brandon had been, but even then she understood—or tried to understand—Hephaestus, Angus, whatever, his passion for working at the forge. She knew it was something she would never be able to feel herself, but she remembered Brandon’s flame, his passion being snuffed away the moment he had been informed he’d never recover full mobility.
She understood, then, why seeing Hephaestus so sa
d, so broken after receiving his report notification had affected her so much: She had seen his expression before, a lifetime ago, now, on Brandon. It was the expression of a man who had lost his reason for living. She liked to think she was Brandon’s reason to hang tight, to keep going despite his disability, but she didn’t fool herself; Brandon and Angus were birds of a feather – it wasn’t that they didn’t care about their loved ones, they did, and with a passion, too. Only, their blood was iron, and their hearts were fire, burning red hot as the furnaces they worked on; they could not, should not be quenched, lest they took their will to live away with them. She had seen it happen in Brandon, and now she saw it happen to Hephaestus.
Neither of them deserved it – they had been given a second chance within Alterwelt, another world to live their life’s dreams. They could have done anything they wanted, and the one thing they chose was taken from them, not because they had broken the game’s rules, but because they refused to bend their passion to the corporative will of some lordling. Well, she thought, perhaps, just perhaps, Hephaestus has a chance.
She looked at the sky above, seeing the stars illuminating the blackness of the night. She sighed deeply. “Hey, Brandon? Wherever the hell you are, be a sweetie, and look after Hephaestus, will you?”
Altara drew her eyes away from the sky, wondering if the virtual heaven housed virtual angels.
She couldn’t know.
***
“Right, read it to me.”
“Okay dad,” said Jonas, clearing his voice, “Addressed to Imperium Games. To whom it may concern, greetings. My name is Angus Bjornson, an avid Alterwelt player under the user Hephaestus. I write to you to express my sincerest concern regarding a recent hacking report placed upon my character by whom I assume to be Lord Liberath Saldigraad. Current events lead me to believe that—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Give me the gist of it, Jonny, please.”
“Right, uh... Well, it tells them this isn’t the first time Liberath pulls this crap; there are screenshots of the forum post where it says he oversaw Baratus’ last forging, as well as the ring itself, and a general description of the events at the forge, namely, that it was burnt to the ground.”
“Sounds good to me,” nodded Angus, “should we send it, then?”
“I guess so, dad.”
“Hm. Amy on her way?”
“She’s coming dad, gonna be here in a few minutes. Why, though?”
“Because,” replied Angus, “I figure I’ll need witness accounts of what happened.”
“That’s why? Couldn’t she have logged in from her place?”
“Well, there’s another reason.”
“Which is?”
“Worse comes to worst,” Angus shrugged, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I see,” said his son. After a pause, he added “Should I send the mail?”
“Please do. And Jonny?”
“Dad?”
“Pray that Imperium actually listen to us.”
“Right, dad. And... sent. What now?”
“Now?” sighed Angus, “we wait. I’m logging into the game, you coming?”
“Yea dad, as soon as Amy’s home.”
“Right. I’ll see you there.”
***
“How did it go?” was the first thing Hephaestus heard as he returned to Alterwelt, “Did you contact them? Did they reply?”
The post-login grogginess hadn’t fully faded away before Hephaestus replied “We’ve contacted them, yes, but they haven’t replied. Jonas helped me send the mail to them, it’s full with, as you called it, legal mumbo-jumbo, but the gist of it is that Liberath’s playing dirty.”
“I see. Did you attach screenshots?”
Hephaestus nodded, “Of course I did – any form of evidence works. I even called Amy home so she gives testimonials, in case it’s necessary.”
“Shit! I didn’t think of that, could be quite helpful, Hephy!”
“Well, I thought of that. Say, can you still contact Rothmund? Gareth and Eldin? Damn it, even Kaminalda, Angus, Alva, Vahlistar everyone!”
“Hmm, you have an impressive backlog of customers, I’m certain most of them will come in your defense.”
“Good, get as many as possible. Speaking of customers,” the blacksmith smiled, “I have a log of every commission, every transaction, the experience, and gold it gave me.”
“Why?”
“Because,” shrugged Hephaestus, “I’ve leveled up without really having killed monsters. I guess that might be suspicious, no?”
“True,” the woman said.
“Precisely – I want to disarm Liberath long before he has a chance to strike.”
“Hmm, what about the manservant? He did tell you to call him, should you need assistance.”
“Ilmer?” asked Hephaestus, “Maybe. Let’s consider him a last-resort thing. He is Liberath’s manservant, after all.”
“Really though?” asked Altara, “He didn’t look as the effigy of loyalty to me.”
Hephaestus shrugged, “He may be, he may not. Whatever the case, we need to prepare our, well, case.”
“How do you suggest we do that?”
The blacksmith grinned, “Easy: We go purchase crafting materials.”
“Now? Really?”
“Of course, no better moment than now – we have no commissions, our hoard of materials is depleted due to the fire, and if things go as planned, we might need to make something truly unique to prove my innocence. So,” he said smiling, “Wanna go shopping?”
Altara stared, gape-mouthed, at the blacksmith, before laughing heartily. “Why, you’re askin’ me out shoppin’?”
“I just asked as much, yes. Besides,” he chuckled, “as far as I recall, you’ve got a better eye for crafting materials and the like. If I go on my own, I’ll end up getting all steel and whatnot.”
“Yea,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “that might be a problem.”
“In that case,” Hephaestus said, “Shall we?”
“After you.”
***
A message appeared in Hephaestus’ vision: You’ve got mail!
“Huh,” he said out loud.
“What is it?” Altara asked.
“Seems like I’ve got a message.”
“You do? Well, go ahead, what is it?”
“Let’s see,” Hephaestus opened his communications menu, seeing the email sitting idly in his inbox. His heart soared when he saw the remittent: Imperium Games. “Holy crap! Let’s see here... Dear mister Bjornson, we’ve analyzed your case, blah, blah, blah, deeply sorry for the inconvenience, blah, blah, blah... Damn it, DAMN IT!”
“WHAT!?” cried Altara.
“They heard! They’re sending us a Game Master to review our case!”
“Shit, Hephy, for real!? They’re sendin’ someone from Imperium Games!?”
“Mhm, someone whose authority by far exceeds Liberath’s!”
“We’ve got to celebrate!”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not yet, Altara. This is a victory, alright, but we can’t be caught unprepared. Listen – call anyone you can, bring in anyone willing to testify about having made business with us, even if it’s just a few people.”
“You got it, chief! What will you do in the meantime?”
“Me?” asked a smiling Hephaestus, “Why, bringing the product of our shopping spree back to the forge!”
Chapter XIX: Appeal
“Morality, good customs, and values must prevail above all, even within virtual spaces. A society of degenerates, even if virtual, remains full of degenerates. How long, I ask you, until such... vileness spills out into the real world? How long until these disturbed individuals infect the minds of our children, of our people, with their twisted, depraved views? How long until virtual reality stops being virtual?”
-Dolores Ladewig, in “Concerned Citizens Against Virtual Indecen
cy.”
Waiting was, perhaps, the worst part of the whole process. Hephaestus, Falcata, Talwar, and Altara sat idly at the forge, accompanied by the people whose testimonial had been secured by Altara. To Hephaestus’ surprise, and delight, a crowd as large as the ones formed before had amassed outside of his forge. To a person, the people gathered outside his forge had come to his aid in expressing their concern over his unwarranted report. Hephaestus couldn’t feel gladder – truly, word of mouth was the best publicity there was.
And yet, nothing happened.
There had been no clear indication of where the Imperium Games’ Game Master would appear. For all he knew, they’d just show up at the middle of the Arken plaza, or beneath a hobo’s bedroll or, he chuckled at the thought, within Liberath’s arse. Whatever the case, he was uncertain, and his only option was to wait and see what happened – after all, he knew when he would appear. And that made a world of difference.
In his waiting, he noticed something: The crowd grew silent. When he turned around to see the cause for the sudden silence, he saw the people parting to make way for a figure dressed in a lavish, nearly obscene overcoat inlaid with golden scrollwork, beads, and more decorations than his eyes could process in one go, followed by a comparatively drab man dressed in a simple, dark coat. Liberath strolled haughtily through the crowd, peering down his nose at the people stepping aside; if he felt the weight of people’s venomous stares, or if he heard the hushed whispers left on his wake, he made no indication of it. The only thing certain to Hephaestus was that the lord was making his way to the forge.
When he was two meters away from the forge, he stopped, standing motionless, while everyone else shifted uncomfortably on their feet. Silence reigned eternally, until Liberath’s oily cadence broke the spell, “Why, am I not deserving of a welcome to your... fine establishment, Hephaestus?”
The blacksmith shrugged, bluntly stating “You’re not.”
“Oho,” laughed the lord, “you wound me with your words.”
“What do you want, Liberath?” spat Falcata, taking a step forward. Hephaestus placed a placating hand on her shoulder, hushing her softly.
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