Fantasia

Fey and Leandriel touched down on the stony path just outside the large gates of (the spectacularly unimaginatively named) Mountaingate, a major dwarven city nestled in the Oré Mountains, its main draw the rich ore deposits under and around the settlement.

Leandriel let the rest of the party out of magical storage and the group entered the city on foot, taking in the sights.

 

As a settlement, Mountaingate was quite the opposite of the verdant Moonwood. A major crafting and trade centre, the city was bustling with the noise of chatter, the clatter of wheels on stone, and the sounds of materials being worked. The buildings were sturdy, heavy constructions built out of the mountain’s grey granite, with a third of the city built inside great caverns where the stone was carved out.

The player mix in the area was approximately half dwarf, with the remaining half a cosmopolitan mix of primarily elves, humans, and beastkin. Not a beginner town, the average level was high enough that even Leandriel’s enormous white wings that clearly proclaimed his level being above 100 and his bronze dragonscale armour did not warrant much more than a second glance.

 

“So how are we going to approach this crafter guy?” Sirena asked once they were out of the crush of players entering the city.

“Uh, tell him what we want and see what items he wants to make it?” Blade said uncertainly, a bit confused as to how else they could act.

“Mm…” Fey mused (giving no indication that she had listened to Blade at all), “I’m thinking we just grab all our items and dump them in front of him, see what he’s interested in.”

 

In accordance to Fey’s plan, they made a trip to the nearest bank and withdrew representative items from the hundreds stored in their safety deposit boxes, stowing everything into Boris’ packs. Thus prepared, they headed towards the part of town that housed players’ personal workshops and forges.

 

Following the directions they found on the forums, they located the workshop in question tucked in the back of the district, away from the main traffic. From the outside, the two-storey building seemed quite large for a single person operation, but otherwise remarkable only for its lack of ostentation. There was no elaborate signage or large window display designed to attract potential customers. Instead, only a small wooden sign hung over the plain entrance, block letters burned neatly into the surface:

 

CALEB SMITH

 

In smaller letters below the name, it read:

 

Blacksmith, woodworker, leatherworker, clothworker, jeweler, enchanter, master crafter

 

Normally, when Fey saw someone claiming to have skill in such a broad range of fields, she assumed they had none at all, but based on the forum reports, this Caleb was the real deal. “Be nice, everyone. We want this guy to like us,” she said, pushing open the door. (She grinned when Blade muttered something about her telling other people to be nice but otherwise ignored him.)

 

Entering the workshop, it became apparent why one person would need so much space. Separate areas were clearly designated for different crafts, projects in various states of completion on half the workbenches they could see. A set of huge shelves along one wall was stocked with a wide range of basic materials. Other than the in-progress projects, the space was almost sterile with its neatness, tools lined up with exacting precision and not a speck of dust to be seen.

Just like the outside, there was zero consideration given to making the workshop appealing to customers, no storefront area or display of ready-made items. Along the same vein, nobody appeared in response to the team’s entrance.

 

After waiting a few minutes, it became clear that nobody would come greet them at the entrance. The sound of a hammer striking metal made it obvious that someone was present out of sight. Fey and Sirena exchanged a glance before cautiously advancing to the hallway near the back of the building, which presumably led to an attached forge. Mimi, Blade, and Leandriel followed.

 

A rise in the ambient temperature and the hiss and rumble of flame told them they were heading in the right direction. Entering the forge, they found the proprietor labouring by the light of the furnace.

 

Caleb Smith belonged not to one of the common races in the area, but was rather a demon from the volanic regions far to the southeast of the continent. The Fantasia version of the race was quite human in proportion, with cherry-red skin, small black horns, and yellow eyes. Similar to the elven race, players could gain batlike wings at level 50, but it appeared that the smith had not bothered with this.

The reason for the race choice was fairly obvious as Caleb handled a bar of white-hot metal with his bare hands. When it cooled enough to need reheating, he plunged it and his entire arm into the furnace without any apparent discomfort.

The demon glanced briefly over at their entrance but kept his attention on the metal at hand. Pulling it from the fire, he struck it quickly and accurately with his hammer, shaping it into a slightly curved blade. Repeating the heating and shaping process several times, he brought the glowing metal close to his face for inspection before nodding to himself and quenching it in a barrel of liquid that hissed and bubbled in response.

 

Putting the blade aside, the smith looked in the team’s direction without making any eye contact. The silent, subtle invitation to talk felt strangely familiar to Fey.

 

Generally speaking, Sirena took charge whenever the party needed to cooperate or bargain with other players, her friendly and chatty demeanour making her easy to get along with (insane shenanigans notwithstanding). Fey looked beside her to check why the mermaid was not fulfilling the accustomed role, to find her friend staring at the demon with her mouth slightly agape.

Fey looked back at Caleb with more attention to why he might warrant staring at. Oh, she belatedly noticed.

 

Caleb Smith was the type of physically attractive that was colloquially known as ‘hot’. He did not quite have the perfect harmony and symmetry of Leandriel’s features, but his face had a magnetic quality that drew the eye. Combined with the leanly muscled physique that was on prominent display due to his state of shirtlessness (something that Fey had vaguely noticed but not particularly noticed since it seemed reasonable when one was plunging one’s arm into a furnace), he was a sight that would sell calendars.

 

Seeing that Sirena was temporarily out of commission, the task of talking to a stranger would normally have fallen to Blade, but Fey had the feeling that she was the one best suited to communicate with the reclusive smith. She stepped forward, nudging Boris to follow her, carrying his travel packs.

 

Caleb’s eyes focused on Fey as she approached, not on her face, but rather picking out the details of her gear, noting her unusual weapon choices and her various pets. He said nothing, expression neutral.

Fey, in similar silence, withdrew Sirena’s lightning essence from a pack and handed it to the smith. He examined it briefly, then glanced towards Sirena’s direction. Fey nodded. She also sent him a list of the crafting items and quantities they had.

Caleb scanned through the display and marked about one third of the items. He sent a list of his own back, types and quantities of items, presumably ones he wanted.

The demon then looked over the party’s gear in detail. His gaze seemed to stutter on Leandriel’s dragonscale platemail, then cut over to Fey.

She laughed. “He doesn’t need an equipment upgrade,” she clarified.

Caleb nodded. Carrying the lightning essence, he walked around the party and back to the front of his workshop without any attempts at further communication.

 

“…What just happened?” Blade asked.

“I believe that Fey and Caleb came to an agreement to upgrade your gear,” said Leandriel.

“…How?”

Fey walked over and patted Blade’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get out of here.” She led the party quietly out of the workshop, passing Caleb, who was already tinkering with the huge ball of lightning essence.

 

Outside, Fey shared Caleb’s list with everyone. “Okay, these are the new items he wants. We also have to go to the bank and withdraw the items we have that he wants.”

While Mimi, Blade, and Leandriel examined the list, it seemed that Sirena was recovering from her stupor.

“Oh. My. God,” she said, pitch rising an octave with each word.

Fey hastily drew the mermaid away from the workshop entrance and activated Isolate on her friend.

“Did you see him?” Sirena squealed.

Fey silently congratulated herself on preventing Sirena from drawing the attention of everyone within a two-block radius. “Yes, yes,” she said in a soothing voice.

Blade, Mimi, and Leandriel looked up from the list and eyed the hysterical mermaid with expressions of bemusement, neutrality, and careful neutrality, respectively. None of them attempted to intervene, clearly leaving the task of Sirena-wrangling to Fey.

“And none of that was mods! He wasn’t modded!” Sirena exclaimed (redundantly). She grabbed Fey’s arm. “He wasn’t modded!” she repeated, clearly demanding agreement.

“He wasn’t modded,” Fey agreed. After playing Fantasia for a few months, it was fairly easy to tell when people had purchased appearance modules, as it shifted their features in a very predictable way towards a generically attractive standard. (In retrospect, one could tell that Requiem, of the underwater chapters, had purchased so many that his face perfectly matched the mold.)

Sirena continued making random squee noises and repeating variations of “Oh my god” and “he wasn’t modded” while Fey continued to make soothing noises, though Fey’s attention shifted towards reading the list of items they needed to collect as she let her friend burn her enthusiasm off.

 

It slowly came upon Blade that Sirena was enthusing about Caleb’s looks. “Hey!” he said indignantly.

Sirena patted his cheek. “It’s a purely aesthetic appreciation,” she assured him in an almost normal voice.

 

Fey waited a few seconds to make sure that Sirena was not going to return to fangirl mode, then released Isolate.

Completely unperturbed by the shenanigans, Mimi calmly marked off about two thirds of the items on Caleb’s list. “These ones would be more efficient to buy on the Exchange,” she said. Her expression went distant in a way that indicated she was browsing through a virtual screen, presumably to purchase the items in question.

 

Fey looked at the remaining items, mostly various amounts of crystals and ore. “Do we have to learn mining or something?” she asked.

“If you want, but the easiest way to obtain minerals is probably to hunt monsters that leech them out of the surroundings,” Leandriel answered.

Fey nodded in approval at the shortcut to days of manual labour. “To the bank, and then the underground, I guess.”

 

With terrifying efficiency, Mimi had purchased all of the items she had marked in the quantities required by the time the party finished walking back to the bank and the items were waiting in their safety deposit boxes along with their other items.

“It’s less convenient for the buyer, but by market value, Caleb is discounting his prices,” she noted.

 

Fey could understand offloading troublesome tasks like acquiring materials to other people. “I think we’re going to get along with Mr. Smith,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, please,” said Sirena in a tone that might have been used for accepting an offer of ice cream.

“No scaring him off,” Fey said sternly.

“I wouldn’t. We need to add him to the harem,” she said cheerfully.

 

While Fey would not normally have batted an eye at such a comment, Leandriel’s presence made her slap a hand over Sirena’s mouth while her other arm went for a light chokehold. “Behave.”

:It’s a compliment!: Sirena protested telepathically.

Fey looked at Leandriel apologetically, a slight blush developing across her cheeks.

“I’m not offended,” the angel reassured her, having experienced some of Sirena’s antics in the past.

Fey shook her head and sent Leandriel a PM:

 

<Fey: There’s only you.>

 

Leandriel’s eyes widened briefly before his expression altered, going from mild amusement to solemn intensity. Fey felt her blush deepen.

:Eew. Did you just send him a soppy message?: Sirena complained, having caught the brunt of Leandriel’s gaze as he looked past her to Fey.

“Yes, and if you don’t lay off I’m going to PDA[i] until you’re a ball of cringe on the ground,” Fey threatened while letting the mermaid go, visibly pulling herself out of the brief, intimate moment.

“Okay, okay!” After a pause, Sirena said, “But we can keep the Smith guy, right?”

“You mean ask him to join our party?” Fey asked. “I really doubt he has any interest in going monster hunting.”

 

“We could start a guild,” Mimi suggested.

 

Fey blinked. “Why?”

“There are going to be guild-only special events coming,” said Mimi.

Leandriel nodded. “Even if you do not plan on adding anyone else to it, there are some guild functions, like teleporting to each other, that you might find useful.”

Fey was hesitant. “We don’t need to add a bunch of people, do we?”

Mimi shook her head.

Sirena was enthusiastic. “Yes! We’ll invite him to our guild! You can do your not-talking thing to make him feel comfortable and he can use the items you hoard for no reason and I—” she coughed, “…I’ll also benefit,” she ended lamely.

 

“I suppose we could ask him,” Fey said, somewhat enamoured of the idea of a small guild filled just with friends. She had no confidence that the demon smith would have any interest in joining it, but if he wanted to, she was sure they would get along. “Items first. Gotta show him we’re reliable.”

 

“Let’s go!” Sirena rushed towards the workshop.

“We’re only dropping these items off, and then we’re going hunting. If you bother him while he’s making things, he’ll definitely say no,” Fey warned.

Sirena drooped and slowed so that the party caught up to her.

[i] Public display of affection