The old mason looked through the pile and picked up five stones. He brought them over, closer to Jack, placed three side by side on the ground to form a base, then set two more directly on top, aligning them so the seams matched those beneath.
He straightened, took a slow breath, and gave the upper stones a light blow.
Nothing.
He bent lower and blew again—harder, this time. One of the top blocks wobbled and tipped.
Jack stared. Is he playing Big Bad Wolf or something?
Senior reset the stones, this time staggering them so each top stone straddled the gap between two beneath. Then he blew again. Nothing moved. He braced his hands on his knees and started blowing in short, determined bursts. His face puffed out like a toad, cheeks ballooning as he blew again. He was so red that Jack half-expected him to pass out. Still, despite all the blowing, the stones didn’t budge.
Jack crossed his arms. What was this supposed to prove?
Finally, Senior stood up, catching his breath and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “So? Did you learn anything?”
Jack hesitated, watching the blocks. “I’m not sure, honestly.”
Senior paused. His brow furrowed. “You didn’t?” His voice lost some of its earlier smugness. “Wasn’t that obvious?”
Jack shook his head. “Not really, sir.”
From below, Junior laughed—clearly enjoying the moment.
Senior cleared his throat. “The first arrangement was weaker than the second. If you line up the seams, you create a fault line. Pressure travels through it like a crack in glass. That’s why the top stone toppled. But stagger the joints, and you break that line. Each stone supports the others. That’s how you lock a wall together.”
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Ha! Now that you explain it, yeah. Why didn’t you just say that from the start?”
Senior slapped his own forehead. “Never mind, never mind. Argh. Just forget it. Pull those last few and do them again.”
Jack nodded and reset the stones, this time laying each one across the joints of the course below. When the row was finished, he stepped back.
Senior eyed the line, then the seams, and gave a small approving grunt. It wasn’t much, but coming from him, it felt like a medal.
“Don’t get cheeky! Keep going. You’ve still got plenty more rows before you can call that a chimney,” Senior added, already turning away.
Jack smirked and got back to work. He dipped his trowel, scooped up a smear of mortar, and started on the next row.
Now that he knew what mistakes to avoid, it was all a matter of concentrating and making sure he didn’t repeat them. Row by row, the chimney climbed higher.
Senior didn’t hover, but he never strayed far. Every so often, he stepped in with a quiet correction.
“Feel this,” he said, guiding Jack’s hand along the stone’s face. “It’s proud. It’ll catch the weather. Tap it back so it sits flush.”
Which, translated from Masonese to English, meant: “It’s sticking out. Fix it.” Or something like that—he was still learning the dialect.
Jack adjusted the stone, tapping gently with the handle of his trowel until it sat even with its neighbors.
As Jack worked higher up, Senior stepped in again, speaking in Masonese. “That wall’s drifting off plumb.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Here.” The old man reached into his belt and pulled out a string with a heavy metal tip that swung gently in the air.
Jack shifted uncomfortably. “Are you planning to hypnotize me or something?”
Senior snorted. “Just look.”
He held it close to the chimney, letting the weight dangle beside the rising wall. Jack watched it sway, then settle. The tip didn’t line up with the stonework. It hung a little out from the wall, like a stern judge pointing out his mistake.
Jack crouched and peered from the side. Now that he knew what to look for, the lean was obvious. The chimney had started to drift.
“Easy fix,” Senior added, picking up a narrow wedge of stone from the supply pile.
“What is that?”
Senior knelt beside the wall and held up the sliver between two fingers. “It’s just a small piece of stone. It’s called a shim. Have you ever fixed a wobbly table? You know… when you stick something under the short leg to stabilize it?”
“Sure.”
“Same principle here. The stone is leaning to the wrong side. I add this little shim here… push it, and the whole thing levels.”
He slid it under the edge of the leaning stone. The moment the shim was in place, the block shifted ever so slightly, just enough to line up with the plumb line.
“Nice! And that little thing just stays there?”
Senior nodded. “It’s part of the wall now. Mortar locks it in. No one’ll see it, but it keeps the line true. Now, why don’t you have a go? Use the plumb to check if the other faces are true,” he said, offering the string with the metal weight at the end.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Jack took the plumb and moved slowly around the chimney, holding the string steady. The metal bob swayed gently before settling, the tip dangling close to the stone face. He held his breath, checking the tiny gaps between string and wall.
They were all good so far. That stone had been the first one to stick out. But now that the chimney was getting higher, he’d have to check this more often.
It was a small trick, but one he hadn’t considered. So much of this job came down to noticing the little things before they became big ones.
“All good!” Jack reported back.
“In that case, continue!”
And slowly, the chimney began to feel less like a pile of stones and more like a single, solid piece. Stone by stone, it rose, until only the last one remained. Jack set it in place and stepped back.
The chimney looked just right. Clean lines, even rows, and a sturdy base. It stood tall against the sky, every line sharp, every row true. He backed up another pace, brushing dust from his hands, and let himself admire the finished work.
Senior approached the chimney and circled it once, eyeing it from every angle. Then, without warning, he propped his leg back and to Jack’s horror, he kicked it.
Jack flinched. “Wait—!”
There was a dry thud. The chimney didn’t budge.
Senior winced and rubbed his toe. “Ouch! That’s how you know you did good work.”
Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His heart was still halfway up his throat.
Senior stepped up beside him, silent for a moment.
“Well,” the old man said. “It’s solid. You laid it straight. You listened. You learned. That’s the craft. You’ll only get better from here.”
The praise wasn’t flowery, but coming from Barney Senior, it felt like being knighted.
Jack waited for the familiar ding, the system to recognize his work. But nothing happened. He frowned and glanced around. Had he missed something?
Off to the side, Senior had picked up a broom and was sweeping dust from the roof. “Jack!”
“Yes?”
“The job isn’t ready until you clean up. We need to dispose of this rubble.” Then in a louder voice, he shouted, “Junior! Are you finished there?”
“Yes, Pops!”
“Good! Help us clean up.” He caught Jack staring, speechless, and furrowed his brow. “What? You thought this would clean itself? Cleaning’s part of the job, too. Customers don’t like showing up to a place that looks like a cyclone hit it.”
Jack sighed. Sometimes this game was just a little too real.
The three of them worked together to leave everything spotless. They cleared the rubble from the roof, then began packing up the scaffolding—unhooking braces, sliding planks down, and stacking them in neat piles.
It was the first time Jack saw Junior and Senior working side by side. They moved like a well-oiled machine, disassembling the scaffold as if they’d done it a thousand times. As they finished the final level, Junior spoke up, grinning. “Sixty-eight!”
“Haha. Seventy-two. I win.”
“How did you unhook more braces than I did?”
Senior ruffled his son’s hair. “Because my head isn’t hollow like yours.”
Junior just laughed.
Jack watched them with a smile. He’d genuinely enjoyed working with the two of them.
I wonder if Dad and I could ever have that kind of friendship, he thought. If I want that... I need to make sure Dad sticks around.
There was a sudden catch in his throat.
Jack turned away, blinking hard. He couldn’t stop to think about that. He had to keep moving. He gave himself a second to breathe, then wiped his hands on his pants and crossed over to help the others.
They loaded the last of the tools into the wheelbarrows. With Jack using his inventory to cheat a little, the job didn’t take long.
Once everything was stacked and stowed, they stood together on the quiet street, the renovated house beside them.
“Well done, Jack. That mortar you mixed was perfect. It’ll hold for decades!” Junior said.
“Thanks, Junior.”
“Well done on that chimney, son,” Senior added. “And don’t forget what I said about listening to stone.”
“Sure, sir.”
“We’re always around town. Come say hello sometime.”
“Will do. See you around, guys,” Jack said, shaking hands with both of them.
“Shall we go home, son?” Senior asked.
“Lead the way, Pops.”
With a grunt, they started down the road, wheelbarrows rattling softly against the cobblestones.
Jack watched them go.
Just as they were about to turn around the corner, Senior paused and shouted back. “Hey, Jack!”
Jack looked up. “Yes?”
With a warm smile, the old man said, “I almost forgot. Congratulations on becoming a mason.”
They disappeared around the corner, and a flurry of notifications bloomed across Jack’s vision.
Congratulations! You’ve become a mason.
You’ve learned new skills: [Powdering], [Trowel Mastery].
You’ve learned new recipes: [Mortar], [Stone Chimney], [Stone Wall].
[Pottery] synergizes with [Masonry].
You’ve learned a new skill: [Brick-Laying].
You’ve learned new recipes: [Brick], [Brick Chimney], [Brick Kiln], [Brick Wall].
[Masonry] synergizes with [Bushcraft], [Butchering], and [Pottery].
You’ve learned new recipes: [Brick Hunter’s Hut], [Brick Fortified Wall].
After the disappointment of getting no synergies when learning tinkering, all the new recipes and skills before him were a sight for sore eyes. Three new skills and nine new recipes.
He skipped over the basic masonry rewards and dove straight into the juicy stuff.
“Brick-laying?” he muttered.
Brick-Laying (Rare)
Skill level: -
Brick by brick, what is there in the world that cannot be built?
Skill effects: Updates [Trowel Mastery] to include brick construction.
“A rare skill…” It didn’t sound all that special. There wasn’t much difference between building something with stones and bricks, was there? “Let’s see how rare this really is.”
He pulled up a browser window and typed in: Brick-Laying New Earth. There were very few hits. He opened the one deemed the most relevant. It was a post with dozens of comments and votes from a New Earth Mason.
Who Else Thinks Bricks Would Make Life Easier?
#construction #masonry #stonecutting #buildingtips #newearth
Poster: StoneBack99
Post:
Okay, I need to vent a little. Does anyone else feel like cutting stone takes FOREVER?
Sure, I can buy mortar mixed by a chemist. Lumberjacks cut my beams. That’s great. But then I spend 70% of my time cutting stone. Not placing it, not building—just sawing, shaping, smoothing. And stone saws are basically disposable. I burn through them like candy and spend a fortune just prepping materials.
Wouldn’t it be better if we could just make bricks? Uniform, stackable, low-waste. Anyone else feeling this?
Comments
BrickLayer42: YES. It takes forever to shape blocks.
SlabSal: I’d kill for bricks.
ToolTalk88: What about a way to press stone dust into forms? Make our own sandstone, so to speak.
DustnCracks: You wish.
MortarHead: Be advised. I have 400 shaped blocks stockpiled. If anyone says, “Just cut a few more,” I will throw one at them.
JackalMason: Honestly? Irregular stone has character. But yeah… bricks would make building so much faster.
StoneBack99: I’m considering switching from Masonry to Carpentry. Building with wood is way easier.
DustnCracks: I made that switch. It was worth it!
GravelGuts77: Nah. I love spending two hours per wall so my shack can have soul.
Jack frowned. “Wait—what?”
He scrolled through a few more posts, double-checked two auction websites, and even checked another linked to the game’s universal market. But it was all the same: no bricks.
“Now that I think about it, when I visited the Masons’ Association, I didn’t see any bricks there, either.”
Could it be that he was the only one who could make them? And if so… what did that mean?
