06:00 a.m. - At The Old Lumber Shed, Dawnspire
The old lumber shed stood at the edge of Dawnspire, its weathered wood and slanted roof a testament to a time when it had been filled with the lively sounds of working logs and sawing timber. Now, it felt like a shelter for dreams waiting to be built. Sunlight flickered through cracked windows, casting bars of light across the dusty floor, illuminating the makeshift table Ryan had set up in the center of the space. This was to be his war room.
Ryan leaned over a stack of parchment, ink pot poised above, his brow furrowed in concentration. The recent discussions he had overheard at the palace banquet echoed in his mind: the urgency of the situation, the swirling rumors of war, and most importantly, Draemyr's revelation about the mine.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back his thoughts about the looming threat from the Drakensvale Empire. The kingdom was in turmoil, and the scarcity of resources was palpable. The mine he had secured a deal with yielded iron for his steel nibs, but that only scratched the surface of what he needed. The war was consuming everything, and Draemyr had made it clear: Ryan could only buy one-fifth of the mine's total production—a fraction that felt like a pittance in a time of need.
One-fifth, Ryan thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It's enough for the first run, but what happens when demand skyrockets?
He looked down at his notes, frantically scribbling ideas into two distinct columns on the parchment: Civilian Sector and Military Sector. The civilian sector was straightforward: his nibs would be marketed to merchants, students, and anyone who needed reliable writing instruments. However, the military sector tapped into the existing turmoil—soldiers were in need of durable equipment, and if he played his cards right, his nibs could become essential gear for Aurelthorn's forces.
A sudden knock interrupted his thoughts. The door creaked open to reveal Bromar Ironbeard, his burly figure filling the entrance with an aura of strength and determination. Dressed in his typical leather apron, the dwarf wiped his hands on a rag, his keen blue eyes studying Ryan with interest.
"Careful you don't drown in parchment, lad. It doesn't melt into steel," Bromar teased, stepping inside and letting the door thud shut behind him. "I heard you pulled quite the crowd at the gala last night. People buzzing about your grand ideas for this… Technologia."
Ryan chuckled, grateful for Bromar's presence. "Buzzing? More like skepticism mixed with a tinge of curiosity." He gestured towards the papers, attempting to articulate his chaos-laden thoughts. "I'm mapping out how to break into both consumer and military markets, but I'm concerned about iron supply. I've got a deal with Draemyr, but it's a mere fraction of what I'll need if I want to grow."
Bromar crossed his arms, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Aye, iron scarcity is no small issue. But while your nibs might serve the common folk, think bigger. What else can you offer the military? We need to be creative in this war if we're going to survive."
Ryan leaned back in his chair, giving Bromar's words due consideration. "I'm thinking of expanding my business into other formats. You know, we have pens, but we don't have A4 paper. Do you think the parchment we're using now is the best? No, I think I have an idea to make it even better."
Bromar's eyes lit up. "Now you're thinking! They'll find value in anything that could mean the difference between efficiency and cost. But it's a gamble, lad. You'll need proof of concept—actual demonstrations."
Realizing this was a pivotal moment, Ryan nodded. "I can create prototypes to present at the next merchant guild meeting. If I can sway the merchants, I might just secure the resources I require from the rest of the guild."
"Make sure you do," Bromar urged, his voice firm. "You're in a position to change the outcome for many. But heed caution; tread carefully when it comes to the upper echelons of power. They will not take kindly to bold ideas without solid backing, especially when lives hang in the balance."
With uncertainty still flickering in his gut, Ryan turned his attention back to the scattered papers before him. "I'll need you to help me refine the designs for the prototypes. Your expertise in craftsmanship might be exactly what I need to showcase the potential."
Bromar grinned, the flicker of excitement behind his steely demeanor evident. "Lead the charge, lad. I'll make sure whatever you produce is built to last—not just for soldiers, but for those who will depend on you in the aftermath of conflict. Let's give them something to talk about!"
As the two men strategized, the shed filled with the sounds of ideas taking shape, forging not just plans but an alliance—a partnership built on resilience and creativity. Ryan felt the weight of his ambitions lift, replaced by renewed purpose. The war was coming, but with each stroke of his pen and each spark of innovation, he would be ready to face it head-on.
01:00 p.m. - At The Central Square, Dawnspire
The afternoon sun hung high above the bustling central square of Dawnspire, casting a warm golden light over the lively scene. Merchants hawked their goods from colorful stalls, children laughed and chased one another, and townsfolk exchanged gossip under the awnings that provided respite from the heat. Yet beneath the gaiety, an undercurrent of anxiety rippled through the air, weaving its way into conversations and casting shadows over vendors' smiles.
Ryan Mercer set up a sturdy wooden stand in the heart of the square, a handwritten sign clutched in his hands. "Technologia," it read in bold letters, announcing his venture to the community. He took a deep breath and glanced around, his heart racing with both excitement and apprehension. Establishing his company was a monumental step, but he needed hands—able and willing to help forge the future he envisioned.
Setting the sign in front of him, Ryan proclaimed loudly enough to catch the attention of passersby. "Good citizens of Dawnspire! I seek energetic workers to join me at Technologia! We aim to innovate the way we write—and we need your skills!"
A few curious heads turned, and the chatter in the square momentarily hushed. Ryan was keenly aware that his offer would need to captivate more than just glances; he required commitment. He cleared his throat and continued, "We offer a monthly salary of five silver coins—secure your future and be part of a venture that will revolutionize our kingdom!"
Calls of "Technologia?" and "What would we be doing?" mixed with whispers of curiosity danced through the air as Ryan's voice echoed.
An elderly woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What makes your steel nib any better than a quill? And how do we know we'll be paid?"
Ryan met her gaze, determined not to flinch. "Because, madam, we won't just be making nibs. We're creating a product that could equip our soldiers, help merchants thrive, and carry our kingdom through these trying times. This is not just a job; it's a chance to help shape our future!"
As he spoke, several young men and women began to close in around him, their faces a mix of skepticism and intrigue. One tall lad with tousled brown hair raised an eyebrow. "And what skills would you need? I'm not much of a craftsman."
"Excellent question!" Ryan said, a grin spreading across his face. "I need all types. Craftspeople, design assistants, even those with experience in sales. If you have a willingness to learn, that's what counts. We'll train you, and your contribution will help us all stand strong against our enemies."
Among the gathering crowd, whispers grew louder, with some expressing doubts about a new venture during such uncertain times. A rough-looking man leaned against a nearby stall. "Five silver coins, huh? What makes you think we trust a newcomer like you?"
Ryan took a step forward, sensing the need to connect rather than defend. "I understand your hesitation. Sorts of us passing through as another charlatan. But I assure you, this endeavor is personal to me. I've seen how vital communication is during wartime. A soldier cannot afford to lose clarity in orders. This is our chance to make a difference for them, for ourselves, and for Dawnspire."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd—a mix of curiosity and support. Ryan knew he had to keep that spark alive. "So come! Join me at Technologia! Together we can thrive even as winds of war threaten our shores!"
As the buzz around him intensified, several people began to step closer, eager to hear more. Among them, a young woman with blue hair spoke up, "What will we be doing, really? I've worked in a blacksmith's shop before, but I'm keen to learn more!"
Ryan's heart lifted. "We'll innovate writing tools, rework traditional designs, and even craft new items that can aid our troops. We'll need your experience, creativity, and hands! Please, leave your names; I'll be here every day until we can form a team!"
As more people wrote their names on a prepared list, Ryan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Each signee represented hope and potential, the very cornerstone of Technologia. The warmth of community began to stir as voices turned from skepticism to excitement, all while the shadow of war loomed.
The square was alive, and with it, so was Ryan's ambition. With each person who approached, he came one step closer to not only building a company but also uniting a community eager to defy uncertainty.
As the light began to wane, Ryan packed up his belongings, but not before he glimpsed a few familiar faces in the crowd of workers—their hopeful expressions settling in his heart. With Technologia taking root, he felt empowered to navigate whatever challenges lay ahead, determined to bring both innovation and unity to his new home.
Summary of Job Applicants for Technologia First DayTotal Applicants: 20
General Laborers (10)
- Farmhands (4): Experienced in manual labor; skilled at carrying heavy loads and following instructions. Versatile; can help with lifting materials or operating simple machinery.
- Construction Workers (3): Familiar with basic construction and repair work; strong and reliable in handling physical tasks.
- Stable Hands (2): Used to working with animals and managing livestock; can assist in maintaining a clean and organized work environment.
- Miners (1): Have experience with physical labor and working in harsh conditions; can handle heavy tools and materials.
Artisans and Craftsmen (5)
- Basic Blacksmith (2): Knowledgeable in forging simple tools and repairs; willing to learn more advanced techniques.
- Woodworkers (2): Capable of basic carpentry and maintenance of materials; eager to assist where needed.
- Potters (1): Experienced in manipulating clay; can create simple items that may support various functions for Technologia.
Apprentices and Learners (5)
- Young Apprentices (3): Eager to learn trades; willing to perform menial tasks in exchange for training and skills development.
- Emerging Market Workers (2): Individuals with basic selling experience; ready to help in managing products and assisting in simple sales.
Ryan's proactive approach to building his company and engaging with the community, while also touching on the challenges posed by the broader conflict. It underscores his ambition, determination, and the burgeoning support he seeks to garner within the capital.
08:00 p.m. - At The Old Lumber Shed, Dawnspire
After a long day of recruitment and networking in the bustling central square, Ryan Mercer returned to the old lumber shed that now served as his workshop and headquarters for Technologia. The worn boards creaked beneath his feet as he stepped inside, and the familiar scent of sawdust and timber hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet reminder of all the hard work he had yet to accomplish.
Dropping into a stool beside his makeshift table, Ryan let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't sign up for this," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his dark hair, now tousled and disheveled. "It feels more like I'm juggling a dozen roles—business owner, recruiter, HR officer, accounting clerk, and now, an engineer? I'm a software engineer, not a mechanical one!" His shoulders slumped as fatigue settled over him like a heavy cloak.
The dream of starting Technologia in a new world had once filled his heart with excitement, but reality had quickly poured cold water over that enthusiasm. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, reminding him that every dream comes with its own burdens—sweat, physical exhaustion, and mental strain.
As if sensing his distress, Snowball, his majestic Antlersteed, turned his regal head and nuzzled against Ryan's shoulder, offering a warm, comforting presence. Ryan chuckled softly, stroking the animal's glossy fur with gratitude. "Thanks for the support, Snowball. I really don't know what I'd do without you."
Looking deeply into Snowball's kind eyes, Ryan couldn't help but smile. "From now on, this is our home, buddy," he declared, gesturing around the shed, trying to infuse some zeal back into his tired spirit. "No, it's our home—this is the Technologia Company factory! We'll build something amazing here, I swear."
The Antlersteed let out a soft whinny, as if to say that he, too, was ready to stand by Ryan through the challenges ahead. In that moment, the weight on Ryan's shoulders lightened just a bit. He had a partner, a companion who believed in their dream as much as he did.
"Tomorrow, we'll refine those product designs," Ryan continued, determination igniting within him once again. "We'll find a way to make this all work. I might not be an engineer, but I can learn. We'll make those pen steel nibs and multifunctional tools that will help the soldiers in this war. If we can bring some innovation to the front lines, it might just buy us time to grow."
Ryan's confidence began to rebuild, piece by piece. With Snowball beside him, he envisioned turning this humble lumber shed into the headquarters of something far greater than himself. He felt the rhythm of progress surge in his veins, fueled by the dreams he had carried with him from his old world and the hope of changing lives in this new one.
"Let's get some rest, my friend," he said, rising from the stool. "Tomorrow is another day, and we have a lot of ground to cover." As he prepared to settle in for the night, Ryan's spirit rekindled with the flickering flame of resolve. Together, he and Snowball would navigate this uncharted territory, and he would bring Technologia to life, one step at a time.
Conflict between Drakensvale and Belmara
The air was thick with tension as the battlefield stretched before the western city of Drakensvale, a scarred expanse echoing with the sounds of war—shouting soldiers, the clash of steel, and the anguished cries of the fallen. Sovereign Lord Malakar, cloaked in shadows that danced like shadows themselves, ruled over the chaos with an iron fist. He stood astride his demonic mount, eyes glistening with crimson ambition, surveying the field where his army clashed against the relentless forces of Drakensvale.
Beside him, Morrigan Nightshade observed the unfolding carnage with a mixture of pride and calculating focus. Her vampiric features glinted in the pale light, highlighting the eerie beauty that belied her fierce ruthlessness. "Sovereign, our troops are skilled and relentless," she remarked, her voice smooth as silk. "Yet the Drakensvale have numbers on their side. Already, their ranks push against us. We cannot afford to falter!"
Malakar's lips curled into a thin smile. "We are outnumbered, yes, but our power shall not be underestimated. This is an army born of darkness—vampires, demons, and the restless undead. They fight with a ferocity rooted in centuries of vengeance." He gestured dramatically towards the frontlines, where his demonic soldiers engaged fiercely with their foes, fangs bared and magic crackling across the battlefield.
The tide of war ebbed and flowed, the Drakensvale Empire currently holding the line with approximately 150,000 men who fought valiantly to repel Malakar's advance. Yet despite their numbers, panic crept into some hearts on the battlefield. They felt the weight of their fate shifting with each clash, the realization that the darkness before them harbored untold horrors.
"Yet the Drakensvale are cunning," Morrigan replied, narrowing her eyes as she watched the closest clash. "Their defenses hold strong, but for how long? We must press the attack. If we allow them to regroup, we risk losing this advantage."
An advisor approached, one of the generals under Malakar's command, his face grim beneath a helmet adorned with twisted runes. "Sovereign," he said, struggling to be heard over the cacophony, "might it be prudent to strike directly at the Kingdom of Aurelthorn? If we attack the weak Aurelthorn for supplies, we can fight longer, we weaken Drakensvale. We could conquer them in one swoop."
Malakar's expression darkened, his eyes glinting with crimson fire as his voice lowered, thick with gravity. "You misunderstand the divine forces at play, General. Our god, the Red Moon, watches over us. Its will is inscrutable. There is a reason we cannot breach Aurelthorn at this time—a reason I cannot fathom.
(Ryan, and his Safe From The Red Moon ability.)
"Fate," the general scoffed, casting a sidelong glance at the battlework. "I see only the flesh and blood below, Sovereign. We must be proactive if we are to win this war. If we wait for fate, it may turn against us."
Malakar's gaze sharpened, and he raised a hand to silence the other. "A patient predator strikes when the time is right, not when the noise demands it. For now, we wield the shadows. We push our advantage here, and when the time arrives, we shall unearth the truth behind this power that dares defy us."
Morrigan tilted her head thoughtfully, the spark of ambition igniting within her. "Then let us deploy the Legion of Shadows," she proposed, her voice filled with seductive promise. "We can infiltrate their lines and sap their morale from within while maintaining the front assault."
With a flick of Malakar's wrist, determination surged through the air, and commands rippled through the ranks of the Belmara forces. As chaos danced all around, the Sovereign Lord's laughter echoed over the din—a chilling sound that rattled the very bones of those brave enough to stand against him. The battle was far from over, and with each passing moment, Malakar felt the relentless pull of the Red Moon watching ever closer.
The clash of titans would continue, a struggle between light and darkness as the tide of war drew tighter around the Kingdom of Aurelthorn, and the forces of the Belmara Empire sought to reclaim their dominance—a power renewed by shadows and vengeance.