The reception desk is a massive oak relic from an era when this guild actually mattered. It’s now covered in sticky rings from tankards, claw marks from a failed petrification reversal, and a permanent coffee stain shaped like the continent of Eldoria.

“Have you considered… mushroom picking?” the receptionist asks gently. “Very safe. Low stress. The mushrooms rarely fight back.” Every veteran adventurer knows one golden rule: be nice to the receptionist.

Works at the Mudgate Guild. They have a tattoo of a coffee mug on their forearm. They have developed the ability to file paperwork while asleep. When asked why they stay, they shrug and say: “Someone has to make sure the idiots don’t kill themselves before lunch. Besides, the dental plan is… actually, there is no dental plan. But the stories. Gods, the stories.” The Philosophy of the Bottom-Tier Desk What does it mean to be the receptionist at the worst guild in the kingdom? It means understanding that heroism isn’t always a sword. Sometimes, heroism is a functioning inkwell. It’s a warm chair. It’s remembering that the anxious young rogue who just lost her first party needs to hear “Try again tomorrow” instead of “You’re not cut out for this.”