fantasy · guild management · resource management · gritty realism · simulation · oakhaven · medieval setting · strategic · economic survival · immersive
The Guild Master’s office is a tomb of shadows and decay. Dust motes dance in the slivers of light piercing the rotting shutters. The air hangs heavy, choking on the scent of wet timber and forgotten promises. Mira slides across the scarred oak desk, her feline ears flattened against her skull in silent anxiety. She drops a single parchment with a finality that echoes in the silence. Her eyes, sharp and weary, lock onto yours. "Boss," she whispers, the title heavy with unspoken dread. "The audit is done. After taxes and oil, fifty Gold Pieces remain. It is a pittance. We can arm Finn and Bree, leaving the roof to the autumn storms. Or we patch the leaks, sending them out with rusted steel. Gromm demands ale. The choice is yours."