[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out:
roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]
@Mazn Zito - Asset Goal = ?
@VoLimiNaL - Asset Goal = ?
@MrJack - Asset Goal = ?
@Spoiled Bread - Asset Goal = ?
@Scarcerushdown - Asset Goal = ?
Greybank Guild Annex — The World Responds
Greybank’s road did what roads always do: it gathered the lost.
The farmer with the mule slowed as the odd little procession reached the town’s edge — the blindfolded boy gripping his stick with white-knuckled tension, the walking cauldron clanking softly with every step, and the gelatinous figure perched atop it chatting brightly as if such sights were perfectly ordinary. The farmer didn’t stop them, but his stare lingered long enough to make it clear they had already become a topic of interest. Greybank was used to travelers; it was patterns that unsettled it.
A few moments later, Frederick’s confused greeting earned him the same long, uncertain looks from passing townsfolk. Someone muttered something about “another one today,” while another shook their head and pointed vaguely toward the guild annex with a loaf of bread still tucked under one arm. If there was work, shelter, or answers to be found in Greybank, that building was where all roads eventually led.
By the time the guild’s wooden door came into view, the sounds inside were unmistakable — voices overlapping, chairs scraping, cutlery clinking, life continuing as if nothing in the world were wrong.
The door creaked open again.
Conversation dipped, just slightly, as the newest arrivals crossed the threshold. Not stopped. Not challenged. Just… noticed. A guild clerk glanced up, took in the cauldron, the slime, the blindfolded child, and the mud-streaked red-haired newcomer, then quietly gestured them further inside with a practiced neutrality that suggested she had learned not to ask questions unless paid to do so.
Warmth replaced the chill of the road. Stew, ale, leather, and old parchment filled the air. Somewhere near the center of the annex, Mazn waited near the quest board, Ria temporarily gone in search of bread, while Kind stood unnervingly close to the parchment itself, fingers tracing its edges with unsettling fascination.
And then there was the quiet.
It clung to the board like a stain.
Even those who had just entered could feel it — the way voices softened nearby, the way eyes slid away from the paper rather than linger, the way seasoned adventurers who had faced beasts and blades alike suddenly found better things to do than stand too close. The request remained alone, centered, avoided.
The elderly man by the wall had been watching all of it.
He saw the newcomers enter. He saw the blind boy cling closer to the strange slime and cauldron. He saw Frederick’s confusion. He saw Kind’s interest sharpen, not in fear but in curiosity. When Kind approached him and extended the parchment, asking — politely, awkwardly — for it to be read, the old man finally pushed himself fully to his feet.
His joints protested. He ignored them.
Old Man
“Don’t,” he said, not unkindly, but firm, one weathered hand closing around the parchment before Kind could draw it any closer. His voice carried just far enough to reach the board, the nearby tables, and — intentionally — the newcomers who had just been ushered inside.
For a moment, he didn’t read.
Instead, he looked at each of them in turn. Mazn by the board. Kind with its too-careful smile. The blind child. The slime and its walking pot. The red-haired stranger still trying to get his bearings. His gaze lingered longer than polite on each face, weighing something unseen.
Then he exhaled, slow and tired.
“You’re either very unlucky,” he said, turning the parchment so all could see it,
“or you don’t know enough to be afraid yet.”Only then did he read the request aloud, his voice rough but steady, the desperation in the words sounding heavier when spoken by someone who understood exactly what they implied.
“Please… my daughter is missing.
I fear she was taken.
No one in my village will help.
Someone, anyone… please.
— M. Brenwick.”When he finished, he folded the parchment once and held it loosely at his side.
“No reward listed,” he added.
“No details. No village name written out.” A pause.
“And still, everyone here knows where it leads.”A few adventurers shifted uncomfortably. One stood and left without a word.
The old man’s gaze returned to the small group by the board — now, unmistakably, a group.
“If you’re going to ask questions,” he said, voice low,
“best you hear the answers first.” He nodded toward the door, then toward the road beyond town.
“Go see the village, Wickerford, north of here, about half-an hour. See what fear looks like when it’s learned, not imagined. When you’re done…”His eyes hardened just a fraction.
“Meet me at Harrowfen Bridge.”Near the counter, the guild clerk wrapped the fresh loaf in a scrap of brown paper, tying it off with practiced fingers. She slid it across the worn wood toward Ria, glancing briefly past her shoulder toward the quest board before lowering her voice.
“Best eaten warm,” she said, not unkindly.
“Doesn’t keep long in this weather.”No judgment. No questions. Just the transaction — and the faintest hint that the clerk was relieved to focus on something simple and ordinary, if only for a moment.
The guild’s noise slowly crept back in around them, but something had changed. A line had been crossed — not by taking the request, not yet — but by acknowledging it out loud.
Summarization: All players are currently in the adventurers' guild. The elderly man told them where they should go and where they should meet them afterward, then left. Ria got her bread.
Tellussoil
AwesomeZero5
supamusu
Fetzen
Red Hood
Not a Sayan
SkyeOfStars
DancesWMonsters
