As we walked into the room and I looked around at the sharp pointy things on every wall one thought very clearly drifted though my head: Isn’t it weird that people here give weapons to children?

Then again, the main reason adults in the ‘real world’ don’t is that children can hurt themselves. A sharp enough knife can poke out an eye or cut off a finger, and in the worst case a child could die. That wasn’t exactly an issue here, as I learned quite quickly. Were there any other reasons why people don’t give knives to children? Children can be destructive, so I might mess up the furniture? Except that I was learning to sense magic and would be able to use it in not too horribly long a time. I somehow expect a fireball to be a little worse than your average poky metal stick. Perhaps parents would be worried that children would get used to having and using a weapon, but in a world with monsters that could only be seen as a benefit.

The room looked like it was made up of about 50% sacrificial daggers, with multiple weird protrusions and more that a few unnecessary spikes, many of these were even in sword form. There were quite a few jewel encrusted monstrosities and even a few that looked to be made of materials that should not work for swords, like granite and leaves. There were even some that looked like chainsaws, including chainsaw daggers. Everything here had blades but there were quite a few axes, a few polearms, and one Klingon Bat-Leth. Yes, it seemed like they actually had a weapon from that old science fiction television show. Why it was there I couldn’t say, but at least it didn’t look out of place among the many other completely impractical items.

So, all in all, it was just your typical fantasy blade smith.

I saw a workbench, which included everything from an anvil to a pneumatic press, confirming that he was a workman rather than a trader. Some of the things, that I assumed to be tools, looked super high-tech that I couldn’t identify them, although a few looked so simple that they would have fit in the stone ages. I also saw no fire, which was a bit odd. On the wall he had a number of clear boxes stuck in cubbyholes with prominent locks that were filled random levels with various gemstones. I assumed these were the ‘crystals’ that I had heard about. There were no metals around that I could see, save that of the couple uncompleted projects on the nearby table.

The man himself looked normal sized. He stood there without a prominent dwarven beard and devoid of any accent whatsoever. It was disappointing. Instead he had dark skin, closely cropped hair that sat straight on his head, and a greedy smile. He did, at least, wear a worker’s smock. Walking straight up behind us he started his spiel with all the gusto of a train wreck waiting to happen. “Welcome to my workshop. Did you need something special made? I’m the best craftsman in town and…”

“Neil, you aren’t even the best elementary blade craftsman in this quarter. You do, however, keep a good selection of failures, rather than just dismantling them like a normal person would, and sell for cheap,” my mother interrupted, ensuring that his derailment was fittingly abrupt. She had let go of me to put her hands on her hips. He looked thoroughly intimidated, or at least sufficiently cowed.

“Hello, Thea.” He lost his hopeful smile and he sighed to himself as he answered with a bit of an eye roll. “So nice to see you again. Look, I’m busy and I know that nothing I have will be up to your power level, so why are you even here?”

“I need a hold-out dagger for the boy. His name is William.” She nodded toward me as she spoke.

“Hello.” I called out as he looked down at me from only two feet away. He had been ignoring me up to that point and so I had to look almost straight up to see his face. Again, he wasn’t really all that tall, I was just really really short, as well as a bit close for comfort.

He glanced between the two of us. “Really now? I had heard that you mellowed out, but a kid?” He took a few steps to the side which meant I wouldn’t have to look so far up to see him.

My mother, ever the conversationalist, shrugged.

“So, kid, got any questions?”

I looked up at my mother for permission. She seemed to understand my unspoken question and nodded. I think she also might have been hiding a smirk.

I looked up at the craftsman, took a deep breath, “What the f…” I glanced over at my mother, “ ‘heck’ is wrong with these weapons. Like those over there, they have giant holes down the center and some of them are parallel sticks with a sharpened edge and little to no connecting pieces! That’s dumb and you are dumb for making them that way. A full structure for any bladed weaponry, especially something like a sword, allows for strength along the full length. You compromise the structural integrity with those holes and they do nothing for the functionality of the weapon. Absolutely nothing. A bevel, also sometimes known as a ‘blood trench’, can be added when the sword needs to be broader while still reducing weight; but generally you will be better off just making the sword slimmer and cutting out that extra material completely. Do you want these things to fall apart and loose their shape while swinging them? Is this some sort of ploy to get repeat customers by selling shoddy products?”

The man looked suitably chastised and looked to my Mother for help. She seemed to be quietly laughing with her hand covering her mouth, for some reason. The transporter guy just seemed to be looking on in awe. Or shock. One of those two.

I continued, because there was so much more that I had to say. “And that just counts the weapons made of normal products. You’ve got a few made of actual crystal! I’ve got to hope that is some sort of super magical ingredients because otherwise it isn’t even useful as a proper showpiece! Crystal is only of slightly lessor weight as steel but far less sturdy and, no matter what some people think, it refuses to hold a proper edge. You want your weapon to sheer in half? Because that is actually possible with crystal where it won’t happen with metal. Even worse it can shatter and, if it is tapped in exactly the wrong angle in one of a dozen or more places, the whole thing can shatter into little more than sand. And that isn’t even unique to one type of crystal! All crystals, due to their regular molecular arrangement, have that inbuilt weakness!”

The craftsman actually mouthed the word ‘help’ to my Mom as I spoke, but no help came. The transporter was definitely in awe, as it explained how his mouth was hanging open. “Well, um, you see…”

“And that doesn’t even account for the ridiculous shape and design of so many of these weapons. Size, for instance; some of these blades weigh more than the person who would be wielding them. Haven’t you people ever heard of ‘Newton’s Third Law of Motion’? Every action has an equil and opposite reaction! That means that, even if you have the strength to lift and swing some of those monstrosities, unless you could stabilize yourself with something other than your feet, all you would get by swinging them would be spinning yourself in a circle. Your body, weighing less than the sword, would turn while your weapon would essentially remain in nearly the same spot! And that is assuming you even have the leverage to hold those things outward without moving your center of mass three feet over nothing. A sword is no good if you have to stand under the blade just to keep it from knocking you over!”

He was silent but frowning in concentration now. I didn’t even glance at the others.

“But again, that is a small thing that ‘superpowers’ can probably deal with. What isn’t a small thing is the whacky designs of those things. Traditional swords are either straight or have a simple curve, either with an even angle or a slightly progressive one. This is to either maximize the range and the power at the point for the straight edge, or ease of use and cutting area for the curved. At absolutely no point in time is an S curve ever a good idea. Neither is that sword with a square axe-head looking thing at the end of the blade. And those serrated blades? Not only would they be impossible to keep in good repair and sharpened but those pointy bits are just begging to get stuck and cause you to lose you control of your weapon! Also, who’s hair-brained idea was it to make chainsaw swords? Anyone with any armor could just deflect it and the only way they would be better than a traditional blade was if the wielder was too slow and weak to use one, at which point they shouldn’t be trying to attack in melee combat anyway! And that is just if you are dealing with traditional engineering materials, if you have better stuff than there are way better options than a chainsaw!”

He stared back for a few seconds after I finished my rant. “Anything else?”

I glanced around again. “The Bat-leth is fine, even if I have no Idea why you would know about them, but it should probably be sorted next to the axes. Unless you have it next to the hand daggers because it is a weird novelty item, then it is ok.”

My mother chose this moment to speak up. “Did I mention that I ended up marrying Edmond Townsen?”

“That nerd?” He asked her, then glanced back at me as his voice took on a tone of ultimate irony. “You don’t say…”

“I do say.” She answered with a frown. “Be nice Rack.” Ah, so that was his name. I had been thinking of him as the swordsmith guy.

Rack gave an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s see if I can answer some of your questions, how bout it? Where to start? I honestly agree with you on the weird sword shapes and the chainsaw swords, but they sell, ya know? Most of them aren’t as bad as they seem, just had some of what your da would call ‘alternate visual mapping’ done to give them some style. Non nerds just call it skinning.” Ah, so ‘alternate skins’ for items is a thing. Video game logic prevails! “It is a lot of extra cost that ends up making it harder to know the exact dimensions of your own weapon and they end up using the darned thing wrong because of it. The Chainsaws are for people who are too weak to be participating in fights but want some peace of mind from a dangerous looking stick. Again, if the idiots want to pay for it than who am I to not provide?”

I nodded skeptically. “Is that what’s going on with the crystal swords and such?”

He glanced over. “Naw, well, only sometimes.” He admitted. “Most of those are specialty items. For people who like to fight all stealthy like, the crystal swords are easier to hide. They blend in better which lets them people sneak up on their target more quickly and reliably. And those split swords, they are mostly tools to help focus ranged abilities, with a little blade added on just in case. Sure, they chip easy, but they heal up just like everything else.” Heal? They were metal and crystal and such, how did that work.

It didn’t make sense, so I decided to ask. “How do they heal? Is it some sort of magic you use?”

He glanced at my mother and she answered back. “He just turned 2 recently and it hasn’t come up. Feel free to tell him, though.”

“You know anything about ‘claiming’ equipment?” he asked me.

I nodded, “A little. I know that at first it lets you find stuff, which isn’t very useful, but after that you can keep stuff with you after you die.”

“Not very useful, he says.” The crafter, Rack, lamented. “Almost everything you see in this room is at that first level of claiming. It is what allows crafters and traders to have a livelihood when any Joe with high enough stats could otherwise just wonder in here invisible. If someone steals from me I’ll immediately know it and know where my stuff is. Claiming something, even at the first level, also makes it impossible for anyone else to claim it.” That makes sense. I was wondering how stopping thieves worked in a world where literally everyone could go invisible.

“What you will be more interested in is at the slightly higher levels. The next one lets you treat the item as part of yourself. That means you can always pull it to your side and it even gets a part of your body applied to it. When you heal, it heals; and when you get popped it doesn’t get abandoned. After that is the only other level you’ll have to care about for a while. It lets you absorb the item into your mana so that you won’t have to keep it out all the time. Beyond that is mostly useful for crafters and researchers and such.”

I thought for a moment as he spoke. “So, like an inventory but only for personal stuff? Hammer space? Something like that?”

He nodded.

“So why not put everything in there? Is there some downside to it beyond the time it takes to claim the stuff?”

“When isn’t there a downside?” he answered. “You can only claim a certain amount of stuff, based on your mana, and anything you claim to that point takes its substance from you. This stuff here,” he said, motioning around the room, “I can unclaim it as easy as snapping my fingers. Any more and it would take a monetary investment to do so. Anything higher than the second level and you would be better off just making a new one.”

I nodded in understanding. It sounded like this game like world had taken ‘soul-binding’ and divided it into multiple levels. Soul binding, as a mechanic in games, linked stuff to your character so that you wouldn’t loose those things when you died while also creating a resource sink by preventing you from trading it later after you upgraded. That was important because if higher level people could sell their lower level stuff when they no longer needed it then the market would pretty quickly become flooded with the ‘nearly-the-best gear in the game’. Worse than that, as the high level players gained more money with nothing to spend it on that they wouldn’t eventually recoup by reselling, the prices for high level gear would balloon to the utterly ridiculous. Ridiculous as in: games where the average player could expect to make a few gold pieces an hour, gear would sometimes sell for the tens of thousands up into the millions.

Part of me wondered what other protections were in this game like world against monetary collapse but I didn’t get a chance to ask as he continued to push through my complaints and distracted me with something more important. “That should pretty much answer all your questions, Yeah? The thick planks are used with people with super high body and, just as often, are more for intimidation than combat.”

“You mentioned Body a couple times, is that another name for the ‘Constitution/Stability’ stat?”

The transporter spoke up again, and I realized that I had no clue of his name. “It is a cultural thing. Different people use different names and some refuse to use any others. All things aside, Psychics only get the six stats in order; so the names are just made up anyway.” Good to know about the names not being set. Also good to know that the Charisma based class of manipulators that could see people’s stats were called ‘Psychics’.

I looked back to Rack. “So what names do you use?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Body, Movement, Power, Penetration, Sense, and Energy.” It was a bit interesting how, despite the different sets of names, they all seemed to cover the same aspects. Why not just standardize with one set of names? That’s how languages worked; if multiple words were used to refer to the same thing, and there wasn’t a significant difference denoted by the various words, than one would become common usage while the others would fade away. I’m sure it would make more sense later. Or, at least, I hoped.

“So…” I asked, “Is there some sort of booklet or something that can explain all this stuff? Preferably in an easy to read format that starts with the most numerically relevant aspects?”

The transporter snorted in derision, however it was my Mother who spoke up. “Some groups believe in giving as much knowledge as possible but we believe in following the ‘first ways’ as closely as wisdom and convenience will allow.”

“The ‘first ways’?” I asked.

She nodded, “It refers to the first recorded settlers of these lands. They knew nothing except the current and next step of their journey and so were more free to focus on those things exclusively. Of course, we make allowances for those areas where correction would be overly cumbersome, but there are some who believe even that hampers the overall growth that comes in the experience of correction.” She spoke calmly but I could see that the others were a bit uncomfortable. The craftsman seemed on the cusp of interrupting but nonetheless remained silent.

It was the transporter who spoke up, however, “Not everyone believes that, though. Knowledge is power and some people recognize that an informed mind can make a better decision than fate.”

My mother scowled at him with a dangerous look, I think she might have even growled. It was more than a bit shocking. She was always so in control, except for those few times when something surprised her into an uncharacteristically girlish outburst; but this was a side of her that I had never experienced before. Logically I knew that she was dangerous, far more than my father at the very least, when he told me the story of how he convinced her to go out with him. As the story goes she had initially refused by saying that she didn’t want to date anyone weaker than her and that he would have to beat her in a duel first. So he kept challenging her until he finally defeated her on the 97th try, after 96 straight defeats. They both admitted that his victory was the result of luck and circumstance rather than some hidden combat prowess, but privately she also admitted that he wasn’t weak. And now she seemed poised to turn her attentions against some opinionated transporter whose name I hadn’t even gotten.

Rack seemed to notice the escalating situation as well and moved to intervene by stepping between the two. “Now let’s all just calm down now, alright? Look, mister, that is her kid and, as much as I may disagree with the both of you, until he’s grown or runs off she makes the rules. Back the fuck down. And you, Thea. Don’t kill somebody in my shop. It’s bad for business.”

They both seemed to calm down a bit, though Mom refused to move even an inch from her spot. There was a brief few seconds of silence before the transporter turned toward the door. “I’ll be outside.” He said, and was quickly gone. Rack let out a sigh of relief.

“I know you are a curious one, but you do understand why we didn’t tell you more. Right?” asked my Mother.

I nodded. I wanted to know more but I understood her reasoning as well. “This would be easier if I was dumber, you know. You could just tell me things at your own pace and I would never know the difference! That’s the reason why smart protagonists in these sorts of situations always start out in the middle of no-where without a learned scholar or a library is sight; because too much information is a bad thing, both for story progression and for making meaningful decisions.”

“That,” my Mother tried, “is an unusual way of saying it… But that does mean you get why we don’t talk about stuff more?” she asked, “I am making sure because I’m certain you are smart enough to figure it out on your own, if you have anything to work with, and we really can’t keep you indoors forever. So just promise me you won’t try to get around what we are doing. Do you understand? Can you promise Mommy that?”

I did understand. It was like giving knives to children; dangerous in a way that the children themselves simply couldn’t appreciate until they were older. Only, instead of sharp pointy things that could only be a temporary annoyance in this world, the real danger was letting only partially informed children make life-altering decisions that would follow a person for the rest of their lives. In a world where old age wasn’t a thing, ‘the rest of your life’ was an extremely dire threat.

As far as I could tell there were only two ways around this issue. The first was to find a way to make correct decisions without every bit of relevant information. This seemed to be the position of my parents, and the psychological effects of my age seemed to support this decision. After all, how could I make a wise decision when my emotions were so out of whack. The other way was to try to give the person all of the relevant information so that they could make a completely informed decision. Even if my emotions were childlike my logic was not, and I was fairly certain I could make informed decisions even if it didn’t let me shoot ‘pew-pew lazers’ at things. Underlying both decisions was the fact that not choosing for myself, and therefore letting someone else’s methods choose for me, would mean trusting that those methods were sound and that the originator of those things knew better than I did. Choosing for myself meant taking the choice into my own hands, which was always less scary than trusting someone who was a complete unknown.

And yet, as scary as that was, was there really a choice? Even if you spent your whole life trying to learn everything to make the perfect decisions, there would always be more. Therefor everything would eventually come down to trust: Do I trust others to guide me in the right direction or do I trust only myself? And yet, because someone would have to give me the knowledge that would inform my decisions, I would be forced into trusting someone regardless of my untrusting intentions.

So what it really came down to, and the thing I had to consider before promising to not get around what my parents were trying to do, was this: did I trust my parents? They had given me a lot of information but they said that there were other things that they also said that it would be better for me not to learn yet. Did I trust that they were not hiding anything important from me? They told me that this was all for my good, but did I trust that they cared for me or that they were capable of knowing what was in my best interests?

Or, put more simply: did I trust their ability to understand and navigate this world, at least at the present time, more than I trusted myself to do the same? While I knew that I couldn’t just not try to figure things out, could I at least give my word to accept their wisdom on how to do things rather than work around their efforts?

After a few seconds of thought I looked up at my mother and nodded.