LOOT DROP Chapter 9: You're a Blacksmith Fisk!

  “Sam! Sam! SAMMY OPEN UP!” Faith yelled, banging on the blacksmith’s workshop door in the dead of the night with a berry basket on her back. After three minutes, Faith ran to the side, smacking against the shuttered windows of the building with rabid fervor that drew the gazes of several passing players.

  “WHAT?!” Sam barked, slamming the shutters of the windows open, her polka-dot pajamas on full display. “Wh-what?! Hey! Don't just climb in here!”

  “I need your help!”

  “With what?!”

  Then, the top of the berry hatch opened up, spilling out the amputee man who hit the blacksmith's bedroom floor with an audible thud.

  Sam closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as Faith hastedly closed the window.

  “Why do I feel like my life is about to get more complicated?” Sam complained as Fisk dragged himself to the nearby wall.

  “Look! I can't go into details but my friend has to stay with you!” Faith exclaimed.

  “Absolutely not. I'm not keeping some stranger in my home!”

  “Fisk, meet Sam, Sam, Fisk! There! There you go! Now you're both caught up!”

  “That's not what I mean!” Sam yelled, throwing her hands into the air.

  “Look, he just needs a place to stay for the night, maybe a few days!”

  “Okay,” Sam said, suddenly adopting a serious look, “I know a place.”

  “You do?!”

  “Yeah, come here, let me show you,” The blacksmith said, nodding to have Faith follow her who was elated to do so only to deflate as her friend opened a door that led outside. “See? All kinds of places that don't include MY home!”

  “Please!” Faith yelled, shutting the door, “When have I ever asked you for a favor?”

  “Are you kidding?! You ask me for stuff all the time! You're like the worst neighbor!” The blacksmith shouted, “Sam, can you make me a tap, Sam, can I borrow your clippers, Sam, can you make me nails, Sam-”

  “Look! Last time! Then I'll never ask you for anything ever again! Please! Pretty please!” Faith pleaded as Fisk eyed his materials on the nearby table layed out.

  “You're literally lying to my face!”

  “Why can't you just have… a little faith in me?” Faith said, her words causing Sam to cringe and facepalm with a groan.

  “Just… just tell me what's going on?”

  “I killed an immortal,” Fisk said as he sat prompt up on the nearby wall with his weapon in his lap.

  He eyed his gun, clenching his jaw as he recalled dumping twenty of his stat points into dexterity and blasting the man away.

  Sam frowned. Killing an immortal was generally frowned upon, not because of any ethical qualms but rather because of their usual proclivity of seeking revenge. Even with the Judges present, there had been tales of vindictive immortals razing entire villages with their carnage ceasing only after being targeted by the Judge Force.

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  “You can't stay here, he can't stay in our village!” Sam said, shaking her head with furrowed brow, “Turn him over to the-”

  “No! Sam, he helped me and he needs help. The immortal was barging into my home, refusing to leave. He only killed him because he shoved me to the ground.”

  At Faith's words, Sam fell silent, a scowl on her face.

  “Look, I don't need a place to stay. If you can get what I asked for made, I'll be out of your hair, and you'll never see me again,” Fisk reasoned, drawing a look that seemed almost wistful on Faith's face.

  “What happened to your leg?” Sam said, stroking her chin.

  “Long story, can you make what I asked?”

  “I can make anything,” Sam scowled.

  ****

  “I can't make this…” Sam muttered.

  “Can't? What do you mean you can't?” Fisk demanded, sitting at a chair watching the blacksmith work in her workshop for the last two hours.

  “I can't, its just… the part's won't take. I have the blueprint, I see the materials, but I can't make sense of these instructions…” Sam said, adjusting her goggles with a scowl as she held up Fisk's blueprint. “It's written in some archaic language…”

  “What does this mean?” Faith asked, standing beside Fisk with a concern look.

  “It means only an immortal can make whatever it is this blueprint is for. I can process items, I can refine, grind, sharpen, reforge, but very rarely there are some things… somethings that don't stick without an immortal’s touch, only they know how to make these kinds of things with their magic,” Sam replied with a tone of frustrated defeat. She sat down on a nearby stool, wiped her sweat from her brow, and glared at the items Fisk had brought.

  A few moments passed, the only sound in the forge being the flickering flames and steam of the molten ore snaking out of the chimney.

  “Can I try it?” Fisk asked, drawing a chuckle from Sam.

  “So you can lose your hands too while breaking my tools?” Sam said, taking her heavy leather work gloves off and crossing her arms. “No thanks.”

  “Just tell me what you're trying to do and maybe I can do it.”

  “Look, unless you're an immortal, I'm telling you its-”

  “Samantha,” Faith said, interrupting the woman with a touch on her shoulder, “Just let him try.”

  Sam clenched her jaw, “Fine, but you do as I say, when I say it.”

  Fisk nodded before being helped over by Faith and Sam to the workbench where the materials for his leg lay scattered.

  “Are you ready?” Sam asked before a blue box of text appeared before Fisk's eyes.

  [Journeyman Smith: Samantha Is offering to teach Knowledge: Smithing]

  [Accept] <-

  [Decline]

  Fisk nodded, his hand tapping the air only to receive a shock to his entire body in return.

  [Knowledge: Basic Smithing LvL 1: Obtained!]

  “Fisk? Are you alright?” Faith asked as a new screen appeared before Fisk that was blank save for his new skill and the title above that said Knowledge.

  “Huh…” Fisk said, not realizing that Sam had been talking for several minutes with himself staring blankly.

  He didn't feel different… in fact, he wasn't quite sure what had just happened other than him gaining a new knowledge skill that didn't seem to directly affect his.

  Fisk reached over, picking up a hammer, his eyes turned over to the sweating forge with nothing new coming to the forefront of his mind.

  Hmm… maybe I'm thinking too hard about-

  “Hey? Are you listening to me?!” Sam yelled, slamming her palm onto the work table.

  The woman walked off, ruffling her hair as she complained about the immortals torching their village.

  Then, Fisk reached over, recalling how a player had simply placed all the materials on a workbench and watched them merge into a pair of boots.

  He gathered the items, bunching them up as an interface appeared before him.

  [Knowledge Smithing V: Not Met!]

  Fisk frowned before his look of displeasure was changed to one with a small smile.

  [Knowledge Supplemented by Journeyman Blacksmith Sam]

  “Craft,” Fisk muttered as Faith began arguing with Sam.

  However, their shouting match quickly dissipated as a glowing blue light shone in the workshop, capturing the gazes of both women who stared at the metal leg with silver sheen reflecting the glow of the forge.

  “Impossible!” Sam yelled in disbelief as she shoved Fisk out of his chair to inspect the leg made of metal.