Stone-faced before the visibly stricken Guildmaster, Sigurd waited patiently for the words to come out of his mouth. Short of letting a sigh audibly escape him, he was far too accustomed to the disappointment. Still, the sudden declaration produced a tiny spark of intrigue in him.

“I lied!” the Guildmaster blurted out, his voice partially muffled from the contact with the coffee table. “I can’t help you!”

“You lied?” Sigurd calmly questioned, following up with, “About what, what do you mean?”

The Guildmaster raised his head and stared at Sigurd with glassy eyes. “I– the guild, that is– we have no way of giving the quests that you want to do.”

“I’m not following,” Sigurd said, motioning at the contract from earlier. “What was all this about, then?”

“This was for me,” the Guildmaster admitted. “I needed proof that I was dealing with the highest caliber of man, and you outdid yourself. I fully trust Cuntz, but I needed to see it for myself.”

He then stood and walked toward the wall to their side, and stared longingly at an enshrined plaque hung up. “Which is why it pains me to admit that.” He paused and gently touched the glass before continuing, “In truth, the guild doesn’t deal with criminal disputes. We simply don’t get those kinds of requests, and adventurers are nothing more than glorified handymen.”

“But if the guild doesn’t handle those types of requests, then what does it handle?” Sigurd asked, motionless in his spot, adding, “And who does deal with them?”

He then spoke louder, the flow of the conversation chipping away at his calm demeanor, “And for that matter, why did you tell me you could get me those quests?”

“All good questions which I’ll answer right now, nothing held back, no trickery whatsoever!” The Guildmaster sprung up and spun to face Sigurd, pointing at him confidently.

The sharply-dressed master then took his rightful seat opposite Sigurd and began addressing the concerns, “To start, the guild doesn’t do as much as I wish it did. This organization doesn’t have the kind of power it once did. In fact, not since the first adventurer’s boom have other adventurers gotten any sort of praise.

“It was a one-and-done deal, what he did. And who can blame people for disregarding what are essentially fervent fans, nowadays? Everybody wants to be a symbol of the people, without realizing that need is a must. But some folks can’t help but latch onto past glories – even if the only time a ‘hero’ was needed was during the war against the demon lord. And that was one hundred years ago!” he explained, going off on a tangent.

All the while, Sigurd listened patiently, both enthralled by the intricate knowledge, yet eager to reach a satisfying conclusion. Amid the lengthy exposition, the Guildmaster stood up and fetched a tea-making kit, thereafter setting it on the coffee table. He brewed them both a batch and continued.

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“So, naturally, no one takes adventurers seriously. Everybody ridicules them or calls them fanatics. It’s sad but true – the guild is washed up. It used to be a hub for respected individuals to gather, something to be proud of! Just like how Grimroost used to be a great town before all those criminal organizations moved in. I’m sure you’ve seen it – the immense state of decadence and disrepair the town is in.”

“From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look bad,” Sigurd interjected, sipping on the steaming cup in front of him.

“But what you’ve seen is only a facade!” the Guildmaster replied, echoing Sigurd’s motions. “Look beyond the main street you’ve walked and you’ll see what I mean. Poverty, crime, misery – criminals have poisoned our town for decades, and all we’ve been able to do is sit down and take it!”

“Is there no one that defends the town or fights back against them?” Sigurd again interrupted, his eyes thinning at the revelation.

“Grimroost does have a town guard if that’s what you’re asking. But they only react and defend; they don’t actively seek to take down criminals,” the Guildmaster quickly answered. “Even if they did, those organizations control too much power to be swayed by simple guards.

“Back to what I was saying, though, the guild doesn’t have the leverage it once used to, thus we are unable to help you with the kinds of requests you’re looking to fulfill. Based on what Cuntz told me and your interactions with me, I knew you’d itch for greater compensation than mere pleasantries or glory. You seek to better our lives – and I appreciate that – but I lament being powerless to aid you.

“As for the kinds of requests the guild receives, they are what you saw: monster-slaying quests, other oddities like helping out around town, and there is occasional guard duty akin to what you did for Cuntz. Fending off bandits is as close as we’ll get to dealing with crime!” he scoffed with that last statement.

Sigurd sighed at the end of the lengthy explanation, quietly voicing, “So you can’t help me?”

The Guildmaster slowly shook his head, “Not directly, I’m afraid.” He took another sip from his cup, and cleared his throat, “You’re on your own as far as helping people goes, but that doesn’t mean I won’t support you! For every quest you do – whether sanctioned by us or if you’re able to help out in other ways – you’ll be handsomely rewarded. I’ll make sure of it.”

His speech pattern once again struck a cord in Sigurd’s mind; there was something about the Guildmaster’s demeanor – which felt stronger than ever – that he couldn’t shake off. It was evident on Sigurd’s face, and the man in question caught wind of it.

“I can see you’ve got doubts. I would too, looking at me. After all, while it’s true that I may have once belonged to that seedy underworld you’re looking to dismantle, ever since I took this post I gave all that up and cleaned up my image!” the Guildmaster suddenly said.

Caught off-guard by the revelation, Sigurd choked on his tea, thinking, ‘I was only joking myself earlier – he actually belonged to the mafia?!’

“And even if I did still have contact with my old organization – and I’m not saying that I do! – I still wouldn’t be able to help you. Not out of loyalty, mind you, but more simply because they do things differently now. Understood?” the Guildmaster finished, his tone strongly implying something more.

“Roger that,” Sigurd dryly replied.

“Now that all of that was said, the guild thanks you once again for your great service, Baron Sigurd,” the former mobster gestured at the pouch of coins still slumped on the table. “I’ll leave you to your evening now, but, once again, whatever quests you end up taking I will personally reward you for. You have my word.”

With that final declaration, and an assurance of sorts in hand, Sigurd took the pouch and stood, ready to leave. Before he crossed the door’s threshold, the Guildmaster uttered one last sentence.

“And, before you go, just so we’re on more personal terms: my name is Nathaniel Draco, but you can call me Nathan!”

Sigurd returned a silent smile and headed out.