- "I haven't gotten that far yet"
The process of joining is almost as random as how Ignace conducts himself and can include any of the options:
- Drinking contest vs Ignace Poirier and Hester
- Mysterious Task
- Test of adaptivity and patience?
There are none... officially.
Life in the Guild
- Always have a drink in hand while within the Chateau.
- Stay out of Hester's room.
After the current Primo Uomo (name) decided to pull the Nobile Heirs from the Chateau, the guild turnover rate there had been high. Year after year it seemed like the guild that had tried to start up in that building wasn’t the same when the Annual Review came about, which caused no end to the frustrating paperwork the PU’s aides.
The townsfolk quickly grew accustomed to the failures of these guilds and within a year or two barely noticed their coming and goings. They began self-governing themselves and any serious transgressions were brought up to their Battaglia representative. Part of the problem was that The Approver of the guild for Chanson Isolée rarely took the time to actually read any paperwork presented to him. He had found, through a bit of sly manipulation, that he could get paid ever so slightly more for approving these types of forms over ordinary guilds. Thus he would only briefly skim the forms before taking great joy in rubber stamping those who didn’t catch his fancy and applying his far less worn stamp to those who did.
On an undisclosed day, the 9th form of that day they were to review was woefully underfilled; the idiots didn’t even put a name for their guild. How such lackadaisical paperwork made it past even the initial inspection baffled The Approver, but being thorough (one of their only redeeming qualities) they read the form in whole. This absolute disregard for regulations perturbed The Approver to no end, and something extra had been scrawled in where there was no appropriate field for! A special note at the bottom of the page caught their eye as it was starred and signed by the initial form inspector and simply read “see attachment.” Flipping the parchment over and ruffling through the entirety of the stack yielded no referenced attachment, which infuriated The Approver even more and they practically roared for their top aide.
After a blustery verbal tirade bordering on abuse for losing paperwork, the aide finally chirped up and asked what was missing, albeit in a woozy manner as if they hadn’t been paying much attention. The stamper jabbed at the parchment menacingly with their finger, almost putting a hole through the added note. The aide almost missed the beat, before a smile drew across their face and they asked The Approver to “wait just a moment,” and they nearly stumbled out of the room. This particular approver was used to such actions, as they enjoyed inciting fear into their underling and watching them trip over their feet to hurry out.
What they weren’t used to, however, was having a cask rolled into their office. The lid of the cask had the word “Attachment” very crudely etched into the top of it, as if by a dagger. There was, unsurprisingly, a look of shock and skepticism on The Approver’s face. Still, they had a duty, and the idiot aide wouldn’t stop grinning, so after having them fetch a glass they tried the ale. As they did, they hid a look of genuine delight from their face, instead opting for strong neutrality as they circled the cask. In contrast to the crudely daggered word, along the front of it was very neatly and carefully painted ‘J.V.’ “The name of the ale,” the aide chimed in helpfully. “They sent us 5 other barrels, with different names as well. ‘Amontillado, Zhivago, Schopenhauer -” they were cut off there and motioned to bring in the rest.
It was one of the best days in the office the aides had ever had. Even The Approver seemed to break their facade and show brief signs of enjoyment. As if seeing their boss actually having a good time wasn't baffling enough, they found that their glasses would constantly be refilled when near empty if ignored. No one was quite sure if there was sorcery at work, or if they were already at the point of losing their short term memory. The Approver paid no heed to this and found that while these brews were delicious and had a good chance of selling well, the paperwork still perturbed them. As a cruel joke they approved the guild, but penned in the name “Candidature 9” for their guild name, rather than give them a chance to resubmit the paperwork.
That rock gut one that I need to remember the name of
Hamilton - smooth, 4% ABV, Citrus forward. Has a bit of bite at the end of it, a snap of an aftertaste that brings attention to drink each sip (differs per person and sometimes per sip.)
Hauptmann - 9% ABV, A rewarding grapefruit like sour, known to lift the spirits of even the most sour puss, ironically.