Mission: Merchants' Guild

Early afternoon in the large council building of the city of Helgarde.

The four leaders sat around the ornate table, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air. The grand chamber, adorned with ancient tapestries and gleaming with gold accents, seemed to shrink around them as the gravity of their discussion grew. Deole Mitchell, the stoic leader of House Valthorne, leaned back in his chair, his steely gaze moving from one to the other.

"The death of Scholar Everett is a grave loss, not just to the House Geeydu, but to all of Helgarde," he began, his voice steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath the surface. "His knowledge and his advocacy for the poor were invaluable."

Lady Eilif slammed a fist on the table, her eyes flashing with anger. "The city is on the brink of chaos! The poor are rising against us, and we stand here, doing nothing!" Her words were like a battle cry, echoing off the cold stone walls.

High Confessor Elian placed a calming hand on her arm. "Lady Eilif, we must remain composed. The death of Scholar Everett is a tragedy, but it is also an opportunity for us to come together and show the people that we are united in our pursuit of justice." His voice was a gentle counterpoint to her passion, a soft whisper in the storm of her fury.

Lord Charles Brarnsaiph leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the light of a hundred ideas. "Indeed, we must act swiftly to capture the culprits and restore order. I propose we pool our resources and offer a substantial reward for information leading to their arrest. It will serve as a warning to any who would dare to challenge our rule."

....

Back in the Hall of the Sword, Master Sewell called all the members together.

"Gravely news, my comrades," he announced, his face a mask of solemnity. "The leaders of Helgarde have offered a bounty for information on Scholar Everett's murderer. It seems our city is in the grip of a turmoil that reaches even into our own guild."

A murmur rippled through the room. One young member, a girl named Fisa, raised her hand tentatively. "Master, what is the exact sum of the reward?"

Master Sewell looked at her, his eyes softening slightly. Fisa was new to the guild, her curiosity was a stark contrast to the hardened expressions around her. "Fifty golden coins," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of the sum.

„Fifty gold for information? Actually, I have no interest in dealing with the politics of this city, but with a sum like that..." Aldwyn thought about it for a moment before asking, "Are they paying fifty gold for each piece of information?"

Master Sewell nodded. "For any substantial information that leads to the apprehension of the murderer."

„Of course, it would be stupid to pay such high sums to every informant. They will probably first check whether the information is relevant."

„However, this sum is very tempting, but presumably for this reason many guilds will go in search of such information."

The room grew quiet as the implications of his question settled in. The air thick with tension, it was clear that every member knew the value of such a reward.

Master Sewell's gaze swept over the assembly, his eyes lingering on each face. "This is not a guild mission," he clarified, his voice firm yet understanding. "The decision to pursue this bounty is yours alone."

„Hmm...I won't be following it for now. If I come across something accidentally, I'll investigate it. Otherwise, I should focus on other things."

The members returned to their original seats, the room buzzing with hushed whispers and furtive glances. The news of the bounty had ignited a spark of greed and ambition in some, while others remained stoic, contemplating the implications of the city's unrest.

Aldwyn made his way to Master Sewell, who had returned to his office and was sitting at his desk, surrounded by scrolls and old books.

"Are the two contracts you offered me before still available?" Aldwyn asked as he entered the office.

Master Sewell looked up from his paperwork, his expression unreadable. "They are," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Aldwyn was surprised that nobody had taken care of it yet. "Then I would like to accept the contract from the Merchant's Guild. The one for fifteen gold and the letter of recommendation. Where I'm supposed to infiltrate their ranks and search for the people behind the thefts."

Master Sewell nodded, handing him a small, sealed envelope. "Very well, Aldwyn. Remember, discretion is key."

Inside the envelope was a note with instructions and a name: 'Craig Gaines'. The merchant in question had been plagued by a series of thefts, and the guild had traced the stolen goods to the shadier districts of Helgarde.

....

Aldwyn was sitting in a carriage for which he had paid 5 bronze. He was on his way to the Merchant's Guild, located in the district that House Valthorne controlled.

„This task should probably suit me better. Observing potential suspects and gathering information."

The carriage rattled over the cobblestone streets, the sound a comforting rhythm that allowed him to focus on the task ahead.

As Aldwyn approached the Merchant's Guild, the grandeur of House Valthorne's influence was undeniable. The buildings grew taller, the cobblestones more even, and the people better dressed. The guild was a fortress of commerce, its grandeur a stark reminder of the power that wealth could wield in Helgarde.

The guild's entrance was guarded by two burly men in the livery of House Valthorne, their arms folded across their chests, their eyes scanning the street with a bored vigilance. Aldwyn stepped out of the carriage, feeling the weight of his twin blades and the comforting grip of his revolver beneath his cloak. He approached the guards, the envelope with the contract in hand.

"I'm here to see Craig Gaines," he said, his voice cool and confident. "I believe he's expecting me."

The guards exchanged a look before one of them took the envelope. His eyes scanned the parchment, his eyebrows rising slightly before nodding to Aldwyn. "You're clear. He's in the third chamber on the right."

The Merchant's Guild was a hive of activity, with men and women rushing to and fro, their voices a cacophony of deals and negotiations. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices and the promise of wealth. The walls were lined with shelves of ledgers and scrolls, and the floor was a mosaic of intricate patterns that spoke of the guild's prosperity.

Aldwyn found the third chamber easily enough. It was a large room with a high ceiling, the walls lined with bookshelves and maps. A large, ornate desk dominated the center, behind which sat a man with a neatly trimmed beard and a furrowed brow. He looked up as Aldwyn entered, his eyes scanning the newcomer with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"You must be the one from the Hall of the Sword," Craig Gaines said, his voice a blend of exhaustion and resignation. "Please, take a seat."

Aldwyn did so, his eyes taking in the cluttered desk and the anxious tension that filled the room. Gaines' eyes flickered to the twin blades at his side before focusing back on his face.

"Master Sewell assured me of your discretion," Gaines began, his voice low. "I need your help to uncover the thieves who have been plaguing my business. The guild suspects an inside job, but I fear it may be more than that."

Aldwyn leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and focused. "Tell me everything you know," he said, his voice a coarse whisper.

Craig Gaines rubbed his temples, his eyes weary from lack of sleep. "It began with minor thefts, items of little value. But as the weeks passed, the stakes grew higher. Priceless artifacts, rare spices, and even some... sensitive documents have gone missing." His voice trailed off, and he paused, choosing his words carefully. "The modus operandi suggests someone with intimate knowledge of the guild's operations."

Aldwyn listened intently, his mind already racing with scenarios and possible leads. "What makes you think it's not just a simple case of theft?"

Gaines leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The patterns, the precision. It's as if they know exactly what to take and when. It's almost... ritualistic."

„Ritualistic? Could perhaps be divination or simply a very skillful person."

Aldwyn's interest piqued, he asked, "Do you have any suspects?"

Gaines handed him a list with trembling hands. "These are the employees with access to the storerooms. But I fear the culprits are not just mere thieves. There's something... unnatural about the way they strike." His eyes searched Aldwyn's, seeking understanding.

Aldwyn took the list, his gaze flicking over the names. The scent of parchment and ink mingled with the faint whiff of fear that clung to the air. "I'll start my investigation immediately," he assured Gaines. "Expect discretion, and I'll report back when I have solid leads."

Before he left, however, he handed his blades and revolver to Gaines, who took them with a look of surprise. "I'd rather not arouse any unnecessary suspicion," Aldwyn explained with a wry smile.

Gaines nodded, understanding the need for stealth. "I will hold these for you. Good luck, and may the gods watch over you."

Aldwyn left the chamber, his mind racing with the information he had just received. The thefts sounded too organized, too precise to be the work of common criminals.

He decided to start with the most recent addition to the list, a young clerk named Timotheus. The man was known for his diligence and had no history of criminal activity, but in the shadowy world of Helgarde, appearances could be deceiving.

Timotheus was easy to spot among the bustling guild members, his youth and relative inexperience setting him apart from the seasoned merchants and traders.

Since Aldwyn became a Stage 1 Assassin, his senses became much better. Not only in dangerous situations, but he was also able to interpret body language much better and recognize the smallest irregularities.

Timotheus looked up as Aldwyn approached, his eyes widening slightly. His heartbeat sped up, and his hands tightened around the quill he held, a sure sign of nervousness.

"Greetings, young man," Aldwyn said, his voice as smooth as silk. "I couldn't help but notice your dedication to your work. I'm interested in the goods Mr. Gaines trades. Perhaps you could tell me more?"

Timotheus's eyes darted to the side, and he swallowed hard before speaking. "Of course, sir. Our inventory is vast, ranging from exotic spices to rare artifacts. We strive to satisfy the most discerning tastes of our esteemed clientele."

Aldwyn leaned closer, his voice low and intimate. "Please would you be so kind as to show me some things?" he asked, his eyes searching Timotheus's face for any signs of guilt or deceit.

Timotheus hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing before he nodded, leading Aldwyn through the maze of shelves and crates. The goods were indeed exotic and valuable: vials of glittering liquid that smelled faintly of the sea, ornate weapons with intricate carvings that whispered of ancient battles, and scrolls that promised secrets lost to time.

He paused at a crate filled with spices, lifting a handful of crimson powder to show its quality. "This is dragon's breath," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "From the farthest reaches of the East, it's said to be worth more than its weight in gold. A pinch can flavor a feast for fifty."

Aldwyn's eyes never left Timotheus as he spoke, watching the clerk's every move. His pulse remained erratic, and his palms were slick with sweat. "Fascinating," Aldwyn said, his tone belying his skepticism. "What about these?" He gestured to a set of leather-bound tomes with titles pages written in an archaic script.

Timotheus visibly relaxed, eager to impress. "Ah, these are rare grimoires, sir," he said, his voice taking on a scholarly tone. "They contain spells and incantations long forgotten by most. Some say they hold the key to powers beyond our understanding."

Suddenly, Timotheus's eyes watered, and he broke into a fit of coughing. He quickly covered his mouth with a handkerchief, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry," he sputtered, his voice strained. "I've been a bit under the weather lately."

„Is he ill? Does that explain the sweat on his hands and his discomfort?"