Outside, the well-crafted sign, emblazoned with the acronym and words “S.P.I. – Sharn Private Investigation” clattered in the wind and rain, making an awful noise throughout the building itself. It was always raining in Sharn, Michael remarked to no one in particular. It was maddening. He couldn’t believe it had already been 6 months since he went into business for himself, hoping to use his honed skills in the private sector. But, nothing interesting had turned up; a few unfaithful spouses here and there, a missing person or two – certainly, they fell into the purview of what he was capable off but… Michael was restless.
Amidst the rain pattering against the windows of his building, and the relentless racket of the sign outside, he heard something else. A soft slap against glass, some bit of debris sticking against his back office window. Half-hoping it would provide him with another distraction, Michael rose, approached the glass, and found it obscured by an errant bit of parchment. Opening the window, he pulled the paper inside. It was heavily damaged from the storm outside, sloughing off the window in pieces as he dragged it off, but still remained legible, albeit torn.
Placing the soggy parchment on his desk, he gingerly reassembled it, like a puzzle. He was displeased to find it to be an advertisement. “Deathsgate Adventuring Guild!” it proclaimed “Join our ranks to explore the vast wildernesses of Khorvaire and the wilds of Xen’drik for untold adventures and riches!” He scoffed at the pamphlet, rolling it up into an oversized spit-ball, tossing it into a nearby bin. There were more adventures in the city of Sharn than the world over, if only you knew where to find it, he thought.
And it struck him. That was it. Storming out of his office, to the lobby, he approached his secretary, a young half-elf girl who was referred to him by a family friend.
“Juliet,” he began, “Juliet, listen hon, would you be a doll and get the preliminary paperwork for registering an official adventuring guild.”
“Uh huh,” Juliet replied, half-bored, half-distracted, “Shore thing, Mikey.”
“And contact the Sivis house,” he continued, “I’m going to want to put out advertisements as well.”
A bit more interested now, Juliet looked up and asked in her heavy Southern Brelish accent, “Huh. What brought this awn, Mikey? Got an itch for adventohin’ alla sudden?” She stood, getting ready to put on her robe and heavy hat.
“Just a gut feeling,” Michael beamed, “been in the business as long as I have, you have to go with your gut.”
“Awright, Mikey,” Juliet sighed, “so long as you’he shore ‘bout this.”
“Never been more sure about anything in my life.”