I dedicated myself to presenting the auto-filled quill as a revolutionary tool to the Citadel. Drawing inspiration from the parallel between traditional quills and modern pens, I focused on a more familiar concept—the fountain pen.
Explaining the components of a fountain pen—its canal for ink, customized ink, and specialized tip—I leveraged my knowledge from my previous life. The presentation aimed to position the auto-filled quill as an innovation capable of bridging the gap between tradition and modernity.
In a collaborative effort, I enlisted Walder, the Frey bastard, in the demonstration. Instead of solely dictating aspirations, I had him write a parchment outlining the benefits of the auto-filled quill. The emphasis was on how it could serve as a source of income and prestige for the Citadel, ensuring credit rightfully stayed within our group.
To further bolster our case, I brought in Acolyte Brandon, a knowledgeable student of historical inventions and a close associate. Tasked with citing examples of inventions throughout history, he subtly stroked the egos of the conservative maesters who held the power within the Citadel.
Presenting the auto-filled quill not just as an innovation but emphasizing its roots in tradition, I sought to navigate the delicate balance between progress and respect for established practices.
After a thoughtful pause, Maester Bracken shared his perspective, acknowledging that the difficulty lay not in convincing the old guard but in ensuring the benefits reached us. His evident disdain for the nobles and their insatiable cravings hinted at a personal history I didn't want to pry into now.
Shaking off his momentary distraction, Maester Bracken addressed the practical challenges. "The problem is whether it is possible to make it and feasible enough to show profits to the Citadel. This parchment on the trade is nice; I could see your influence, Kiriti. The words 'demand' and 'production' confirm it."
Addressing Walder, he offered a surprising piece of advice, "Always do the opposite of your father. Then you would succeed in life." A candid comment that left Walder wide-eyed, and even I couldn't help but chuckle at the blunt honesty.
"Emmon Frey is the biggest cunt I seen in my life."
Maester Bracken murmur was heard by me and Walder. He then turned towards me and continued our discussion, "I will call in some of my acquaintances in smithing and construction. You three follow them to make a tangible prototype."
The next day was all about hitting the streets of Oldtown with Maester Clinton Raventree and Stevon Emberfell. These Riverlands guys were tight with Maester Bracken.
As we tagged along, the streets of Oldtown unfolded, showing off the city at its best.
Brandon, our city expert, played tour guide. History Buffs, they are same everywhere.
We headed to the market area, where Goldsmiths, Blacksmiths, and Jewelcrafters had set up shop—a perfect spot for what we were up to.
The market was buzzing with activity. Hammers were banging on anvils, making a racket that mixed with the sounds of jewelry being crafted. There was this smell of hot metal in the air, and the shops were displaying some seriously cool stuff.
Brandon guided us through the busy streets, dodging people and pointing out the good stuff. Apparently, he worked as a part time guide to merchants or Sellswords new to city.
He joked with me that he isn't charging anything. He usually expects at least a silver for his troubles.
Goldsmiths were flaunting their shiny creations, and the one we talked to had a thick brown beard that seemed to sparkle with gold dust. Blacksmiths were banging away at their anvils, and the head Blacksmith, Garhammer, was a burly guy with a bushy black beard that matched his name. Jewelcrafters were turning rocks into sparkly pieces, and one of them had intricate silver earrings that caught the sunlight.
While Maester Clinton Raventree, a wiry man with a sharp gaze and a collection of wrinkles and Stevon Emberfell, a broad-shouldered fellow with a shaved head, did their explaining thing to the skilled craftsmen, I was checking out the showcases. The auto-filled quill idea seemed doable with these talented folks around.
Then, we hit up Garhammer, the head Blacksmith. He had a gruff voice that matched his imposing figure. He dropped a bomb, saying, "Alright, then the money will be cut from the research order promised."
Stevon, a man with a weathered face and a pair of piercing blue eyes, backed him up, mentioning that Maester Bracken wanted it under his name.
Guilt punched me in the gut. The funds for research were limited because of Maester Bracken's frequent clashes with the Archmaester council.
I couldn't dwell on it, though, as Garhammer pointed at me and said, "I want the brat here every day in the morning."
Stevon wasn't having it, protesting about explaining the design already. But Garhammer wasn't having it either.
He threw two swords in front of me, asking if I could tell the difference. I shrugged and said "no".
The crazy old blacksmith then turned to Stevon, who explained something about Northern techniques and Quarth methods.
Garhammer basically told Stevon that, "The genius brat might not know smithing, but You sure don't know the ins and outs of these metal quills. So, get out."
The workshop was a chaotic blend of heat and hammering, a symphony of creation that I never thought I'd be a part of. Garhammer, the gruff blacksmith, had us knee-deep in the process of bringing the auto-filled quill to life.
I stared wide-eyed as copper turned to liquid gold under the searing heat of burning coal. The air was thick with the scent of hot metal, and the clang of hammers echoed through the workshop. I felt like a fish out of water.
Garhammer, with his bushy black beard and no-nonsense attitude, showed me how to fill the molds for the metal tips. The molten copper flowed like a river into the molds, taking shape as it cooled. The end result was a sleek tip with a perfectly crafted slit, ready to meet the ink barrel.
And speaking of ink barrels, that was Clinton's domain. Maester Clinton Raventree, with his wiry frame and sharp gaze, was busy mixing various resins and dyes to create the perfect ink for our quill. The workshop was filled with the smell of chemicals and the vibrant colors of the ink concoction.
Meanwhile, Brandon, the guy with an unexpected interest in smithing, him and Cranky Gar, with a glare that could melt steel, made sure I wasn't getting off easy. So there I was, hands covered in soot and sweat, doing my best to contribute to the creation of this revolutionary tool of Westeros.
The workshop was alive with chatter as we circled around the table, examining the quills we had just crafted. Stains on our hands told the tale of our hands-on involvement in the making of these auto-filled wonders.
Clinton, always the meticulous one, started breaking down the results of our testing phase lasting weeks. It was like a quill carnival, with each prototype showcasing its unique strengths and quirks.
"So, Clinton, what's the verdict on these babies?" I asked, eager to get to the bottom line.
He adjusted his spectacles, a habit he had when about to delve into something serious. "Well, my friends, after all the trials, we have two winners. For the everyday grind, the steel broad tip with a no-nonsense steel barrel is the go-to. It's reliable and won't burn a hole in your pocket."
Walder, always the practical one, nodded in approval. "Good for the masses, then. We don't want them breaking the bank for a quill."
Brandon, the history buff, chimed in, "But what about the ones fit for kings and nobles? You know, the ones that make a statement?"
Clinton cracked a smile. "Ah, you have a taste for the finer things, Brandon. The golden tip paired with a copper inner-plated steel barrel is our showstopper. It's not just a quill; it's a work of art. Of course, it comes with a price tag that might make your eyes water—50 times the basic model."
I whistled. "Now, that's what I call a luxury item. Perfect for gifts or flaunting your status."
Walder grinned. "Imagine the lords and ladies signing their documents with one of those golden beauties."
I even added to him, "We can even make custom ones based on the house and even fill the Quill with rubies and such for them. I am sure it won't be problem for the big guys."
As we continued bantering about the quills, I couldn't shake off the feeling of accomplishment. Afterall, it is my first achievement in the world.
"Hey, Clinton."
"Hmm."
"Can I keep these prototypes?"
Clinton rubbed his chin and said, "Sure it's fine. Since we already have success, it wouldn't be a problem to make more."
The whole auto-filled quill thing was a real game-changer, but then came the show—the teachers playing politics. You know, the kind where they grease the wheels with the Archmaester council using bribes. It was like watching a drama unfold, with all the behind-the-scenes maneuvering.
Bracken, with his serious face, got in the mix. "Gentlemen, we've got a groundbreaking project on our hands. The auto-filled quill is our ticket to progress, but we need to settle the terms."
Archmaester Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Terms? The Citadel has always been the sole beneficiary of its projects."
Bracken nodded. "True, but this one's different. It was made by my disciple on his own without any input from Citadel resources."
Then I heard a voice filled with mockery, "You mean a 7-year-old has funds to do such research."
"Yes, he took the loan from me and did so with daring without my input. Though he is foolish in that, but I must say, He is the epitome of Citadel's quest for knowledge."
I saw the teacher lying blindly and couldn't help but wonder, perhaps he already erased the records from the citadel. Classic corruption. But this time, I liked it.
Their talk convinced them, and the negotiations kicked off. It wasn't a smooth ride.
Archmaester Harwyn, the eldest among them, crossed his arms. "Why should we give a share to those Bravasoi."
Bracken countered, "It's a safety net. Ensuring financial stability and longevity for our venture. We can't afford to put all our eggs in one basket. I'd give it a year before the imitations sprung up. So, it is better to give a part share of 5% to the Iron Bank to guard our interests. It is practiced by most businesses to ensure profits."
Archmaester Gerald leaned back, skeptical. "But it's an unconventional move. We can't simply divert profits to a foreign bank."
Bracken stood his ground. "This project needs it. The stability and security it provides will benefit us in the long run."
Archmaester Harwyn thundered, "Unacceptable! This isn't acceptable. It complicates matters unnecessarily."
Bracken, unyielding, held his ground. "It's non-negotiable. The Iron Bank ensures the stability and independence of our financial backing. Without it, the project's success is at risk."
The negotiations heated up as the Archmaesters expressed their concerns about losing control and deviating from established norms.
Bracken, persistent as ever, argued, "Maesters, we are learned men. Besides, would you rather choose to get 5 Golden dragons for each sale for only 100 Quills, or make 3 Gold each from thousands of quills."
After a series of impassioned exchanges and a fair share of compromises, a tentative agreement emerged. "Fine," Archmaester Gerald conceded, "but we demand 40% of the shares, recognition, and naming rights under your protege's name."
My eyebrows twitched at that. One for simply endorsing took away 40%, and the other took away 5% for simply storing the gold. God, medieval shares are a loss-making business for inventors. Their backing better be good.
Bracken, although not entirely pleased, agreed. "It's a compromise. We can proceed under these terms. Anyways, I would like to have my student forge his first link. Also, I put forward the term for ownership under his name, and the Citadel will help in publicizing his achievements."
There is the bomb.
Summary: I was knee-deep in the hustle and bustle of the auto-filled quill revolution, dedicating myself to presenting this groundbreaking tool to the Citadel. Taking inspiration from the familiar concept of a fountain pen, I highlighted the components—canal, customized ink, and specialized tip. Enlisting Walder for a demonstration, we emphasized its income and prestige potential for the Citadel, ensuring credit stayed within our group. With Acolyte Brandon citing historical inventions, I aimed to navigate the balance between tradition and modernity. Maester Bracken's perspective brought a reality check, acknowledging the challenge of ensuring benefits reached us. Shaking off distractions, he advised Walder with unexpected bluntness, creating a candid moment. The next day, we hit Oldtown's streets, working with skilled craftsmen to create tangible prototypes. The workshop became a symphony of creation, with Garhammer, Maester Clinton Raventree, and Stevon Emberfell guiding us. The chaotic blend of heat and hammering marked my unexpected journey into the world of invention, a feeling of accomplishment lingering as we discussed prototypes and their potential.
However, the show took a turn when politics seeped in, negotiations with the Archmaesters revealing the complexities and compromises needed for our project's success.