#smrpg smithy

[pixies-and-poets]

Hello everyone!

Super Mario RPG has been in my life for over 15 years, but it wasn't until the remake came out that I gave it significant space in my brain. Both the absolute joy and love that the remake invokes, as well as the renewed fandom around it, have gotten me obsessed with some of these characters like never before.

Even so, I've been a bit hesitant to write or put some of my ideas out there... it's a very old fandom, one in which I feel so many interesting story ideas and philosophical angles to these characters must have already been explored, since the days of forum roleplays and the heyday of sprite comics which I remember from my earliest years online. It makes it somewhat intimidating for me to write down my own ideas for fear of retreading old ground that I didn't even know had been trod. Or perhaps just not being nearly as interesting as fanon that has existed before.

....But I'm also really obsessed and I need to get some stuff out of my brain. So I'm just gonna try some things! For fun!

And therefore I present to you, my first ever SMRPG writing. Let me know if you like it, and there will be more!

PS: the way I'm resolving the name discrepancy between some of the characters mentioned here, is that I take their remake names to be the names Smithy gave them, and their "original" names to be the names they eventually take for themselves. That just feels right to me. But that is not yet relevant to this story.

So, without further ado...

The Forging

This one wasn’t much to look at. Yet.

Smithy had given this project days of nonstop planning and engineering- then hours upon hours of heating, hammering, grinding, polishing, the bright sparks flying ceaselessly in his workshop, the sound of his hammer ringing out like a song on repeat. Everything was calculated to ensure just the right amount of sturdiness and strength while maintaining a lightweight flexibility. The perfect incarnation of a spear.

But what it all amounted to, as far as an untrained eye could see, was an unassuming wire-frame of spindly limbs, attached to a cauldron-like lower belly for some weight. The inert body lay stretched out on the slab like a stick figure, more like the beginning sketch of a piece of art than its end product.

That was alright. It was only the beginning, after all. He still needed details: the flourishes of red that would bring his design to completion, the cape that would serve as the dramatic curtain to cloak his form. More than anything, of course, he needed life. He needed movement.

Of course, he didn’t have a head yet, and that didn’t help matters.

The head alone had taken Smithy a day in itself. But when finished, it was truly a masterpiece. The long and deadly point gleamed in the light of the forge, the very essence of both elegance and danger; below it, the “cheekbones” were two sharp and threatening downward curves, masterfully forged in their grace and symmetry. In between them, the eyes: open and blank. No thoughts stirred them just yet; but soon, there would be more than enough to animate them. This one was to be a thinker, after all.

He heated up the bottom tip once again, just enough so that it glowed, but didn’t melt - and using his tongs, pressed the final touch up inside what looked like the creature’s open snout. The red fibers of the mustache fused and glued themselves to the inner metal. There- the upward-pointing curves that reflected the downward ones above them, the spot of color- now the whole piece was perfection of both craftsmanship and design.

...And it made him look mature. Dignified. Adult. With Bowyer and Claymorton running around, they could certainly use a bit more of that around the place.

Smithy held the head at arm’s length, to admire it for a moment- and then approached the body on the slab. He slotted the head expertly into the joint where the spine arched back into what became a plume, clicking and snapping it into its place; it was meant to be removable, after all.

As he stood back again, the smith noticed that the yellow eyes had closed. Smithy smiled- there had been some reaction; good. He had not failed in his designs. Now his creation slept its primordial sleep, and would awaken when he commanded.

In the meantime, he would work on those final touches. He turned to his workbench to retrieve the accessories that had been created and set aside in advance. He slid and buckled the belt around the creature’s lower body- an unnecessary accoutrement, but a pleasing one. Two red “socks”- really, more like braces, around his ankles, attaching just so, to provide extra cushioning from leaps. And then- well, why not? He picked up the large red plume, which had been-

A scraping and rattling caught Smithy by surprise. He turned quickly, and saw that the Spear was moving his right hand. The skeletal steel fingers, as yet ungloved, scratched at the slab on which they rested. A drumming, a grasping- as if eager.

Suddenly the creature’s entire arm jolted, as if electrified- and his eyes flew open. As Smithy reached his side, the spear-being blinked, looking around groggily- and then he pulled himself up, resting on his elbows, his thin but supple spine curving into a more upright position. He blinked again, and turned his head- the movements of his eyes had already grown restless, darting around the room. They lit on Smithy, still holding the plume, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Well! You’re here early,” said the blacksmith in amusement. “You aren’t finished yet.” Hungry for life, this one.

The creation pushed himself upwards to a full sitting position. He looked down at his fingers, his shoes, his body… and then back at the other figure in the room.

“Who am I?” were his first words.

Smithy took a moment to respond. In his head, he was reacting to the question, comparing it to the others he had received. “What am I?” Boomer had asked. “Where am I?” was Claymorton’s question. “Who are you?!” was the inquiry from Bowyer, with a nya or two thrown in. And now…

“Your name is Speardovich. You are the sharp and shining spear of my army, who strikes with cleverness and cunning. You are a weapon.”

Feeling a bit silly with the plume in his hands, Smithy took hold of the wire that bent out from behind his creation’s head, and affixed the crest to its place. The activity seemed to startle the newborn being, and when it was done, he shook his head back and forth, feeling out his the new balance. He reached backwards with one of his clawlike hands and ran his fingers through the plume, as one might admire their own luxurious hair. He seemed to like it indeed.

“...What is a weapon?” he asked when he was satisfied with this, looking Smithy in the eyes again, curiously.

“Hmm! Good question.” But this would be easy enough, the blacksmith thought- it was long ago now, but he could still recall the essence of what he had told Boomer.

“A weapon is what we make here- what I make here. My name, by the way, is Smithy- your creator.” He turned back to his table, and came back a moment later with a red glove. He lifted the right wrist of his creation - still limp, weak, confused - and gently slid the hand inside. “Some would say a weapon is an implement designed to cause damage,” he said, as he fitted each finger delicately into its place; surprisingly deft with his own massive hand. “To hurt, to maim, to kill. To destroy.”

He stepped away, and came back with the glove’s left-handed counterpart. “Others would say,” he continued, as he again slid each wiry finger into where it belonged, “That a weapon enables self-defense. To defeat so-called evil, to allow people to live safe and free.”

Finished with the gloving, Smithy held his creation’s smaller hand in his own for just a moment- the one, long-fingered and designed for dexterity, atop the other built for strength. “But either way- a weapon is power. The very idea of power, distilled and manifested into an object. And that, my Speardovich, is what you are. Now- move your hands. Tell me, do those gloves fit well?”

The creation raised his hands, gazing at them, and wiggled and stretched his fingers. He did not answer for a moment.

“So?” prompted the smith. “Is something the matter?”

“I… don’t think it’s the gloves,” said the weapon at last, shaking his head. “It's- it's my hands themselves. They feel… incomplete. They…” he made a grabbing, clutching motion with both of them- he suddenly seemed pitiable, like a child needy for a parent, a role in which Smithy was clearly deficient. “I- I’m sorry, My Lord Smithy. I don’t have the words. I don’t understand-”

“Ah,” said Smithy. “I know what you need. Hold tight.”

He turned yet again to retrieve something, and in a moment returned holding a long rod with a shining steel point at one end. Wrapped near the tip was a bold ribbon of red fabric.

“This is yours,” said the smith. “Of course you yearn for it. It’s part of you.” He stretched out his large hands, presenting the object to his creation.

Said creation’s eyes had grown huge. “My spear,” he said, in awe. He did not need to ask what it was. Not this.

He took it, with desperate swiftness- and closed his eyes. He clutched it across his chest, in both his hands, and something spread across his wiry body, releasing tension he did not even know he had. He did not know the word just yet, but later he would look back and realize it was joy.

Suddenly, in an instinctive movement, he took the spear in his right hand and deftly twirled it, over his head, and to the side of the slab on which he had been born and still sat, pointing it downwards. His eyes opened and he sprang up, his young knees bending like a spring, and he stood upright, pointing and thrusting the spear before him in a series of expert stabs. 

Smithy grinned, giddy and foolish with pride at his work. “Yes!!” he cried. “There you are!! You know who you are, after all!!”

“Indeed,” said Speardovich, looking down from his great height at his creator. His voice had lost the slow, innocent wonder of his early questions- it was now rich and resonant with confidence. “I know who I am.”

“Come down here,” ordered Smithy, and the gangly outline of a figure obeyed, jumping nimbly to the floor. The weaponsmith carried over from the work-table the last accessory, the one that had taken up the vast majority of the space. He took the red-flowing cape and draped it over the back of his newest pride and joy. Speardovich bowed his head, resting the bottom of his spear on the ground, as Smithy proceeded with the cape, buckling the horn-shaped epaulets into the sockets he had forged for them.

“Now, my Spear,” said Smithy, “let us waste no time. I have so much more to tell you- of me, and you, and what you shall do for me. And of course, you will meet your colleagues.”

Speardovich raised himself to his full height- he was taller even than his maker- and hesitated. He tried to suppress his surprise and disappointment- colleagues. Just how many of them were there?? Would they compete for the glory their mutual creator had thus far lavished upon him? Or would they show him the respect and deference he so clearly deserved?

Well, there was only one way to find out- and he would maintain that respect with force, if need be.

He was, after all, a weapon.

“Lead the way, my Lord,” he said with a nod. Then he followed the heavy plod of his creator, his cape and his plume flowing behind him, his spear in his hand, his head held high.

[cali-kabi]

~💫Have some out of context Mario RPG drawings🌟

I was watching a video of Mario RPG glitches and saw the level up ally move glitch, and saw Geno with a pink cape. Was like gonna draw that hehe it’s silly. Geno would so love pink capes any color in general no questions ask alshdklrkrj xD the third and fourth drawings were sorta a stupid idea idk why it was in my mind lmao ;w; for those who don’t believe me the pink Geno glitch is real the screenshot is under the cut :)

I haven’t seen much people talk about it and I wanna talk about it 😭💫

[roll-for-dexterity]

"Smithy, who are those guys? That one looks just like you!"

The mechanical being loomed over the nimbus child with furrowed brows. "Those are my parents, child."

"Where are they?" Mallow asked, holding the picture closer to look the tyrant in their red eyes.

"They have been gone for a long time, boy..."

The words hit Mallow like a brick to the head. He grew a sad expression and looked down, until he then looked back to the image."Oh... But, whats this picture about?"

Mallow was surprised when Smithy looked thoughtful, as if consodering his words, or even perhaps just trying to remember. He couldn't tell with the shape shifter. That was until Smithy finally spoke. "... As father put it: 'The happiest day of my life'. But he said that for any ball spent with Mother."

"I bet you miss them huh?"

Red eyes closed tight for a second, remembering old memories that left scars he couldn't buff out, wounds he can never wield closed. It was with a deep breath he said to the nimbusian child:

"More than I can fathom..."

-

It's been a bit since I made the idea of Smithy's parents having some kind of big influence on his life. But eventually I wanted to give them a face as- well... Lore for his family got very deep.

So now I can say, her is a picture of Smithys father, Emperor Forgerick 'Forge' Forge; and his mother Queen Guilda Forge.

Isn't Smithys dad just such a overgrown lug thats full of love? -^^-

[corruptedbunny-multimuse]

Mario, in Italian: If you don't get out of the Mushroom Kingdom I swear I will-- I'll jump on you! Smithy: Someone tell me what he's saying! What the fuck is he saying?! I don't speak Pizza Hut! (Geno, Peach, and Bowser start laughing.)

[aw-colorcat]

A very long time ago, Smithy was a star. Banished from the sky and trapped in a metal body, he sought to declare war on the entire universe in revenge. But he has since become blinded, only knowing conquest and production. Surrounded by a built-up metal prison of his own making- the thing which is now called weapon world.

While mindless minions only require a simple spark of consciousness, a real artificial soul is a different story. Huge industrial filters collect ambient stardust from the surrounding space, which are eventually concentrated and shaped into the most architecturally sound form possible. Ironically- a star.

[hakkasm]

[scraftcat]

Happy Mallow-Mar10 Monday!

With 29 years passing and Mar10 day upon us, Mallow has been thinking back on that fateful day.

No matter how frightening, how painful, he always remembers those glowing eyes and scorching heat from Smithy.

Despite the pain, Mallow will never forget how his friends stood by his side.

With the powerful star spirit and Kooper covering their back, Peach healing, Mallow's Magic, and Mario leading the team was unstoppable.

[nintendonut1]

GeNovember Day 29

"Over here, NOW! I'll crush you ALL!"

[cloud8doesstuff]

Whew, i started this back in november back before the remake came out. but life got in the way n i couldn't finish it.

I love how mario rpgs can have a total tone shift right at the end without it feeling like...out of place?? And the Smithy final boss is a great example. It left me with so many questions.

Anyway does smithy remind anyone else of the air conditioner from brave little toaster or am i just insane.

[alish-artie]

Me neither, Bowyer.

[pyrobuyo]

my personal fav boss fight

[pinata-candy]

I’ve made this joke before and I’ll do it again

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!!

[blluntrotation]

man i feel kinda bad for not uploading here a lot, been working on too much things at the same time so bear with me guys, anyways, to make up for that, not long ago i made a mario rpg oc inspired blades, my love for punks and saws, unfortunately for him tho he's just a piece of scrap metal (and definitely not out to get a certain someone) i introduce you too ............ the blade dude!

dude doesn't even have a name, poor guy, there'll be more of him soon

[roll-for-dexterity]

So- I think it is safe to say: when giving Helix sugar, do not give more than one serving in a sitting. (Or at all...)

Born from a joke sparked by a question I had during one of @missd476 's art streams, as I wondered if in her version of weapon world, could Helix eat sugar proper unlike the other weapons; sonce I love seeing how.my characters would be diffrent in other peoples headcanons from a narrative perspective. (He's part crystal, Sugar forms in crystals- it was meant to be!) But I think Smithy's little experiment to find out that answer went too far...

This was a peice of a good few ideas and concepts that ended up helping me through my troubles this week, and I'm very happy it involves Helix gone crazy from sweets. Thank you!

[corruptedbunny-multimuse]

((the smeowthy gang lol))

[weaponsfactory]

Finished this up today! wanted to draw petunia and i havent had much experience drawing or painting weather so i figured i'd paint her in the rain! She's got a little raincoat so she doesn't rust, since she's primarily metal