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A very large inn-like building where merchants, mercenaries, soldiers and other underground doers go here. Where they place their services for gold and then sum.
[From Rydon Downtown District]
Forge leaning towards the door step observe the rowdy crowd drinking and hollering as the numerous heads of mercs and merchants laugh their heads off. Perhaps celebrating their latest quest was a success, either that or they're just mad drunk of miserable failures. But that does not concern him, for Forge must make ends meet on his own.
He shuffles his feet, tired but willing into the Guild building as weary eyes glare and stare at the swordsman; the damaged sword strapped to his back gave it that unwanted attention, a signs of a former war veteran supposedly. Forge nudges his shoulder forward to shake off their eyes upon him, moving to the counter to get a drink from the local bartender.
"Pine Ale please" Forge said to the bartender. The attendant in his early 40s with a pot belly covered over dirty apron, with a mustache goatee combo. He silently nods and passes a fresh lightly brown brew in a large wooden mug, slides it across the counter, then Forge swiftly catches the drink. Downs it.
"Aw that's the stuff" Forge answered, wipes his chin clean after a long silence of gulping the brew like he was in a fury desert storm. Then softly slams the mug back to the counter.
"I take you're not going to settle in for tonight huh?" asked the bartender while cleaning another mug with a dampen cloth.
"Nope, not today. Time is money" Forge reply. Spreading his hands across the counter, ready to take on the next challenge. Eyes glowing with excitement and a determine grin.
"Hmph . . . You'll never lead up do ya Forge? Oh well, let's see what we got here." The attendant turns around, facing a wall full of stacked papers after papers with thick nails driven into their tips, indicating request have been on the rise for quite sometime. He turns back to the swordsman. "There some cargo needed to be delivered--"
"No, no" he politely respond as soon as he heard the word cargo. "That's pocket change. Come on, you know me...."
The bartender sighed, hesitant on giving Forge a higher ranked quest. But looking into the swordsman eyes, he couldn't say no to such determination. "Very well, but be careful" taking another flyer from the bulletin board, "There's a couple of bandits camping a few miles from here, and the citizens feel uneasy about this.."
"Do go on" said Forge, leaning closer to the details ahead.
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Guild of Rydon, Take upon your quest here!
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