If there was one good thing Volsten could say about the guild, it would have to be about its hall. Spacious and well lit, with finely laid blue carpet and strong arches near the ceiling. At the top of its walls were short windows that let in the sun's light, light that then hit its decadent crystal chandeliers at peculiar angles and diffused throughout. The far most wall, if one entered through the hall's front doors, had the largest window. That one stretched from the ceiling to halfway to the floor. It backed the reception counter, where smiling guild receptionists talked to eager adventurers about their next journeys.

Now, Volsten didn't know this for sure, but receptionists always struck him as those who were too soft to be maidens. They both had cheery dispositions, but the receptionists felt altogether more genuine in their happiness.

In other words, rejects.

Regardless, such decadence was usually reserved for noble haunts and homes. As such, it was obvious to him that the guild had powerful allies within the nobility. Vora was one, he knew that much. She was quite proud of her patronage, and Volsten had never felt more betrayed. How could she give to this dastardly institution? He asked her as much, and the answer she gave him amounted to a shrug and some nonsense about them doing 'good work' for 'the people'.

Ha! As if Vora cared anything at all for what happened beyond her walls. He felt a strong desire at that point to snatch one of her braids, but she was liable to turn him into a frozen statue, so she was left to her sinful ways.

Volsten thought about these things as he limped across the guild. Apparently, someone was rather unhappy about his grand story of a succubus-possessed sword maiden. After some hours Jessa had decided to cut her losses, slam her book close, and leave. All with only the faintest wisp of a smile left. Perhaps she would have been happier if she'd stayed for the climax, but she was probably fearful of such a strong ending.

And this was why he hated maidens. One bad word and an injured man was being forced to hobble along with these two guild goons. An unfair assessment of these two men, given that they were just following Jessa's orders, but he was far from compassionate. Especially now, with the pain of movement agitating him to no end.

"Can I ask what happened?"

Volsten turned to the man that asked. It would be expected that he would have one arm slung over each of them, but that wasn't the case. They didn't help him so much as they simply escorted him. To their credit, they tried when he first rose from the bed, but the instant his arm rose his side told him to put it down, and to never think of raising it again.

"That's information you aren't privy too, I'm afraid. Guildmaster's ears only."

"I've never seen someone so bandaged," the other said. "That lived through it, I should say."

Volsten made a sound that could be construed as laughter. Truth be told, he didn't feel much like talking.

"You're a knight, then?" the first one said. "Miss Jessa said 'Sir' Volsten."

"Right...Knight of Camara, and all that," Volsten said. He wondered how many eyes this sight was drawing, from adventurers and receptionists alike.

"Then I know whatever did this got what you got, but worse!" the other said with a hint of reverence.

He knew that tone, knew how they felt. Looking at them, both were quite young. Their work for the guild couldn't have started long before now.

By the time they made it to the other end of the counter, he was exhausted.

"Excuse me gentleman," Volsten said, "but I must sit for a moment. Our journey has...tired me."

That, and he would sooner take a trip to the Narrows before he went up the stairs. Walking level with the world was enough to drain him of all will, so trying to go up would certainly take him out.

He took a seat at the counter and waited for the guild to stop swirling before him. The two men that escorted him took up positions. They were meant to be defensive, and Volsten admired their dedication to duty.

The receptionists were busy enough. Behind them was a shelf full of papers and books. Volsten's understanding was that each was a written request, authored by a guildmaiden and signed by a person in need.

Half the kingdom couldn't read or write. What shit did these maidens get those poor folks to sign? Demonic contracts were rare, and some would even say they didn't exist, but every guildmaiden was an evil hussy. If these contracts existed, they would have them.

It didn't take long for Volsten to realize that he was being ignored. Eyes that were eager to watch him struggle his way across were now quickly glancing over his bandaged and bruised body. To the shelf and back, to the shelf and back. What a peculiar feeling to be invisible. Doubly so to be invisible to women. Was this how Zevin felt? There was a book in front of him, no doubt filled to the brim with requests, that a receptionist awkwardly slid further down the counter to another. All while staring above and beyond him.

Volsten didn't mind. Sometimes, the attention of women was-

"Good to see you up, Sir Volsten!" Jessa nearly sang.

...quite an annoyance.

There she is, the wench! She came from his right, behind the counter. One of her gloved hands patted a receptionist on the shoulder, and it was as if the goddess herself had touched the girl with how brightly she beamed. She stopped right in front of him, then leaned forward until her elbows rested on the wooden top.

"I was worried that you wouldn't be able to walk yet. It's why I waited a day past our little chat before sending these young men to fetch you!" The smile was back, stronger and more red-lipped than ever.

"You never heard the end of my story, Jessa. I was near the end, give or take a few hours, and you left."

"Oh, riveting as it was, it was clear to me that you were under the heavy influence of Master Bellit's concoctions. Quite simply, I couldn't trust a word you said."

Volsten nodded. "To speak of, he was rather unhappy with your orders."

"I know, and I regret drawing the anger of such a talented physician, but what must be done must be done. I'd rather his anger than Guildmaster Arel. Who you will be seeing, by the way."

I figured. "Ah. I think it strange that you can't come speak to me again."

"I'm a busy person, sir. I don't have time to entertain drunken young men. Well, not anymore."

Receptionists burst into laughter, and Volsten just now noticed that they'd gathered around like a queen's attendants. Jessa didn't laugh, but her smile was so smug and satisfied that he had a mind to slap it right off of her face.

I should leave, before I do something terrible.

"Be sure to not let him linger too long, boys," Jessa said, right before Volsten could stand. "If he falls asleep, you'll have to carry him!"

Soon, after much hugging, Jessa left the receptionists to their business. The cackling stopped, and one of his escorts touched his shoulder.

"Uh, sir, Miss Jessa said-"

"What possesses you to think that I didn't hear a woman screeching mere inches from my face?"

"I wouldn't say she was screeching, sir."

"All the same," Volsten said, rising gingerly from the stool. "Now, she said if I sleep, you'll have to carry me."

He looked to the stairs, then at the two strapping young men beside him.

*

Guildmaster Arel was far younger than Volsten imagined. That wasn't to say he was youthful, far from that as well, but when Volsten thought of guildmasters, he thought of wizened old men with evil smiles, whose years of combat were far in the past, and whose only joy now was smacking an unsuspecting receptionist's buttocks. It could be that Arel was still like that, but he didn't look the part.

No, this was a man that was well-kempt, with dark hair near enough the same length as his own, when his own wasn't somewhat obstructed by bandages. What struck Volsten as most strange was his attire. The man's entire upper body was guarded by one shiny pauldron and a leather strap. No heavy plate fashioned from the bones of greater demons. No emptied blood jewels to adorn him from the Elven wastes. Just...a pauldron, as if his admittedly large and muscular physique were all he needed.

As Volsten sat, and his walking carriages made their nervous exit, Arel closed a book and set it to his left, on top of a stack of others made just like it. He reached beneath his formidable desk and pulled out another.

"Ah, just the man I wanted to see!" Arel held out a hand.

Volsten took it to shake, and the power felt was immediate. Being no small man himself, Volsten knew the power behind a handshake. It would be a challenge to match the guildmaster's grip if he were healthy, but in this broken body, he would be lucky if Arel felt it at all.

"I had little choice, Sir Arel. One of your maidens was insistent that I make it here, despite my battered state."

Arel chuckled. "No need for the formalities. We're both knights here."

"We are, but you are Arel Vandis. My younger self would step through time to kick me if I didn't show you proper respect."

"Heard the stories, have you?" Arel seemed a bit curious here, with his black brow raised.

"What aspiring knight hasn't?" Volsten motioned to the generously sized twin-bladed great axe perched on the wall to their left. The stories never mentioned how terrifying it looked. If anything was fashioned from demons, it was that thing.

Arel grunted. "Many things have been exaggerated over the years. I was a knight, like most others."

"If most of us could cleave greater demons in two like they were imps, I would believe you."

A seriousness came about Arel's face, before it was washed away with a great laugh. "Goddess, you're a real academy boy, aren't you? I miss the days of bullshit told before lights out, to tell you the truth. Was much better than meeting the people we talked about."

"I suppose they disappointed you, then?"

"Spend enough time around someone, and you'll notice both the good and bad. For supposed heroes, it's a bit disappointing, yes."

"Artheon and the others benefit from being dead for hundreds or thousands of years. No one's around to tell us that the Golden Knight was a drunkard."

"True, much too true!" Arel said. "But, personally, I couldn't care less if Artheon shit his golden pants every time he rode horseback if he did even the tiniest of things the legends boast about."

Volsten wished he could say the same about Arel but being a guildmaster was tantamount to sacrificing babies for blood rituals. Only maidens were worse.

"Yet, as far as I know, even he didn't carry a weapon as formidable as yours."

"Keener to discuss my story than your own, aren't you?" Arel said, tapping his book. The seriousness in his face and voice wasn't relieved by laughter this time.

Caught, red-handed. This was no man to be pushed.

"In truth, I am. But only because my story is so harrowing a tale that-"

The door burst open. From the sound of it, Volsten would be surprised if it was still on its hinges.

Arel stood. "Lady Melridge-"

"Don't 'Lady Melridge' me, you bastard!" she spat. In addition to being loud enough to aggravate his already fragile head, she also made Arel plant himself right back into his seat. "Why am I here?"

Armor clanked and boots stomped as she made her way to the chair beside Volsten.

"It's an important matter, otherwise I wouldn't waste such an important woman's time."

Melridge plopped down in the chair, sending a gust of air his way. How hard did she sit? Volsten glanced in her direction and saw that she sat with arms and legs crossed. She looked as annoyed as one could possibly be.

"Why. Am. I. Here?"

Arel motioned towards Volsten, and he thought that was quite a shitty thing to do.

Melridge snapped to him, and her freckled face softened. But only a little. "He looks like total shit. Still doesn't tell me anything."

"Sir Volsten here was involved in, or at least a witness to, the brutal murdering of the Birith family."

"What?!" Melridge rose from her seat, and within a moment the inexplicably warm steel of her blade was at his throat.

There was little Volsten could do about that other than lean the other way.

Arel rose. "Stay your blade, Alex!"

"Why! He kills an entire family, and you invite him to your room? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Listening isn't necessary to obtain an 'S', I suppose. "Did you not hear the word 'witness', before you sought to be judge and executioner?" Volsten asked.

The blade grew hotter. That was strange.

"We have good reason to believe that he didn't kill anyone. One of them survived, and though she speaks little, she does espouse his innocence, at the least."

"Then he'd better speak!"

"It's so very hard, with your blade in my throat."

Melridge retracted her weapon, and Volsten leaned forward.

He shot her a glare-which she returned with gusto-then looked to Arel.

"The guild is home to some rather unruly knights," Volsten said.

Arel's pauldron went up and down with a shrug. "You say unruly. I say strong-willed, in the case of our lady here. Lady Alexandria Melridge, as I'm sure you already know, Sir Volsten. Highest ranking knight in our guild, and the most impressive young woman I've had the pleasure of meeting. We spoke of legends before, but you sit next to one now."

Volsten was close to vomiting. This loud tart was the furthest thing from impressive.

"I want you to tell us what happened, but out of curiosity, I must ask." Arel opened the guild book before him and flipped a few pages forward. "What in the goddess's name did you do to make Jessa so angry?"

Some good news, at last! "It wasn't on purpose. Master Bellit's potions are powerful in their effects on the mind. In that state, I may have said things were untrue. Again, by accident and influence of the good physician's medicines. In particular, about a possessed sword priestess-"

"And here," Arel cut into his words, "she suggests you be 'thrown beneath the tower, preferably while still injured'."

"Huh. Didn't think Jessa had that in her," Melridge mused. "You must be a real piece of shit."

Such a vulgar woman! "Is Melridge not a noble house?" Volsten asked Arel. "This woman curses as if she wasn't brought up in respect."

"If you speak of my house again, I'll show you how disrespectful I can be!"

Arel, for as serious as he tried to be, was smiling again. "I know your father to be the most honorable of men. Indeed, Melridge is a wonderful and prestigious house. But he makes a good point. Why must you always curse? It's not very ladylike."

"Be on with this, Arel!" Melridge spat.

Goddess, my head! Every word from her was a shout to the heavens! "To answer you, guildmaster, I've no idea. It could be that she hadn't been exposed to a delirious mind before and mistook my ramblings for coherent deceit."

Arel nodded. "Reasonable. Now that you are of sound mind, how about you tell us exactly what happened that day?"

So Volsten did. He started with that morning, because even now he couldn't resist being long-winded, but he did speak true. No succubus, no priestess, no sex-induced purification, even though it was a wonderful story of love and triumph in the kingdom's easternmost recesses. Not that they would appreciate it in the first place.

By the time he finished, he was met with two incredulous stares.

"A...a dragon?" Arel asked, sharing a look with Melridge. "Did we hear that correctly?"

"As if. A dragon in the heart of Tregar? Do you think we're stupid, Bandages?"

Luckily for her, Volsten knew that to be a question of the rhetorical variety. "As Inera lives and breathes, it is true. I saw it and the devastation it wrought with my own eyes."

"That would be something," Arel said. "With how the bodies were described to me, I'm not all that doubtful."

"Are you serious?!" Melridge shouted. "You believe this utter nonsense?"

The guildmaster shifted forward in his seat, then focused his eyes on Melridge. "I can't help that it makes sense. Between the last Lady Birith's adamancy and the collector descriptions...it's plausible."

Melridge shot upwards again, and Volsten braced for another taste of blade.

"She's a survivor! Do you think her mind's in a good place after seeing her family butchered? She'd probably tell you he was the King of the Narrows if you pushed enough!"

"Perhaps, but the man's broken. Something did that to him."

"If he faced a dragon, he wouldn't be here right now! You want me to believe that some rankless asshole of a knight stood up to a dragon and lived to tell the tale? That it held him dead, then threw him out of a window? Give me a break!"

"He could be quite skilled with a blade. Ranks aren't absolute, and he isn't part of the guild."

Volsten would allow Arel to believe that.

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

"Maybe," Arel said, sly as a fox, "but that's where you come in."

That shut her up, but her face said I'm waiting.

"I'm assigning you as his guardian."

"What?!" He and Melridge said in unison.

"Listen before you judge, Alex." Arel raised his hands, as if to calm her. "Consider: If our friend Sir Volsten here is an innocent survivor of this dragon, then it's possible that this creature will look to finish what it started. If by chance he was responsible, then you kill him."

"I share the woman's incredulity," Volsten pleaded. "I need no guardian."

"I'm afraid that you don't have a choice in the matter. Jessa's word is a stamp to this guild. If you want to be beneath the tower, or dead, then of course, resist!"

Well, shit.

"But...but I don't have time for this!" Melridge whined. That was the most ladylike she'd sounded. "The guild needs me!"

"There are other S-ranked knights in the city. They'll handle things while you're busy with this."

"But-"

"Alex. You aspire beyond a letter-ranked guild knight, don't you?"

"...Yes."

"Then trust that there's a reason I called for you, and no one else."

After much silence, Melridge sighed and clanked again into her seat. "Fine. What now, then?"

Arel rubbed at his chin, grimacing all the while. "Now we find a mage to tether your two young souls together!"

This time, they both rose.