The Tales of Minz series is narrated and edited by fictional characters. This short story is set in their whimsical world. Learn more about the series here.
There’s a saying that if a product—such as a book or an article of clothing—is good enough, it’ll sell itself. No one will have to do any work promoting it or marketing it. It’s that good.
Dear Reader, I’m not aware that any such product exists.
Besides, such a saying undercuts the fine individuals who work very hard to sell valuable products to potential consumers. And when those fine individuals actually believe in what they’re selling, they’ll do whatever they can to help other people recognize that product’s value as well.
So, no, unless the product is magically sentient or awakened, things do not sell themselves, no matter how good they are. No, people sell products. And this is a story about one such dedicated person.
—Barnabas E. Wooldridge
Editor in Chief of the Tales of Minz
“All right, kid, make it quick. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Master Emil Vorpar, owner and chief executive officer of Vorparian Steel, Inc., was not a patient man. His aura practically radiated impatience. It was said that his hair went gray the very instant he was born because he was in that much of a rush to grow up and get on with life. (Just an unconfirmed rumor, Dear Reader.) Now, of course, his gray hair was fitting because he was in his late eighties. Emil wasn’t a man of lengthy deliberation either. No, he was a man of constant action, inexhaustible drive, and focused dedication.
As a result, his business prospered. No, scratch that. It flourished. Vorparian Steel, Inc. quickly became one of the most financially successful businesses in Minz. Not just in the five decades that it had been open for business. No, it was one of the most lucrative companies of all time. It still is to this very day.
It should also be noted that in addition to Master Emil Vorpar’s inimitable work ethic, it certainly helped that his product—Vorparian steel—was incomparable. No other metalwork came even close to the arcane wonders worked by his highly skilled metalsmiths. No other steel was as durable, hardy, and resistant.
As Emil was fond of saying, Vorparian steel could cut through iron and steel, flesh and bone—even stone if need be. And a suit of Vorparian armor? Practically indestructible.
As a result, Vorparian Steel, Inc. created an incredible demand for high-end products that kings and queens clamored for, lords and nobles squabbled over, and knights drooled over, and common soldiers wished were a little more in their price range.
They had the monopoly, they set the price, and the Coppers filled Vorparian Steel, Inc.’s many coffers until they overflowed and the company had to purchase even more coffers.
That was no mean feat.
But even Emil Vorpar knew his company could do better. They could always sell more Vorparian-manufactured goods. He wasn’t greedy. He really wasn’t. He was even considering lower prices so Vorparian steel wasn’t hoarded by the rich and powerful.
In all things, Emil desired maximum efficiency and for his business to be as highly reputable as it could be. Which was why—against his better judgment—he had listened to the advice of Stefan, his head foreman, and agreed to meet with a consultant named Klara.
Why was meeting with Klara against Emil’s better judgment? Well, Klara didn’t work for Vorparian Steel, Inc. Emil had a hard time trusting the motives of people who didn’t work for him. And he wasn’t quite sure why this woman wanted to. She had approached Stefan with a business proposition, hoping that he would put her in touch with the head of the company.
Klara was what you might call an independent contractor currently looking for a steady job. And what she did… well, why don’t I just let the story do the talking, hmm?
Klara took in a deep breath. She wanted it to be a calming breath, but it was not. Her stomach rolled and churned like she was sailing on the Serpent Sea in storm. She had never been so nervous. Not even when she had actually been sailing on the Serpent Sea in the middle of a hurricane.
Why was she so nervous?
It couldn’t possibly be because she was meeting with the richest man in Minz. Klara heard once that Emil Vorpar declined not one but thirteen invitations from High King Wilfred to join him for an important dinner with the top officials in the Minzian government. And High King Wilfred—notorious for harshly punishing those who fell out of his good graces or refused him—hadn’t done a thing. It was as if Emil Vorpar was untouchable.
It also couldn’t be that she was about to tell the businessman r to turn his very successful business model upside-down for the slight possibility that he’d increase his revenue. If she were wrong about her proposal… well, this was the sort of gamble that could bankrupt a company. Even one as ludicrously lucrative as Vorparian Steel, Inc.
Neither of those factors could be why she was nervous at all.
Emil sat behind his large, oaken desk, fingers steepled in front of him. He leaned back in his black leather chair studying the young, skinny woman seated across from him. She was probably in her mid-thirties. She didn’t look like much. Scrawny. Brown shoulder-length hair that she kept tucking behind her ears—a nervous habit, no doubt. She was tapping her foot in an irregular rhythm against the hardwood office floor—another sign of her anxiety. But Emil knew from firsthand experience that appearances could be deceiving. And she had an excellent reputation from what Emil’s foreman, Stefan, had heard.
On one of two mandatory breaks during his twelve-hour shift, Stefan stood now at his employer’s right-hand side, slightly behind him. His burly arms were crossed and he looked very uncomfortable. Stefan was the sort of man who would rather let other folk do the planning and decision-making. He was perfectly content to make sure that those plans and decisions went without workplace injuries, grievances, worker strikes, or lawsuits. Why had he ever agreed to suggest this meeting? It wasn’t like him at all.
“Don’t waste my time, kid. Either say what you came to say, or get out. I have a business to run.”
No, Emil Vorpar was not a patient man. (And he called everyone younger than him “kid,” in case you were wondering.)
Klara took in another deep breath, mercifully more calming this time. This was what she did. This was what she knew. She could do this.
“Master Vorpar,” she began,”I’d like to thank you for meeting me today. You run an extremely successful business, and I’m honored to—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Emil broke in. He didn’t look congenial. He looked rather annoyed. “My company manufactures more swords, armor, and miscellaneous weapons than any other business in Minz. I’ve run the numbers. No one else even comes close. Now, I sell a lot of those products too. But our sales numbers could be better. That’s why I’ve agreed to meet with you. Stefan told me you have a plan. I didn’t invite you to my office for casual conversation over coffee and shortcakes. Skip the pleasantries and let me hear your pitch.”
Klara blinked. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the man’s brusque bluntness, but she was. Strangely, she felt calmer, though. The businessman didn’t want to exchange pleasantries? He wanted her to be straightforward? That was fine by her. She could do that.
“Very well.”
Klara had a leatherbound portfolio folder on her lap. She brought it along because she thought she’d need to show Master Vorpar the sales charts from the records room for Vorparian Steel, Inc. But if he already knew the numbers…
“Master Vorpar, you said it yourself. Sales aren’t what they could be. I know you didn’t design and manufacture these swords and suits of armor— veritably life-saving products—to sit forgotten, gathering dust above some nobleman’s fireplace.”
Klara leaned forward, studying the man across from him. He was nearly impossible to read. But Klara saw a subtle change in his expression at her words. They seemed to get through to him…
“No, you’re manufacturing and selling Vorparian steel products because you want them to be used. Not, I think, to take life, but to defend and preserve it at all costs.”
Klara paused. She definitely had Master Vorpar’s attention now. It was time to make the pitch. She felt it in her bones, instinctively, in the same way that some storytellers catch hold of a story’s flow and refuse to let go. Growing up, her mother always told Klara that she could tell a story like no one else. She was telling one now and thought it was high time Vorparian Steel, Inc. did the same.
“If you allow me to partner with you, you won’t be selling swords,” Klara said bluntly. “Nor will you be selling suits of armor, or anything else you manufacture within these factory walls.”
Master Emil Vorpar blinked. Other than that, his expression didn’t betray him. But his tone of cold dismissal did let Klara know his feelings. “Then what, might I ask, would I be selling?”
“You’d be selling a story. Because at the end of the day, the average consumer doesn’t care how much of your precious time and money went into manufacturing this one product. All they see is the price. And the price tag is no small amount. It’s quite honestly a deterrent for the average layperson.”
Klara held up a hand to forestall Emil from speaking before she realized what she was doing.”I understand why your prices are set the way they are. Vorparian steel is not inexpensive to manufacture, and I think your process is fascinating. But you must remember that potential clients don’t understand why they should hand over their hard-earned Coppers when they could buy something that is passingly comparable—and substantially cheaper.”
Klara was on a roll now. “You need to give potential clients something more. Something else to look at instead of at a price. No. Something better. So I’ll say it again, forget about selling the sword. Sell the story about the sword instead.”
Emil frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Klara smiled.
“Imagine, if you will,” she said softly, “that there once was a man who lived an ordinary life on rather modest means. He had a family—a warm and pleasant wife. Clever and kind children.
“For a time, they were happy together. But those happy, fleeting moments were not meant to last. Like a world approaching winter, cold and dark days were on the horizon.
“It came to pass that the man was called up to serve in his lord’s army. The man’s wife and children feared for his life. They thought he would not come home to them. They were terrified he would die and leave them all alone.”
Klara leaned forward. Her pulse quicked, and she could feel the extraordinary tenseness in the room. Emil Vorpar and Stefan the foreman hung on her every word. They wanted—no, they needed—to hear how the story would end. Would the brave soldier come marching home?
“The man’s wife and her children knew they couldn’t bear it if anything should happen to the man. So what did they do? They scraped together their savings and went to Vorparian Steel, Inc. They purchased a set of Vorparian armor and blade for the man. The finest arms and armor that money could buy. Because him coming home to them was worth every single Copper. And because of the arms and armor manufactured by Vorparian Steel, Inc., he did come home to them. “
Klara paused, and silence fell over Master Emil Vorpar’s office. Emil and Stefan looked deep in thought, eyes open but not really seeing anything because their minds were clearly elsewhere.
“If it’s done properly, then that very story sells the sword or the armor—or even both. Because people will start seeing them for their worth, not their monetary value. And I guarantee more stories like that one exist in Minz. We just have to find them.”
Klara gestured at the factory floor which they could see below them through Master Voprar’s large office windows.”That sort of drastic change in mindset and perspective takes time, but with persistent messaging, powerfully authentic testimonials, and interactions with the community, I’m confident that such change will happen.”
Klara smiled gently. “That’s selling the story, gentlemen, which in turn, sells the arms and armor.”
Master Emil Vorpar, owner and chief executive officer of Vorparian Steel, Inc., was not a patient man. His aura practically radiated impatience. It was said that his hair went gray the very instant he was born because he was in that much of a rush to grow up and get on with life. Nor was he a man of lengthy deliberation. No, he was a man of constant action, inexhaustible drive, and focused dedication.
Emil didn’t have to think long about this prospective partnership. He came to his decision quickly. He was a good judge of character. He knew talent when he saw it. And this young woman had just made him want to go and buy another set of arms and armor—at full price, no less, and not with his special founder’s discount. That was no small thing. He stood abruptly and held out his hand to a very surprised Klara.
“It seems I’m in need of someone to oversee the marketing side of affairs for Vorparian Steel, Inc. How soon can you start?”
Klara hesitated for a moment. Then she shook his hand with a smile. “I can start today, Master Vorpar. Just say the word.”
Emil Vorpar just had one more question. He needed to know. “Why did you approach my company with this proposition, Klara? Why do you want to work for Vorparian Steel, Inc.?”
Klara was silent for a moment. And then she shrugged and said softly, “Perhaps that story I told was more than a constructed fable. After this meeting, I’m going back to a home where my children still have a father and I still have a husband—all thanks to you. If I can help other families also do that because I’m working here, I’d like that a lot.”
