06:00 a.m. - At Technologia Workshop, Dawnspire
Ryan Mercer stood at the centre of Technologia's workshop, watching the place wake like a forge at dawn. Hammers rang, saws hummed, and voices threaded through the rafters. The steel nib pens on the front table caught lamplight—sleek, identical, and ready for ledger work across Dawnspire.
Durable, smooth, and easy to learn, the steel nibs were now the talk of scribes and clerks. They wrote cleanly, dried quickly, and spared hands from the constant trimming of quill feathers.
Orders had climbed, and returns had dropped as the team refined the grind and polish. Each batch carried a ledger number and passed a simple set of tests before packing.
Crossbows in development, on the back benches, crossbow prototypes took shape, strong, light stocks, simple, reliable triggers, parts sized for repeatable assembly.
Tools powered by a compact steam rig drove saws and drills, speeding repeat cuts without sacrificing craft.
Testing along the river checked draw, accuracy, and durability. Ryan knew he needed deeper knowledge on strings and fatigue—more research, more trials, no shortcuts.
Paper, inspired by old masters, a small crew worked fibre into pulp, tree bark, rag, and other plant matter tested in different blends.
Wooden frames lifted sheets from the vat, pressing boards and rollers eased out water, drying frames finished the job.
The goal, sheets that handled steel nib ink without feathering, dried at a good pace, and resisted tearing.
Power and process, a modest steam engine ran steadily—a low-pressure rig Ryan and Bromar had cobbled together over the past fortnight. They'd created a brewer's copper still and bricked it in as a boiler with a tall flue, Bromar cast a small iron cylinder, and Garret fitted the piston and slide valve. A leather-belt line shaft carried the motion to saws and drills. The engine ran light and safe—whistle, relief weight, and daily blowdown—more "puff-pot" than monster.
The month before, they had set an undershot wheel on a side channel of the Silverwyn to turn the same shaft by day. When the river slowed or night fell, the steam kept the tools moving.
Ryan sketched a dynamo for later—power enough to scale when the shop was ready.
He mapped workflows the way he'd plan software builds: break the work, measure the steps, fix the bottlenecks, repeat.
Ryan's (briefing), "What is Technologia Company?"
We design tools that make work faster and cleaner.
We make them the same way, every time.
We test by simple standards and track every batch in a ledger.
We pack for real use—oil the wood, wax the wraps, add a care note.
If a product fails, we replace it and fix the cause.
Current, steel nibs. In development, crossbows, high-quality paper. Power, a small steam rig to improve consistency.
Values, honesty in trade, quality first, and work that helps the community.
"Good tools save time," Ryan told the crew, "and time saves coin—and sometimes lives."
He closed the morning walk-through with a nod to the future. "Ten minutes to shift start. After lunch, we'll review batch results and the crossbow test plan."
By mid-morning, the workshop had grown into its new rhythm—and into a team of thirty. The floor was busier but better organised, stations set by task, tools returned to their hooks, and the slate by the door showing orders, batches, and deliveries.
[New hands, clear roles]
Skilled craftsmen
Garret, forged and finished steel components with steady heat and even quench.
Emilia, selected and shaped crossbow stocks, balancing strength and weight.
Quality control
Lira, checked nib grind, flow, and wear against brass templates.
Bromar Ironbeard, oversaw fit and finish, mentored the new smiths, and stood guard over the standards.
Administration
Elara, kept the books straight—inventory, wages, costs, and receipts.
Sariel, logged orders, deliveries, and warranties, updated batch ledgers and customer notes.
Apprentices
Peter, eager on the forge floor—good with tongs, better with questions.
Celia, studied fibre prep and sheet forming, keeping notes on blends and drying times.
Production support, a handful of reliable workers handled assembly, packing, and workshop upkeep, keeping the flow smooth.
Impact and cadence, output rose without losing quality. Checklists and batch numbers kept everyone honest.
The nib line became a short, repeatable chain, cut, grind, polish, test, pack.
The crossbow prototypes moved through measured iterations, failures became notes, notes became better parts.
At noon, Ryan gathered the team for a quick update. "Here's where we stand," he said, tapping the slate.
Nibs, strong orders, steady returns policy. Keep the grind clean and test each lot.
Paper, promising sheets—Celia, log drying times tighter, Elara, track costs per bundle.
Crossbows, river tests tomorrow morning—Garret and Emilia, take two prototypes and record shots, draw, and wear.
Standards, every batch gets a number, every number gets a test, every failure gets a fix.
He paused, letting the room settle. "Technologia builds trust. We'll keep it simple, make it well, prove it works, pack it right, and stand behind it."
Bromar grunted approval. Lira raised the next bundle of finished nibs, brass template ready. The forge breathed. The steam rig thrummed. A squeal cut through the hum. Ryan touched the pillow block—too warm—and cracked the oil cup. The note dropped; shoulders loosened around the room. Outside, Dawnspire moved to its own music, inside, Technologia kept time.
Ryan paused beneath the rafters, a quiet pride tightening in his chest. Veythralis. Not a tech park, not a lab—this. A factory that made simple tools better, one clean process at a time.
Near the nib line, whispers threaded between stations.
Peter (low), "Does he even sleep?"
Elara smiled. "He says he grabs two or three hours in the afternoon. Catnaps. Then he's back at it."
Garret grunted. "No one keeps that pace without breaking."
Bromar snorted. "Some do. Stubborn ones. The lad's made of clockwork and mule."
Lira glanced toward Ryan, voice barely above the belts. "When he talks, folks… agree. Even Baldric at the Guild." She shrugged, a little sheepish. "It's like the room decides he's right."
Emilia tapped a stock blank. "Or it's competence."
Sariel, quill poised over the batch ledger, hid a small smile. "Or charm."
Ryan crossed to them with that easy, unassuming confidence that settled tempers. In truth, two quiet boons kept him upright, Safe from fatigue dulled the drag of sleep, and Safe from doubt smoothed the edges of persuasion. He kept both close to the chest.
"Caught my nap," he said lightly, rolling his shoulders. "Two hours was plenty."
Nods. A few chuckles. The reply slid into place as if it had always been true, and the moment moved on.
He tapped the slate by the door.
- Nibs, orders strong, keep the grind crisp, polish to template, test each lot before packing.
- Paper, promising sheets, Celia, tighten the drying notes, Elara, track cost per bundle.
- Crossbows, river trials at first light, Garret, Emilia—two prototypes, log draw, shot count, wear.
- Standards, every batch gets a number, every number gets a test, every failure gets a fix.
"Technologia builds trust," Ryan said. "Make it well, prove it works, pack it right, stand behind it."
Bromar grunted approval. Lira raised the next bundle to the brass template. The forge breathed, the line shaft turned, the steam rig thrummed when the river lulled. Outside, Dawnspire kept its cadence. Inside, Technologia kept time—and Veythralis, for a heartbeat, felt a shade closer to the future.
10:30 a.m. - At Aurelthorn Garrison, Dawnspire
The writ lay open on the table, the Silver Stag seal cooling in the draft. Draemyr's signature sat clean and decisive beneath the terms:
- Technologia's one‑fifth cap on iron is lifted, subject to depot scheduling.
- Quotas set monthly by the Dawnspire depot; field orders retain priority.
- Prices as contracted; penalties for missed army deliveries; audits at will.
His gauntlet creaked. The choice was sound—more efficient supply, faster orders, fewer delays at the barracks. Still, something in him chafed, a grit between teeth. Even the draft felt staged, as if some unseen hand had set the curtains to sway. The young craftsman's case had slotted together too neatly, each point clicking like plates of armour. Ryan Mercer. Calm, exact, unflustered.
Draemyr rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as if a weight sat behind the eyes. Not doubt—he'd made the right call—but a thin film of dissatisfaction remained, unmoored from reason. A reaction without a cause.
"Sir?" his adjutant ventured from the door.
"Post the writ," Draemyr said. "And flag Technologia for random audit. Quarterly."
"First audit may be advanced at commander discretion."
"Yes, my lord."
When the door shut, he stood a moment longer, staring at the ink. Cunning is as important as bravery. If I've been nudged, I'll find the thumbprint. He turned to the mapboard, jaw set.
"We'll test them," he murmured. "Knowledge is our greatest ally."
He blew the wax cool with a steady breath, then reached for the next dispatch. Outside, the garrison took up its drills; inside, the sour note thinned but did not vanish.
6:00 p.m. - At City Streets, Dawnspire
As the sun set, Dawnspire stayed busy. People talked in every street. Their words showed both hope and worry. New tools were coming, and change was close.
Marketplace Buzz
Vendor: "Have you heard? Merchants are ordering those steel nibs."
Customer: "I bought one last week. No smudging. Clean lines. Better than my quills."
Vendor: "And the new crossbow they're testing? Some say it will change how we fight."
Two scribes spoke nearby.
Scribe One: "I saw the crossbows. They are lighter than any bow I used. Our soldiers could gain an advantage."
Scribe Two: "But can our craftsmen adapt? What if these designs fail?"
The Guild Board
A new notice drew a small crowd.
Guild Notice: "Technologia's iron limit is lifted. Testing in three days. Bring your contracts and ink."
Merchant: "If they pass, the Guild will recognise them."
Shopkeeper: "Good. Then we can ignore Stoneveil's cheap copies."
Near the Garrison
Soldier One: "Those steel nibs passed my test. No ink bleed. I can use them in the field."
Soldier Two: "We also need the crossbows soon. Drakensvale won't wait."
War felt close.
The Inn's Humble Corner
Patron One: "War is coming. Can we trust new tools when lives are at stake?"
Patron Two: "If the steel nibs and crossbows work, we have a better chance."
Patron One: "But the temple refuses steel for holy pages. How do we win if our own people resist change?"
09:30 p.m. - At Technologia Workshop, Dawnspire
The workshop was full of noise and work. Lamplight struck steel and varnished wood, the line shaft thumped steady as a heart. Ryan called the crew into a loose half‑circle by the crossbow bench.
Ryan: You heard the feedback. Testing is soon. Every nib must be clean. Every crossbow must be ready. Double‑check every batch.
Garret: What if we fail? Edrin—Ink Guild's senior scribe—spent the afternoon telling clerks steel scratches vellum and rusts prayers. We could lose everything.
Bromar: Aye, steel is not our enemy. Doubt is. We'll beat both at the anvil. Test true, show the work, earn the Mark.
Lira (nervous but bright): I finished C‑3 checks. Three triggers showed creep after I dusted them with river grit. I logged the pull weights. With a drop of oil on the sear, the creep went away.
Garret: That's what I said this morning—dust rounds a sear fast. I'll dress the angle a hair finer and burnish it. We should prove it in front of the Guild, grit and all.
Emilia: I culled two stock blanks. Hidden knots, ready to split under a heavy prod. I re‑cut the tiller beds and tightened the socket fit. Balance feels right now—no bite at the cheek.
Sariel (quiet, precise): A runner from the garrison stopped by. "Random audit, quarterly," he said, and "may be advanced at commander discretion." I've set the batch ledgers aside. Care cards are ready for packing.
Ryan: Good. We won't fear an audit—we'll make it easy to pass one.
Elara: On costs—if we scrap any more heavy prods this week, our margin on the garrison trial thins. I'd like a hard cap on rework hours, and a note for the reserve fund if we offer no‑cost string replacements.
Bromar (snorts): Hnh. Better to spend coin on fixes than sell shame.
Elara (even): Agreed. I'm asking for a number, not a retreat.
Peter (eager): Master Ryan, should we show them the bolt clip? I mean—the leaf spring you made, so the bolt won't fall off if you point down a slope?
Ryan (nods): Yes. We demonstrate the whole system: foot stirrup, belt hooks for spanning, safety latch, and the bolt‑retaining clip. No surprises.
Garret: Bring a grit test unit too. Set it right on the table. If they doubt, we rub sand on the tiller, oil the pins, and let them feel the difference.
Lira: And I can show the logs—before and after pull weights. It's all in the ledger.
Emilia: One more thing. I carved a shallower sight notch option for the standard draw. Faster to acquire at forty paces. I'll bring both, let the Guild shoot what suits them.
Ryan: Good. Options without chaos.
Sariel: Word in the market is Stoneveil's dock foundry is moving fast on copies. I heard an onlooker whisper about a foreman being "ready to shift." If they show up at the test, they'll try to undercut us on price.
Garret (grim): Cheap trigger plate, bad temper, and a stock that splits when it matters—that's Stoneveil. But crowds don't see guts, they see coin.
Bromar (to Ryan, measuring): Lad, if you want to keep the heavy draw for the garrison, I'll set two aside that ring clean. No more. We're not arming fools with bows they can't span.
Ryan: Standard draw for most. Two heavy for demonstration with a goats‑foot lever only. Belt hooks on the rest. No one dry‑fires anything.
Elara: And about the temple—if Edrin presses that "steel profanes scripture" line, may I offer a compromise? A small reed‑pen set for holy pages, bundled with the nib order. No loss of face, no loss of sale.
Ryan (a beat, then): Do it. Bridge, don't bludgeon.
Bromar (approving): Aye. Meet them where they stand, lead them where they ought to go.
Lira (softly): People are scared. Of war, of change. If we stumble in front of them—
Ryan: Then we stumble in daylight, fix it, and keep going. Competence isn't never failing—it's never hiding the fix.
Garret (half‑smile): Hnh. I can live with that.
Ryan: Assignments for morning. Emilia, jigs and two finished stocks—one standard, one heavy. Garret, three trigger groups, one left rough for the grit demo, two polished. Bromar, two heavy prods and four standard that "ring clean," your words. Lira, QC table, brass templates, pull‑weight log, spare strings and wax. Sariel, care cards, warranty notes, batch ledgers on top for the audit. Elara, cost sheet and the reed‑pen bundle for Edrin. Peter, set the spanning hooks and the goats‑foot—no one touches them without you watching.
Peter (grinning): Aye!
Emilia (dry): And I'll bring a spare tiller. In case a Guildmaster thinks he's stronger than seasoned wood.
Bromar (laughs): If he tries, we'll make him split firewood for penance.
Ryan (letting a smile through): Make it well. Prove it works. Pack it right. Stand behind it.
For a moment, the lamplight seemed to thin, and the rafters blurred to the ghost of an old apartment—Pick two, lose one—then the workshop snapped back into place. Ryan's voice steadied.
Ryan: We'll meet the morning on our feet.
The line shaft thumped on, outside, Dawnspire's streets dimmed to embers. Inside, the crew broke, each to their task, the weight of doubt traded for work.
05:30 a.m. - At Silverwyn Riverbank, Dawnspire
Dawn. The river ran slow and cold. Emilia and Garret set two crossbows on a plank by the water. Ryan watched. Lira held the ledger. Bromar checked the strings with a rough thumb.
Day 1–2: final tests
Shots: 600 total across two prototypes.
Problem: string frayed at about 80–90 shots.
Fix: new string twist (3 strands), beeswax rub, tighter nock groove.
Result: string life rose to about 140 shots.
Note: oil the trigger pins, grit made the pull rough after 50 shots.
Day 3–4: build jigs and train
Emilia made stock jigs (for the tiller shape and the trigger slot).
Garret made drill guides for pin holes (so holes matched each time).
Bromar forged two shapes of steel prod: "standard draw" and "strong draw."
Lira wrote a simple assembly list on a slate.
Sariel numbered the parts bins.
The waterwheel ran the saws by day, the small steam rig ran drills when the river slowed.
The line (simple and repeatable)
Station 1: Stock shaping (Emilia + 2 helpers).
Station 2: Trigger group (Garret + 1 helper).
Station 3: Steel prod and pins (Bromar + 1 helper).
Station 4: String, tiller, and sight notch fit (Peter + 1 helper).
QC station: Lira (fit, pull weight, safety latch), then test shots (Ryan or Garret).
Packing: Sariel (care note, spare string, wax).
Daily output ramp (two weeks)
Day 5: 2 built (pilot). 1 passed, 1 reworked (pin too tight).
Day 6: 3 built. 2 passed, 1 failed (stock split, wood knot).
Day 7: 4 built. 3 passed, 1 reworked (trigger creep).
Day 8: Maintenance and curing (no new builds). Oiled tools, checked jigs.
Day 9: 5 built. 4 passed, 1 failed (prod temper off, replaced).
Day 10: 6 built. 5 passed, 1 reworked (string length mismatch).
Day 11: 6 built. 6 passed.
Day 12: 6 built. 5 passed, 1 failed (hairline crack at the prod socket).
Day 13: 6 built. 5 passed, 1 reworked.
Day 14: 6 built. 5 passed, 1 reworked.
Totals after 14 days
Built: 44 crossbows.
Passed QC: 36.
Reworked and passed: 4.
Failed/scrapped: 4 (bad stock wood, cracked prod socket, off‑temper prod, mis-drilled trigger plate).
First batch packed: 40 crossbows (each with spare string, wax, care note).
Kept for in-house use and training: 4 (good for demos and future tests).
performance
Average pull weight: standard 120–130 lb, strong 150 lb (for garrison test only).
Practical string life (with wax): about 140 shots. Spare supplied.
Accuracy at 40 paces: palm-sized group with standard sights.
Cycle time at line speed: 75–90 minutes per unit once parts are ready.
roles
Bromar: forged prods, checked heat and temper.
Garret: triggers and pins, smooth pull, safe latch.
Emilia: stocks, weight balance, shoulder fit.
Lira: quality checks, shot log, pull-weight log, failure notes.
Sariel: batch numbers, care cards, packing.
Elara: cost, prices, and final ledger.
Ryan: line setup, tests, fixes, and buyer talks.
Prices and cost (1 gold = 100 silver)
Unit costs (average per crossbow)
Steel prod and trigger steel: 22 silver
Hardwood stock blank: 4 silver
Pins, fasteners, finish: 3 silver
String (hemp, waxed) + spare: 3 silver
Fuel and tool wear: 6 silver
Labour allocation: 3 silver
Packaging: 1 silver
Total cost per unit: 42 silver
One-time setup costs this fortnight
Jigs and drill guides: 90 silver
Extra files, clamps: 24 silver
Test strings and arrows (range wear): 8 silver
Total setup: 122 silver (1 gold, 22 silver)
Selling prices (first batch)
Garrison field pack (with spare string and wax): 55 silver each (bulk trial price)
Civilian/hunter pack: 60 silver each
Sales for the first batch (40 units)
To the garrison: 30 units × 55 silver = 1,650 silver
To merchants/hunters: 10 units × 60 silver = 600 silver
Revenue total: 2,250 silver (22 gold, 50 silver)
Costs for the first batch
Total cost per units: 40 × 42 silver = 1,680 silver (16 gold, 80 silver)
Setup costs (expensed this batch): 122 silver (1 gold, 22 silver)
Extra costs (overtime meals, cart hire): 18 silver
Total costs this batch: 1,820 silver (18 gold, 20 silver)
Profit for the first batch
Revenue: 2,250 silver
Minus total costs: 1,820 silver
Profit: 430 silver (4 gold, 30 silver)
Notes on rejects and returns
4 units scrapped: parts saved where safe, wood burnt, bad prods reforged.
Warranty plan: if a string fails early, replace at no cost. If a trigger binds, repair at no cost.
Reserve fund set aside for returns: 40 silver.
Short dialogue beats (in the shop)
Lira: "Batch C-2 passes. Pull is steady. Sights hold."
Garret: "Good. If the pull creeps, I'll dress the sear."
Emilia: "Stocks feel right on the shoulder. No bite at the cheek."
Bromar: "Heat was true today. The prods ring clean."
Ryan: "Log every fault. Fix the cause. We keep the promise in the process."
At the garrison
Adjutant: "Thirty for field trial. Spare strings included?"
Sariel: "Yes, sir. Also wax and a care card."
Soldier (testing): "Clean pull. No slap. I can hit the shield boss at forty paces."