The forge's doorway framed a rectangle of orange light that spilled across the threshold. Heat rolled out in waves, carrying the scent of coal and heated metal.
As he crossed the threshold, Alan's interface, ever eager to explain the blatantly obvious, sparked to life:
**[You are entering: Village Forge]**
**[Tutorial Progress: Locate Quest Giver]**
**[Ambient Temperature: Probably Quite Hot]**
The last notification struck him as particularly unnecessary. The forge glowed with a hellish orange light, heat radiating in waves strong enough to make anyone question their life decisions—or at least question wearing leather armor.
Weapons hung on the walls in arrangements too perfect to be practical. A rack of swords caught the light at precisely the right angle to create dramatic gleams. Even the cobwebs appeared to have been placed by an art director with a keen eye for atmospheric detail.
A massive anvil dominated the center of the room, its surface bearing the kind of wear that suggested either centuries of use or very dedicated texture artists. The forge itself crackled with flames that danced in precise, looping animations. Above various objects floated descriptions that ranged from mundane to mildly concerning:
**[Sturdy Workbench - Crafting Station]**
**[Apprentice Tongs - Common]**
**[Mysterious Glowing Ore - Do Not Lick]**
The interface's warnings grew increasingly specific as Alan approached the peculiar ore, suggesting that previous players had made some questionably creative decisions.
Near a rack of completed swords, a prompt materialized: **[Press E to Examine]**. Alan stared at it, wondering if someone had forgotten to update the tutorial for this reality. "Examine," he said instead, feeling only slightly foolish. The prompt sparkled and expanded into a detailed description of craftsmanship techniques he had absolutely no context for.
♛ ♛ ♛
Through the shifting heat and rhythmic clatter of the forge, a man emerged. His arms were bare, corded with muscle, and dusted with soot in artistic smudges, as though he'd been painted in grayscale. His leather apron, scored and pitted, admitted no doubts about his profession or his approximate fire resistance. Above his head floated the text, **[Marcus Ironarm – Master Smith]**, a moniker that suggested his parents either had great foresight or a complete lack of subtlety. The glowing exclamation mark bobbed impatiently above him, but if Marcus noticed its celestial tapping against the top of his head, he gave no indication.
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“You. Stranger.” His voice sounded like soot and the weight of unamused mornings. He beckoned Alan closer. “Got a moment?”
Alan, who technically had nothing but moments at the moment, stepped forward.
Marcus gestured toward the forge, where the orange glow had dimmed to a sullen smolder. “Can’t finish my orders,” he said, with the weary tone of someone explaining a problem that had no business existing in the first place. “Forge’s cold, woodpile’s gone dry as sandpaper on a summer’s day. And unless you know a way to smelt steel using sarcasm and wishful thinking, I need wood."
The word “wood” hung in the air like a challenge, and Alan resisted the urge to ask how exactly he was supposed to supply a literal pile of lumber.
"Can't forge proper steel without proper heat," Marcus continued, his expression suggesting this was both a practical observation and a deeply held philosophical belief. He pointed to a half-finished blade cooling on the workbench. "Got the mayor's daughter's wedding present waiting, and three guard swords needed by sundown."
The exclamation mark above Marcus pulsed helpfully, a faint chime accompanied by shimmering light. Beside it appeared new glowing text— **“Available Quest: Chop Wood for the Forge”**—blinking at Alan like it knew full well it was about to complicate his day.
“So.” Marcus crossed his arms.” “You gonna help, or you just here to stare at the tools?”
♛ ♛ ♛
Alan weighed his options, which consisted primarily of accepting the quest or standing there like a decorative statue until the interface took pity on him. "I'll help," he said, attempting to sound more competent than he felt.
The world responded with enthusiasm disproportionate to his simple agreement. A symphony of chimes cascaded through his consciousness, accompanied by a light show that would have made a theatrical director blush. Golden particles swirled around him like overachieving fireflies, and text materialized in his field of vision:
**[QUEST ACCEPTED: Chop Wood for the Forge]**
Beneath this proclamation, objectives unfurled themselves with military precision:
□ Chop 5 Logs (0/5)
□ Return logs to Marcus
The interface helpfully added:
**[Difficulty: Easy]**
**[Reward: 50 copper, Basic Axe]**
Marcus nodded with satisfaction, either immune to or willfully ignoring the spectacular light show occurring around his head. "Say 'Open Quest Log' if you need to review the details," Marcus added, in the tone of someone reciting a script they'd repeated countless times. "Though if you manage to forget 'chop wood, bring back wood,' we might have bigger problems than my cold forge."
A compass rose materialized in the corner of Alan's vision, complete with a dancing arrow pointing him toward his objective. The arrow bounced with the sort of enthusiasm typically reserved for puppies or caffeinated children.