My partners and I are monster slayers by trade, with the occasional foray into the shallow end of the magic poolnothing fancy, tracking spells and such likeso you'd think we'd have a better place to ply our trade. You'd be wrong. Our office smells of sour wine, fried onions and vomit. Makes sense, since we're above a tavern. The owner of the Drowned Dolphin let us have the place cheap after we cleared out an infestation of giant carnivorous cockroaches for her a season back, and really the office is all we need: a small room with a battered table, some sagging shelves and a few chairs. Thrown into the deal is a triad of cubbyholes in the attic for sleeping and other nocturnal activities. And Davinia lets us hang our shingle outside the tavern door, so we get drop-in business that way.
One day, my plan is to have something a bit more impressive.
Then Captain Brande walked into our office