.

FALNAS

Taking Care of Business

City of Riften, the Bee and Barb

The first job he'd gotten was insignificant enough. Three deadbeats in Riften needed to be given a helpful reminder concerning their attitude on debts, specifically, those they owed the Thieves' Guild. They considered it better if they didn't pay, the Guild considered it better if they did. So someone needed to go slap some sense into them. No killing, of course, and not too much physical violence. Just a little friendly reminder. The Guild didn't really much care about the debt, Brynjolf had said, more important was the Message. You didn't just ignore the Thieves' Guild.

Falnas harboured no illusions. It was a prove-your-worth job if ever there was one. Still, if that's the type of job he needed to complete every once in a while, fine. There'd be more important, and lucrative jobs on the other end.

Haelga, Bersi Honey-Hand and Keerava. Those were their names. He knew who Keerava was, well, he'd ordered quite a few drinks at her bar. Talen-Jei, the Argonian he'd consumed those drinks with once in a while, was rather enamored with her.

Being a Thieves' Guild operative wasn't just stealing, Brynjolf had told him. Some problems can be solved without breaking into people's homes or stealing from them – though opportunism was always encouraged – and just talking to the right people the right way could be much more effective than robbing them blind. "Be creative," Brynjolf had said. "Just no killing, no major destruction of property. Common sense, really."

So he was here to lean on Talen-Jei a bit. He was in the Guild now, and you couldn't be soft just because you were old drinking buddies. Killing was not permitted, but that didn't mean threatening wasn't.

"So how's things with Keerava?" Falnas asked matter-of-factly, nursing his weak ale. He'd paid for Talen-Jei's Argonian brandy – strong alcohol to tip the scales a bit more.

"Oh she bides fine," the Argonian replied, somewhat uncertainly. "She's right there at the bar. Why are you asking me?"

"Still want to marry her?" Falnas didn't want to imagine how these creatures married or reproduced.

"Yes... I do. Why?"

"Oh," Falnas said, his tone as casual as possible. "Just heard she'd been having some problems... monetary ones, I mean."

Talen-Jei gave a nervous chuckle, his scaled nostrils twitching. "I... shouldn't discuss such things with others."

Time to make the conversation a bit more serious. "Oh, I heard she was in debt. Nothing tremendous, but still, unpaid debts... might bring some dangerous people to come and collect them."

"I'm... sure it's nothing she can't handle," Talen-Jei said nervously.

"Come on. I know you're crazy about her. Maybe I can help? Would be a shame to see her get hurt over a small debt."

"She doesn't accept any help," the lizard suddenly said, letting go of his suspicion. "I even told her to ask her family in Morrowind to help."

This could be interesting. It didn't matter where the money came from, as long as it was paid. "Why doesn't she?"

He made a throw-away gesture, then took his drink and finished it. "She's extremely protective of her family. When I made the suggestion, she instantly went all anxious, as if her family would be in danger just from knowing about her debt."

Hel-lo? This was very interesting. "I see," Falnas said, rising from his chair. "That's unfortunate. I hope things work out for her. I have to go."

"Alright," Talen-Jei said, oblivious to Falnas' plan. "Safe travels."

He always said 'safe travels', even if he knew the other person wasn't going anywhere. Falnas had no idea why, and he didn't care either. He'd be back for Keerava, but not right now. It'd be too conspicuous, and with Talen-Jei being loose-lipped as he was, he might be good for some more information further down the road, and he'd ruin that source if he made it too obvious where he got this useful tidbit from. He'd return later, in disguise.

It was still early, and he still had some time to spare before Keerava's shift was over and he could pounce on her on the way home. Next, Bersi Honey-Hand. Owner of the Pawned Prawn, a buy-and-sell store in town. The very name of the establishment made Falnas' stomach turn. No surprise that he was a Nord. Only they and the Orcs could think of a name like "Pawned Prawn" and actually consider it clever. As he crossed the bridge over the canal, enjoying the pale winter sun, he saw a familiar scene. The blonde man-bitch was giving Maven Black-Briar a piece of her mind again. This could be worth listening in on, so Falnas casually walked closer, pretending to be watching the lone white cloud in the sky.

"I assume you don't know what this is about either?" the blonde threatened.

"Honestly, Mjoll, your accusations were quaint at first, but they begin to tire me. Don't you have more interesting things to do than repeating the same piece of theatre over and over again?"

"Better things to do than trying to expose the person behind all the murders here in town? No, Maven. I have nothing better to do. Of course, you have no idea why someone would murder old Grelod in her sleep, do you?"

Falnas heard Maven laugh, even more confidently than usual. That laugh, and the arrogant notes in it, told him more than the Nord woman's dull senses could possibly hope to pick up. Maven Black-Briar had nothing to do with this particular murder.

"Really, Mjoll. Why would I ever try to have the old biddy who runs the orphanage murdered? Unless you think I use it as a front for a moon sugar ring, or that I have illegal cockfights in the cellar?"

Falnas had heard of Grelod. Some old bint who ran the orphanage. She was dubbed Grelod 'The Kind' by the people in Riften, but the byname had been given with more than a small helping of sarcasm, since the old crone was a tyrant to the children. It wasn't unheard of for a child to break a bone or two after Grelod had thrown him or her off the stairs, and every child bore bruises under his or her clothes. There were even darker rumours, of Grelod 'renting' the children out to local creepers for purposes Falnas would rather not think about, but those rumours were just that.

"You know as well as I do that Grelod was nowhere near as kind as her epithet suggested." Falnas was surprised the battleaxe actually knew the word.

"Exactly," Maven said. Falnas could actually hear her smirk. "Grelod must have made many enemies in her lifetime. Maybe she just forgot that abused children grow up and become vengeful adults?"

"And those other people? The brewers? Also murdered by vengeful adults?"

"Now, Mjoll, you know full well that I didn't claim they were. As for who did murder them, well, it's still a mystery so far, yes?"

"Not to me, Maven." The Nord bullbitch took on a threatening tone, lowering the volume of her voice. "I will get you, Maven. Sooner or later you'll slip up, and then I'll see you rot in the dungeon."

"Perhaps," Maven defied. "But not today. Now, unless there's something else, I suggest you leave me be."

"I will. For now."

Falnas heard the Nord stomp away with no subtlety whatsoever.

"And you. Your attempt to inconspicuously eavesdrop is pitiful."

Damnit! This was awkward. Still, he was caught now, so he better not upset this woman if he wanted to spend more than one day as a Thieves' Guild member. So he put on another little show. "Forgive me, lady. I rashly assumed you might want an ally close to you in case she got violent. And in case you needed someone to testify that she threatened you."

The woman chuckled. "Nice try, ashenface. It's insulting that you lie, but I must admit you came up with a very good one."

Better not disagree with her. "Curiosity is an essential quality for a thief, my lady. And I fear it sometimes makes us stick our noses where it doesn't belong. It will not happen again."

"You're right about that," the middle-aged woman said quietly, a hateful look at the Nord's back as she walked away. "It certainly will not happen again."

Falnas knew his presence was no longer required, so he just made a short bow and made himself scarce.

Right, the Pawned Prawn. With all the tension, Falnas had almost forgotten. He made his way to the pawn shop, unimpressed by its mediocrity when he arrived.

"Bersi!" Falnas exclaimed, greeting him as if he was an old friend he hadn't seen in years. "How are you, my man?"

"I'm sorry?" the balding Nord said, blinking. "I'm uh... not too bad, thank you. And uh, you?"

"Not too bad, huh?" Falnas asked, still keeping the winning smile on his face. "Then you surely have the one hundred gold pieces I've come here to collect?"

He blinked again, scratching his brown beard. What he didn't have on his head, he had on his chin. Nords and their damn beards. "I... have no idea what you're... what you're talking about."

"Really?" Falnas faked surprise. "Then... maybe I'm mistaken. You are Bersi Honey-hand, are you not?"

"Yes, but – "

"And this is your shop, the Prawned Pawn, is it not?"

"Pawned Pr – "

"And you are selling items like this hand mirror here, are you not?"

"Well, yes but – "

Abruptly, Falnas let the mirror fall to the ground, watching as it hit the stone floor and flew apart into shards of glass.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Falnas picked up a finely painted porcelain cup. "This." The cup, too, fell to the ground and broke into bits.

"You can't just come in here and – "

"Can't I, by the Nine?" Falnas asked, still taking care to sound amicable and friendly. "I'm just making sure that I have the right person in front of me."

"Yes I'm Bersi Honey-Hand, now stop breaking my stuff! You're paying for all that!"

"Now see, that's where we differ," Falnas said. "Every item I break here is interest. Interest on what you still owe the Guild."

"You're w... you're with the Guild?" the man breathed. "Look, this is a misunderstanding!"

That was exactly the thing he shouldn't have said. "Misunderstanding?" Falnas exclaimed. "Oh my, we don't want that! We should provide some more clarity then!"

Before the man could shout "No!", Falnas had already put his finger against a vase, slowly pushing it until it toppled and shattered on the floor.

"Stop it!" Bersi shouted, his hands balled into fists. "You're destroying my shop! You've already caused more than a hundred septims worth of damage!"

"Like I said," Falnas said casually. "Interest, my dear. Still convinced it's a misunderstanding?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" the man yelled. "You've already taken more than a hundred from me!"

"I haven't taken anything. As it is now, we're both still losing money. Pay up so at least one of us doesn't get a bum deal."

"After what you did? I don't think so." He was trying to be defiant, but he was only cutting into his own flesh.

"No problem," Falnas said casually. "I can do this all day long." He added deed to word and snapped the wooden dancer carving off a music box.

"I'll... I'll call the guard!"

"Go ahead. They can't unbreak your stuff. I'll be gone by the time they get here and I'll just be back another day. Or maybe another night? Who knows?" His eye fell on a gilded dwemer urn. "Oh this looks like a prize. Would be unfortunate if someone were to let it slip from his fingers."

"No! Stop!" Falnas paused, the urn in his hand. "... I'll pay."

Falnas flashed another friendly smile. "Music to my ears, Bersi. See? You can be reasonable."

Glaring, the Nord filled a purse with septims and threw it at Falnas, who deftly caught it. "Thanks, Bersi. Pleasure doing business!"

"Just... put my urn down and go."

"Gladly," Falnas indulged him. But before he left, he stopped and turned around. "Oh, by the way? Someone should sweep this place, it's not very good for business to have a cluttered floor."

Falnas felt good about himself when he left. Enforcing a protection racket was trash tier work, but if he did it right, he'd be getting better jobs soon, so this was worth excelling in. One down, two to go, and he was halfway on the second. Still some time before Keerava's shift was done, but not enough to get started on his last 'client'.

A drink in the cool evening air would be nice. He purchased a bottle of sujamma at one of the stands in the market square, run by a fellow Dunmer, and sat himself down by the canal. Skyrim was cold and untameable, but it could be beautiful at times like these. Birds were chirping in the evening twilight, and in the distance, Falnas could hear the metallic tings of Balimund the smith's hammer as it hit the metal he tirelessly forged. The architecture was simple and robust, nothing like the elaborate structures or inhabited mushrooms and insect shells you found in Morrowind, but still possessing a sort of simple beauty, hidden beneath their rough stonework and simple square design.

"Hey Falnas," a familiar voice greeted him while he drank with his eyes closed, enjoying the taste of his homeland.

"Ah, Romlyn," Falnas said back. "How does the day find you?"

"Oh, good." He held out his hand. Of course, the man worked for the Black-briar brewery. His body needed alcohol like Falnas' needed air. It was obvious he liked the drink when you looked at him. His hair was stark white, and the bony ridges of his brow and cheeks clearly visible, the dark skin stretched tightly over them. Falnas wondered if he ever ate, or only drank. Then again, it wasn't his business, and he passed Romlyn the bottle.

"So, what news?" Falnas asked as Romlyn Dreth sat down on the bench next to him.

"Oh, not much. All's quiet in Skyrim, just the way I like it."

"Mm. I like it when there's a few things going on," Falnas said. "Can't really ply my trade when things are too calm."

Romlyn chuckled and drank from the sujamma. "Well, we all have our ideal circumstances for doing what we do."

It wasn't a secret between them. Falnas picked pockets and made valuable objects disappear, and Romlyn kicked back a generous sum of septims per month by diverting a daily stream of septims into his pockets at Black-briar brewery. After getting to know this Maven Black-briar prune a little better, Falnas doubted if what Romlyn was doing wouldn't end in him floating down the canal one day. But he supposed Romlyn knew the risks. "Yes, I suppose the calm is perfect for you and your... hard work at the brewery."

Romlyn merely grinned broadly, looking out at the square and drinking from the sujamma again.

"That's enough, Romlyn. Come on, I paid for it, I should at least get to drink more than one sip."

Reluctantly, the brewer gave the sujamma back. "Fine, fine." His features suddenly lit up. "Oh, by the way, you wanted some more upheaval?"

"Of the good kind, yes."

"This may interest you. You know Mjoll the Lioness, right?"

"The butch vigilante type? Yes, I know her. Well, of her."

"One of her friends is in Riften for a few days. You may know of that one too."

"Romlyn, I'm burning with curiosity," Falnas said in a bored voice. "Enlighten me?"

He clearly enjoyed keeping him in 'suspense'. "Remember that blonde we thought was her sister, a few months ago?"

Oh yes, Falnas remembered her all too well. How could he not? The damn woman had come to town, gone with Mjoll on some sort of 'heroic quest' to retrieve an old sword, and when she'd come back, she'd hauled a sack of dragon bones behind her and told Balimund to forge them into a suit of armour if he pleased, like it was the most normal thing in the world. There were rumours going about that one, that she was the so-called Dovahkiin, who possessed the power of the dragons. The Dragonborn of silly Nord myth.

Although Falnas had doubted his own idea of Nord myths being silly when he'd seen how the woman had reacted when a drunk challenged her to a fight in the Bee and Barb: she'd simply taken a deep breath, and without putting her ale down, shouted some power words or something in a terrifying roar of a voice, and the man had been lifted off his feet, flying all the way through the tavern to slam against the wall several metres further. His fire to prove the supposed Dragonborn a fraud was quickly extinguished, and no one had drawn her into questioning for the rest of the evening.

"Yeah, what was her name again? Something beginning with 'arse'. We laughed about it when we heard. Damnit, what was it again?"

"Arska," Romlyn helped him out.

"Right. Well, she's a celebrity these days. And she's coming to Riften?"

Romlyn nodded. "Mm. Got business with the Jarl. She's staying at our pesky vigilante's house."

"You'd think you'd be more appreciative," Falnas pointed out, "since the keeps Maven too occupied to check the brewery's finances."

"Just because she comes in handy doesn't mean I have to like her," Romlyn pointed out. "I still think she's a hardhead, and her posturing gets on my nerves."

"Yes, well. Be that as it may, that supposed Dragonborn visiting might be a blessing or a curse. If she riles things up a little, that's good for my business. Of course, if she overdoes it, then that's no good for anyone."

"You're probably hoping she'll kill a dragon right outside the gates, aren't you?"

Falnas grinned. "Oh, if only. Imagine the tourists and pilgrims. Imagine the gold in their pockets."

"If that happens," Romlyn said, "I'm quitting the brewery and becoming competition for you."

Falnas briefly thought of telling him he was with the Guild now, but Romlyn had no business with that. Better to keep it a secret for now. "So hey, Romlyn. You wouldn't happen to know Haelga, would you?"

Romlyn nodded, holding out his hand for the sujamma again. "Runs the bunkhouse."

"Yes, Romlyn, that I know. I spent many a penniless night on those straw mattresses."

"She always orders a bottle of Black-briar Reserve Premium, every week. To offer at the statue of one of the Nine, can't remember which one. I was late once, and she almost had a heart attack because she wouldn't be able to make her offering in time. Bit of an iconoclast, that one."

"Really? That's good to know." A plan formed in Falnas' mind. It was almost too easy. He rose. "Finish the rest of the bottle, it's yours. I've got a few things to do."

"Not in my house while I'm not there, I hope?"

"Don't be silly," Falnas said. "You know I only steal from these gullible Nords."

Keerava's shift was almost over. Falnas waited in the shadows, wearing the disguise he'd quickly put together, a quick and hasty combination of a black cloak and a gray cowl, with a kerchief over his face. It wasn't the most stylish of disguises, but it'd have to do. After all, Falnas still felt like having a drink in the Bee and Barb every now and then, and people tend not to serve their extortionists.

The door of the Bee and Barb clicked closed. Keerava was on her way home. Now was the time.

Falnas popped out from behind the corner and went to stand right in front of Keerava.

"If you're trying to mug me, scum, then I hope you're ready to look for your balls in the canal!" Feisty, but ultimately futile.

"You're late on your protection money, Keerava," Falnas said, making his voice unrecognizable, and faking a Mournhold accent to put her on the wrong foot.

"Oh so you're with the Guild, huh? Well, the offer's the same. Beat it or your balls will be floating – "

"Yes, yes." He'd heard it the first time. "Pay up right now or we're paying a visit to your family in Morrowind. Maybe they'll pay in your place. Or maybe we'll have to take it out of their skin." It was callous and ruthless, but it was only meant to scare the lizard.

And scare her it did. "No, please! I'll pay, I'll pay, just... leave my family alone." Her reptilian eyes were wide with terror. Falnas almost felt guilty.

"Tomorrow," Falnas threatened. "Leave the gold at the graveyard, in the flower pot against the wall."

"Yes, yes, alright, I promise, just... don't hurt my family."

"Pay and we won't have to." With that, he backed away, rounded the corner and ran. Job well done. He ran through the alleys of Riften until he was absolutely certain he wasn't followed, then slowed to a walk, taking off the disguise and casually dropping it over the railing and into the canal. Poor canal was used as a dumping ground for everything these days.

Two in the morning. The perfect time for his last visit. He shouldn't have dumped his disguise, damnit. How stupid was that? Still, he intended not to be seen, so the disguise wouldn't be necessary if he did his job well. The bunkhouse didn't hold much in the way of valuables, so it wouldn't be too difficult to break in. And unless the place was particularly full on a given day (which it wasn't tonight), the beggars and losers would all be sleeping upstairs. Sleeping on the floor was agony with the cold in Riften.

The bunkhouse was a two-storey wooden building, built without much pretention, just logs stacked on top of each other until they looked like a house. There were two entrances, not including the windows, and Falnas would, of course, be taking the back.

He sneaked around to the back of the house and pulled his dagger, snapping the lock open with a simple lever movement. Carefully, he pushed the door open, wincing when he heard the creaking sound of the joints. The bunkhouse interior was dark, but Falnas' keen eyes told him nobody was here. Or wait, there was one. In the corner, an old man lay on a cot, gently snoring. The bunkhouse had apparently been fuller than he'd thought. No matter, the man probably wouldn't wake up if he was quiet enough. He tiptoed inside, wishing he'd studied magick, since there was apparently a spell that could let one see in the dark. Ah well, he'd have to do without.

As his eyes adapted to the low light, he found he could see a bit more. And what little light there was reflected off a statue on a shelf, of a nude woman in a rapturous pose. At its foot were flowers, nuts and a stick of incense. That was what he was looking for. Quietly, he crept to the statue, picked it up and left his note in its place. '100 septims for the Guild, under the rock without moss under the lantern at the front gate. Pay or Dibella takes a dive into the latrine pit'.

He wrapped the statue in cloth and made to leave, when he heard a scratching sound coming from the front door. Damn, someone was trying to get in. He didn't have time to bolt to the back door, so he simply ducked behind a pile of stacked straw mattresses in the corner.

The figure that made the door creak open was not Haelga. Haelga was blonde, like this one, true, but she was also potbellied and bowlegged. This one had the body and bearing of a warrior in the prime of her life, and her hair was shoulder-length, unlike Haelga's messy ass-length braid.

The woman snuck past the pile of mattresses, to the sleeping figure on the cot. And as she passed by a slit of moonlight coming in through the wall, Falnas recognized her instantly. It was the woman that was apparently good friends with Mjoll the Lioness. The one that had shouted at a bar patron and flung him away like a rag doll. The supposed Dovahkiin.

But what was she doing here, sneaking around in this grungy bunkhouse? Maybe she was short on septims to pay for her tacky dragonbone armour. Wouldn't that be hilarious. No, it had to be something else. Maybe something personal between her and the old man? Nah, couldn't be it either.

The woman, dressed in black leather with muffled joints – Falnas could recognize high-quality stealth armour in the dark – bent over the man and, with her back to Falnas, brought her head down. It looked like she was whispering something in his ear.

There was a strange, almost inaudible, sound of lips smacking, and the woman rose again.

With her wrist, she wiped the leftover blood off her chin.

By Sotha Sil's withered balls!

Falnas held his breath, watching the woman standing with her eyes closed, apparently savouring the moment, the sliver of moonlight falling on her pale face. So the mighty dragon-slaying heroine of Skyrim was a bloodsucker. Falnas had heard about Vampires, but this was the first time he'd actually seen one.

The Nord's eyes flew open, and in a quick, silent movement, her sword was out, pointed straight at Falnas. "Step out from there," she hissed, loudly enough to wake the man on the cot. Oddly, he just kept snoring.

Falnas kept still, looking at the woman through the cracks in the cot pile. Maybe she hadn't seen him. Or maybe if he stayed still, she'd think it had just been a trick of the eye.

"If you don't come out, I'm stabbing you right through these cots."

Falnas didn't doubt for a moment that she would. It seemed surrender was the better part of valour. Sighing in disappointment at his own ineptitude, he stood up with his hands held up. "I'm not armed," he whispered.

"Wouldn't make a difference if you were," the woman said back. No, it probably wouldn't. "Walk." She nudged the tip of her sword at the back door. "Outside, move."

Falnas complied, even though he knew she was just leading him outside so she could stab him through the throat unhindered. Fuck, fuck, he'd have to act like he did what she asked, and then hope for an opportunity to distract her or slip away. Falnas went out the door, staying as quiet as he could, and the woman followed him.

Cold rain had started falling, and Falnas complained, "Wonderful. I get to die in wet clothes."

"What have you seen?"

Falnas sighed again and let his shoulders slump. "That you bit the old man and sucked his blood. Please, let's not insult each other by playing mind games."

"Turn around." When Falnas didn't respond immediately, the woman repeated, "Turn around."

This time he did as he was told, and found himself face to face with the dragonslayer. She wasn't that bad-looking, up close. For a Nord at least. Hard features, and icy blue eyes whose pupils reflected the light in pale red. Her cheekbones were high and pronounced, and she had a strong jaw, which was made even more noticeable by her sunken cheeks. Her face was a bit manly, as most Nord faces were, but she wasn't ugly. By Nord standards. Falnas realized it'd probably be the last face he saw.

"You know who I am, right?"

Falnas nodded. "Yes. Arska Gvalhir. You're not exactly... a nobody."

"You are going to keep absolutely, totally, completely fucking quiet about what you just saw. Is that clear?"

Whoa, what? She was going to let him go? This was a game, right? A trick to make him feel hopeful just so she could enjoy stabbing him more. Still, he had to take the chance. "Yes. Clear as crystal. Look, it's not my business what you do at night. And it doesn't look like you're killing anyone, so..."

"Damn right I'm not killing anyone." She chuckled without humour, looking back at the bunkhouse. "Not with what I do here, at least." She let her wary gaze rest on him for a while longer, then lowered her sword. It was a black-bladed thing, slightly curved, with wicked serrations on the back. Not something he felt like getting lodged between his ribs. "I'll let you live," she said. "But you better keep your tongue tied about this."

"I swear," Falnas said solemnly.

'Not sure I can trust a thief on his word," the woman said, nudging her chin at the fabric-wrapped statue Falnas carried. "What's that all about?"

"Oh, that's... uh," saying it was a squabble over protection money would be a bad idea, "a statue I'm stealing back for a client. The owner stole it and my client's been mad with grief and worry that the Nine will turn away from her if I don't retrieve it. So, hence." He hoped the lie was convincing enough.

"Hmm. Well, like I said, keep your tongue tied. Trust me, you'll be dead before anyone believes you."

"I don't doubt it," Falnas said, completely sincere. "I have no desire whatsoever to risk my neck just so I can share some gossip. The Guild's all about discretion, after all."

"Mm. Well, I have to go. Keep your nose clean," she said with a little smirk. So she could show amusement after all. "Have fun repossessing statues."

"Have fun uh... dragonborning," he replied, then watched her walk off into the rainy night.

What a strange encounter that was. Still, he'd spoken to the Dragonborn, and she didn't turn out to be a bad sort.. If he kept this little thing silent, then maybe someday, he could ask her for a little favour or two.

It had been a close one. If that sword-slinging amazon hadn't believed him, his head would be rolling on the flagstones by now. It was a good night to be alive, especially since he could now report back to Brynjolf. He had one pouch of a hundred septims in hand, and two more payments were forthcoming – and Falnas didn't doubt for a second that they would come. It was time to go tell Brynjolf he'd proven his worth, and see what the Guild was really all about.