Weaponsmith: Volume 1: A Crafting LitRPG, page 1
Weaponsmith
: [A crafting litRPG]
Volume: 1
by D.M. Rhodes
'Razzmatazz'
Copyright © 2022 D.M. Rhodes
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced
or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any persons living or otherwise is purely coincidental.
* * *
Written by D.M. Rhodes
'Razzmatazz'
www.DMRhodes.com
Interested in hearing from me when I finish my next book? Find me here!
* * *
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* * *
DO NOT APPLY ANY OF THE ADVICE OFFERED IN THIS BOOK WITHOUT FIRST CONSULTING A LICENSED HEALTH PROFESSIONAL. THIS STORY IS NOT A REPUTABLE SOURCE OF MENTAL OR PHYSICAL HEALTH ADVICE, NOR IS THE AUTHOR A QUALIFIED PERSON IN REGARD TO SUCH TOPICS
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: All good things -
Chapter 2: Come in -
Chapter 3: Threes (3!)
Chapter 4: 'F' is for FOUR and FROGS. But we don't talk about them here. Frogs are bad
Chapter 5: Who~ are you?
Chapter 6: Mishaps and hot baths
Chapter 7: Weaponsmith Hineni Obscura
Chapter 8: Workplace accident
Chapter 9: Nine is three, three times. (Three!)
Chapter 10: A dinner together
Chapter 11: Water water
Chapter 12: Twelve is three times four, which is bad. But four starts with 'F' like the word 'Frog'.
Chapter 13: Is an unlucky number. But it's okay because it has a three in it. So it's fine
Chapter 14: Please no solicitation unless you're here to deliver a box of frogs
Chapter 15: there are five threes in fifteen. But there are three fives! THREE!
Chapter 16: You shouldn't count her eyes, at least not more than three. Counting four is bad
Chapter 17: It's a long way home, but it's nice to have someone with you. So it isn't lonely, really
Chapter 18: Class is starting. There's a lot to do, but there's not enough time. The frogs are com-
Chapter 19: Magic is weird, so we'll just be using clay instead because its easier
Chapter 20: It's okay if we break some laws because we work for a god. So it's fine. Don't worry
Chapter 21: Stealing isn't the same as steeling but both are okay because we work for a god
Chapter 22: 2+2 =4 and four is the frog-number, which means that there is danger around. Be careful
Chapter 23: There is much work to do, but we'll manage because there is an owl on our shoulder. Hoot
Chapter 24: Two fours are a cursed number, because that is eight and eight looks like two frog eyes!
Chapter 25: The owl god has many talons, many. Far more talons than is objectively reasonable
Chapter 26: Two times six is twelve. Twelve has four threes but three fours. We are at the crossroad
Chapter 27: Two sevens equal fourteen. Fourteen is one-four. The frogs are here. Beware.
Chapter 28: Two pairs of frog-eyes stare into the void and they see nothing but owls. Day three.
Chapter 29: I became the man who I am because I met an owl in the forest and we hooted at each other
Chapter 30: We've waited long enough. It's time to make our move and to establish the Owl-God. Who~
Chapter 31: Today we have a lot to think about, but that's ok because owls are wise and think a lot!
Chapter 32: There was a chapter title here, but the frogs stole it because they're THE WORST. FROGS!
Chapter 33: There is much to do to build a nest. We must find many twigs and many soft things for us
Chapter 34: Three fours are good because there are three, but bad because they're fours. It's a wash
Chapter 35: White snow falls upon the world to cover it like a burial shroud. Beneath it lie frogs
Chapter 36: Big lizards live in the bank. We have no quarrel with them, but we also don't trust them
Chapter 37: Banks like numbers and (three * seven) is twenty-one, a number which is fine. I guess…
Chapter 38: Today we find the five-number, but what does this mean for the future? A secret is here.
Chapter 39: There used to be a title here, but those dirty frogs stole it and now we have nothing!
Chapter 40: A four has found us. Ten fours have come to pass. The thing with four fingers is here
Chapter 41: Work begins on the house. We must secure our home in order to keep the frog-water out
Chapter 42: There are things that we must do and so we'll do them, but not because the frogs want it
Chapter 43: There are secrets kept between us, but there are also secrets kept for ourselves.
Chapter 44: Bad things lurk in the shadows. The big-frog is here, but it hides where we can not see
Chapter 45: The guild is open, many faces are in our home. The bad dream tells us of a frog and ash
Chapter 46: The Hineni-man has a secret, but he has many followers. A mystery. Are we careful? Maybe
Chapter 47: Vapors fill the forge. Many smoky tendrils rise to the sky like mighty dreams of owls
Chapter 48: The god of death has come for our bones. But they're ours and he can't have them. Who~
Chapter 49: Hard times have found our soft home. The heat dries our face. But we have people-money
Chapter 50: There are many wishes in Hineni's nest. All of them are for fewer frogs and more owls
Chapter 51: A busy-body controls our life. Secret talons hold the strings. Bureaucrats are frogs
Chapter 52: Books surround us, they hold many secrets. Yet some of them are embarrassing.
Chapter 53: Our journey has come far. But where has it led us? Who are we? Water is wet. Frogs…
Chapter 1: All good things -
Living in the big city is really very lonely.
Sure, there might be people everywhere. People to the left, people to the right. You can’t take five steps without running into another person and each and every one of them seems to be living such a rich and fulfilling life, as far as he can tell. It certainly always looks that way at least, when they’re marching past him in groups composed entirely of laughing friends. Some of the adventurers are adorned with ornate, intimidating metal armor and others are more sparsely prepared for close confrontations, wearing thin robes and carrying staves. But the one thing that they all have in common, is that they all pass by his window together, always in groups.
That’s how it usually goes. People never really went to the dungeon here by themselves. It’s too dangerous, too high-leveled.
The man sighs, staring out of the large, dusty window of the dilapidated building, inside of which he sits by himself once again, with a mug in his hand and a book laid out atop the booth-table that he sits at. But he doesn’t read the book, despite it laying open to some page, the number of which he has long since forgotten. Instead, he simply holds onto his empty mug, which hasn’t been filled with liquids in just as long a time and he stares out through the window with a longing in his eyes.
He does this now, much like he has done exactly this, for every single day of this week. Like he has done for every single week before this one and like he has done for every year before this one, since he had arrived here, in the city.
Though, back then he used to look out of a different window.
As of a month ago, he stopped being just a boy and now, having left the care of the orphanage and having officially been recognized as having a class, he sits in the house that was deemed his once again, now that he had grown into the requirements of being the legal owner of such a building.
Much like himself however, the house which he has inherited, has done nothing but sit there, empty, for a long time as well.
He sighs, lowering his head down to rest it atop the pages of his book, averting his gaze away now from the window. It hurts him to look through it. His fingers run through his sooty, black hair, which is in desperate need of washing. He loves looking through the window and day-dreaming, hoping that one day that he can belong to something like one of those adventuring parties. But at the same time, those hopes are what hurt him the most. Because he knows, deep down, that tomorrow, he will be sitting here again and feeling the same things as right now.
He will see the same things.
He will do the same things.
And finally, he will be the same thing, forever. Always.
His eyes run around the large, empty room. It used to be a restaurant, but now, all of the tables are just as empty as the one he himself is sitting at. Their surfaces are covered in a layer of dust and, in all likelihood, still some bits of ash. The residue has collected up to a considerable height.
He closes his eyes, smelling the dust on the paper. He needs to go to the forest to get some more wood. But that will have to wait for a few more hours, until the sun vanishes and the moon begins to rise. It’s easier for him to go outside when it’s dark. There are fewer people. Fewer eyes.
He doesn’t like people looking at him and he certainly doesn’t feel comfortable around them and therein lies his dilemma. All day, he stares out of the window, seeing what he wants most in life. But his fingers can never quite manage to touch the thing that he craves.
The man falls asleep for a few hours, laying there hunched over the old table which still smells vaguely like fire, even after all of these years.
* * *
Night has fallen.
He rises to his feet, rummaging through his bag of things to get ready for his excursion. He stuffs a few pieces of dried meat into his pockets; food to snack on, during his trip. Forest work is always tiring.
Autumn has set in and yet another winter lies around the bend. It will be a cold one this year. Slinging his bag over his back, checking that his robe and jacket sit tightly around his breast and that his obscuring, pointed, wizard’s hat is set snugly atop of his head, so that the brim can hide his face together with his thick, yellow scarf, he steps outside. The axe, which is strapped to his bag, taps against his leg as he moves.
The first thing that he always notices when leaving is the crispness, the coldness, the bite of the lonely night air. He shuts the door behind himself, jiggling it once to make sure that he has locked it properly. Somehow, being lonely inside of the house felt less sad than being lonely outside of it. Perhaps it’s the cold weather, reminding him that his body has no-one to share its heat with in even as little as a hug. Or perhaps it's simply because he has to see all of the warm, orange lights filling the many bright windows that he walks past, as he makes his way out of the city.
The man lowers his head, tipping the front of his hat down further, as he makes his way towards the gate, doing his best to not look at a single thing, except the stones down at his feet.
* * *
*Thook*
*Thook*
He swings the axe over and over, breaking down the fallen tree into rough chunks. In all honesty, a saw would be a better tool for this work. But he doesn’t have a saw. He has an axe. More importantly, he doesn’t want to buy a saw. If he did, he’d have to figure out where to buy a saw first of all. Then he’d have to actually go there, during the day and then he’d have to buy it. Those are a lot of steps and a lot of people to talk to. And what if there are different kinds of saws? What if there is more than one saw-store? What if… what if…
No, he shakes his head. He has an axe. It’s good enough.
*Thook*
*Thook*
*Who hoo hooo~*
He stops, his body stiffening up with the axe held above his head as he listens, somewhat surprised by the odd noise that had come from the forest. The forest has always been quiet at night. Monsters don’t come out here anymore, not since the logging began.
*Who hoo hooo~*
Lowering his axe, he stares up towards the source of the noise. An owl sits perched up above him, in one of the still standing trees. Its wide eyes reflect the rusty, orange moonlight that shines down through the thinning crowns of the dying forest.
*Who hoo hooo~* it calls again, its voice echoing out into the night.
It seems odd, he knows that it does, but the owl’s odd call makes him smile. He isn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe it’s because of its funny voice, maybe because of its wide, saucer eyes and the sharply twisting movements of its neck as it scans the night. He lowers his axe, setting the head of the blade down into the leafy foliage. Lifting his gaze, he pulls his faded yellow scarf up higher to hide his face, as he stares at the owl. His eyes are likely as wide as its eyes are.
Feeling him staring, it flies away.
The man feels a bit sad as he watches it vanish into the darkness, but then, he simply returns to his work, the smile managing to stay there beneath his scarf nonetheless, born from having seen something unusual tonight.
As a treat, he picks a piece of the dried jerky out of his pocket and nibbles on it while he works.
- [Cured Meat Strip] -
- Quality - Normal - Composition - 'Meat': 98% Salt Pepper Red Spice Water: 0.9%
- Quality Effects - None
A heavily salted and mostly dried strip of meat of indistinct origin. It has an extremely long shelf life and mildly spicy flavor.
Restores {10} STAMINA
Weight: 0.01kg Value: 04 Obols
RESTORED + {10} STAMINA
*Thook*
*Thook*
* * *
The next day proceeds just like the day before. All day, the man sits there, staring out of the window at the world, feeling bad about doing so, but doing it nonetheless. Eventually, night falls and he is free from his guilt. Because now that night is here once again and it is dark outside, he has nothing to feel bad about. Because there’s no outside world for him to potentially belong to. Everyone is asleep.
He grabs his axe, gets dressed and leaves, jiggling the door before he goes down the same street in the same fashion as he had done every day before this one. He returns to the forest, as he has done every day before this one. He returns to the fallen tree, there is still a lot of wood left to take from it.
*Thook*
*Thook*
*Thook*
*Who hoo hooo~* hoots the owl.
He stops, freezing again, a smile hidden beneath his scarf. It seems silly, but secretly, he had hoped the owl would be here again. If only so that he had some event of substance in his day. Some differentiation from the monotone droning of his self-inflicted existence.
This time, he looks up towards it, but he doesn’t stare at its wide, moonlight-tinged eyes, opting instead to look at its feathery body. He realizes that he himself doesn’t like being looked at in the eyes. It makes him uneasy. Maybe the owl is the same?
*Who hoo hoo~* calls the owl. The lonely whistle of its voice moves through the forest. But it receives no response.
*Who hoo hoo~* It calls again and despite being happy to see it, somehow this calling of its makes him sad at the same time. It makes him feel lonely, or more aptly said, it reminds him that he already is. He looks away, looking around the dark forest, expectantly waiting for another call to come in return to the owl’s. But none ever do.
His eyes wander back up towards the odd bird, sitting up there by itself.
"I know the feeling," he mutters quietly, his words muffled by his thick scarf.
