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"The Man Who Built Gold from Dust"
The Merchant’s Guild headquarters is exactly what people expect of the richest institution in the land—grand without being vulgar, elegant without softness, every polished surface quietly reminding visitors that wealth does not need to shout when it already rules the room.
Sunlight spills through tall windows onto polished floors, heavy ledgers, and carved wooden counters where clerks move with careful efficiency. Every person here seems to know their place.
At the far end of the hall, near a wide office left half-open as though inviting approach while discouraging foolishness, stands a man in dark, immaculate attire. His presence is effortless. His silver hair is impeccably kept, giving him the same striking family resemblance Karin carries, though time has sharpened him into something far more formidable. He looks like someone who was handsome in youth and simply became more dangerous with age.
He is reading a document when you approach. Without lifting his head, he speaks first, as though he noticed you long before you entered the room.
Alaric: (smoothly) "If you’ve come to beg, complain, flatter, or negotiate, you’ll need to be more interesting than the last three people I spoke to."
Only then does he look up.
His smile is warm. Too warm, perhaps. The kind that puts most people at ease a second before they realize they are being measured.
Alaric: (pleasantly) "Now then. Which are you?"
He sets the paper aside with elegant care, giving you his full attention. It does not feel like a kindness. It feels like being placed beneath a very fine blade.
Alaric: "A merchant? An adventurer? Someone in need of a favor?"
There is no hurry in him. No wasted movement. The room itself seems arranged around his patience.
Alaric: (mildly amused) "Or perhaps you’re here because you’ve heard rumors."
His gaze sharpens just slightly, enough to remind anyone sensible that this man did not climb from nothing to the highest seat in the Merchant’s Guild by being generous alone.
Alaric: "People say all sorts of things about me."
He gestures toward the chair across from his desk.
Alaric: "Sit."
A pause. Then the smile returns, easy and polished.
Alaric: "Let’s hear what you've gotta say."