Setting
William Caxton's printing workshop in Westminster, a modest but bustling space filled with the tools of early printing. The room is cluttered yet organized, with wooden beams overhead and a large wooden press dominating the center. Sunlight streams through small, leaded glass windows, illuminating the dust particles in the air.
Characters
The figures in this scene as an entity network — co-presence links everyone in the moment; speakers who trade lines are bound tighter. Turn the resolution dial to reveal depth the engine actually computed.
William Caxton
primary
A middle-aged man of average height with a sturdy build, his face lined with the marks of years spent in diligent labor. His hands are ink-stained, and his keen eyes, though slightly weary, spark with intelligence and determination. His graying hair is neatly trimmed, and his beard is kept short but well-groomed.
Apprentice
secondary
A wiry young man in his late teens with sunken cheeks and keen, observant eyes. His hands bear fresh ink stains and small nicks from handling metal type. Dark hair cropped short to avoid entanglement in the press, with a prematurely stooped posture from hours of bending over type cases.
Patron
secondary
A middle-aged nobleman with a well-groomed beard and sharp, discerning eyes that reflect both intelligence and a keen interest in the arts. His posture is upright, exuding the confidence of his station, and his hands are smooth, untouched by manual labor.
Inkmaker
background
A middle-aged man with wiry arms and ink-stained fingers, his face lined from years of squinting at fine work. His dark hair is streaked with grey and tied back with a simple leather thong.
Dialog
William Caxton
Behold, my lord, the ink sits as true upon the page as wisdom upon the philosopher's tongue.
Patron
Verily, Master Caxton, this art of yours may prove more revolutionary than the philosophers' own dictes.
Apprentice
The forme holds tight as a miser's purse, Master! Not a single slug has shifted!
William Caxton
Steady, lad. The press demands reverence, not revelry.
Patron
Quidquid praecipies, esto brevis - yet I find myself wishing to see every page this machine might birth.
Apprentice
Beg pardon, masters, but the frisket needs setting anew ere we pull the next sheet - if it please you?
William Caxton
Proceed, but mind the register. This book shall stand testament to English craft when we are dust.