[[Somewhere in the Mage District in Stormwind City, a window is left open to let in the afternoon sun. A brilliant shaft shines through the haze, illuminating a large, oak desk, with many sheets of parchment scattered across its surface. But placed squarely in the center at this moment is a book, open, with an elegant, fine cursive sprawling across the pages, almost like calligraphy. The page that is currently open reads as follows.]]
May the Seventeenth, in the first year after the destruction of Theramore.
Let me say one thing, reader, and one thing only: establishing a name for yourself is much easier with an organization such as the Kirin Tor behind you. These past months, as I’ve detailed, have been fraught with incredible disappointment. As yet, I am barely known to any!
This isn’t to say that I desire fame; but a man simply must earn his living. And whereas conjuring a meal of tea and cakes is a simple enough task, it isn’t exactly sustainable, and doesn’t keep a roof over my head.
I must confide in you, reader. Thoughts like these almost make me regret my decision to leave the Kirin Tor. While Jeminy and Alen might forgive me if I desired to return after what happened, I cannot say whether I would be welcome. Perhaps I was a bit strong with the magi with whom I spoke, and in my summons and the investigation. But given what happened, I suppose that is the very least that I could do.
I also think it would give me too much pain to return. Randin would take me back, but without those two in the shop with us, I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t even know what became of Randin – I suppose I should send a letter after him to see if the Council evicted him as well, for having associated with Sunreavers.
In any case, the Kirin Tor have been gracious enough to not spread the details of my affiliation with Jeminy and Alen to the populace here. Their standing as Sunreavers might have brought my loyalties into question, though the summons after the purge of Dalaran cleared the air of anything like that. If it hadn’t, my night at the tavern might have been decidedly more exciting.
Last night, I made my way to the local tavern called the Blue Recluse to review my notes and plumb the depths of the arcane – a casual night’s reading the runes and drinking warm ale, which is usually how I try to relax. I needed the change in space, though, so per the advice of my new neighbor, it was the tavern.
It was then that I overheard something that gave me a most remarkable idea. Lieutenant Commander Orwyn of the Stormwind Guard – as I later learned was his title – made a passing remark about paperwork and the tedium it brings. The inhabitants of the table all agreed, and the conversation moved on, but I had an inspiration: a pen to do the paperwork for you. I set to work on a prototype immediately, even while I was still in the tavern.
The concept is really quite simple: create a device that can access a person’s latent memories to quickly and accurately transcribe whatever details are necessary. The inscription and enchantments work in such a way as to pay attention to what exactly is on the user’s mind that translates to the page when they write with it – essentially, once you’ve written one or two forms with it, it will have learned what information goes where, and how to draw that information from your mind. From there, it was a simple matter of enchanting the thing to write that information onto the page. I should think that it will work exceptionally, though I do have some thoughts for improvement.
For one, it doesn’t completely alleviate the mind when doing the paperwork. It’s not as though the pen will just do the paperwork for you – I expect the user will still have notions of what’s going into each field on the form while the pen does its work. A better design—though one that I’m not quite sure I know how to construct—would be one that acts as a record keeper, and then learns how the user interacts with the events that it keeps. I’m not sure how I’d go about creating such an adaptive construct, though – especially not in something as portable as a writing pen. It is something to think about, for certain.
In any case, I offered the prototype to the Lieutenant Commander, and he politely declined, requesting I test it first. While I am confident in my designs, he does have a valid point. If it were to err in completing the paperwork with which he is laden—important legal documents, I should suspect, given his position—then it would become a liability for him. So test it, I shall (in fact, I’m using it to write this very entry).
The night wore on, and he needed to depart, and then a mammoth of a Draenei entered. I cannot remember his name – I’d had a bit to drink, and the night was late, but he and the woman to my left were discussing shark fishing.
[[Continued in Part 2 below]]
May the Seventeenth, in the first year after the destruction of Theramore.
Let me say one thing, reader, and one thing only: establishing a name for yourself is much easier with an organization such as the Kirin Tor behind you. These past months, as I’ve detailed, have been fraught with incredible disappointment. As yet, I am barely known to any!
This isn’t to say that I desire fame; but a man simply must earn his living. And whereas conjuring a meal of tea and cakes is a simple enough task, it isn’t exactly sustainable, and doesn’t keep a roof over my head.
I must confide in you, reader. Thoughts like these almost make me regret my decision to leave the Kirin Tor. While Jeminy and Alen might forgive me if I desired to return after what happened, I cannot say whether I would be welcome. Perhaps I was a bit strong with the magi with whom I spoke, and in my summons and the investigation. But given what happened, I suppose that is the very least that I could do.
I also think it would give me too much pain to return. Randin would take me back, but without those two in the shop with us, I don’t think I could bear it. I don’t even know what became of Randin – I suppose I should send a letter after him to see if the Council evicted him as well, for having associated with Sunreavers.
In any case, the Kirin Tor have been gracious enough to not spread the details of my affiliation with Jeminy and Alen to the populace here. Their standing as Sunreavers might have brought my loyalties into question, though the summons after the purge of Dalaran cleared the air of anything like that. If it hadn’t, my night at the tavern might have been decidedly more exciting.
Last night, I made my way to the local tavern called the Blue Recluse to review my notes and plumb the depths of the arcane – a casual night’s reading the runes and drinking warm ale, which is usually how I try to relax. I needed the change in space, though, so per the advice of my new neighbor, it was the tavern.
It was then that I overheard something that gave me a most remarkable idea. Lieutenant Commander Orwyn of the Stormwind Guard – as I later learned was his title – made a passing remark about paperwork and the tedium it brings. The inhabitants of the table all agreed, and the conversation moved on, but I had an inspiration: a pen to do the paperwork for you. I set to work on a prototype immediately, even while I was still in the tavern.
The concept is really quite simple: create a device that can access a person’s latent memories to quickly and accurately transcribe whatever details are necessary. The inscription and enchantments work in such a way as to pay attention to what exactly is on the user’s mind that translates to the page when they write with it – essentially, once you’ve written one or two forms with it, it will have learned what information goes where, and how to draw that information from your mind. From there, it was a simple matter of enchanting the thing to write that information onto the page. I should think that it will work exceptionally, though I do have some thoughts for improvement.
For one, it doesn’t completely alleviate the mind when doing the paperwork. It’s not as though the pen will just do the paperwork for you – I expect the user will still have notions of what’s going into each field on the form while the pen does its work. A better design—though one that I’m not quite sure I know how to construct—would be one that acts as a record keeper, and then learns how the user interacts with the events that it keeps. I’m not sure how I’d go about creating such an adaptive construct, though – especially not in something as portable as a writing pen. It is something to think about, for certain.
In any case, I offered the prototype to the Lieutenant Commander, and he politely declined, requesting I test it first. While I am confident in my designs, he does have a valid point. If it were to err in completing the paperwork with which he is laden—important legal documents, I should suspect, given his position—then it would become a liability for him. So test it, I shall (in fact, I’m using it to write this very entry).
The night wore on, and he needed to depart, and then a mammoth of a Draenei entered. I cannot remember his name – I’d had a bit to drink, and the night was late, but he and the woman to my left were discussing shark fishing.
[[Continued in Part 2 below]]
