Lord Chembryl stood in the middle of an empty warehouse.  How sad it was that, when he stopped to think about it, it probably took months of planning just to stand here in an empty warehouse.

The Thieves Guild had their fingers everywhere.  They were strongest in the crime world, but also had various levels of influence on the docks, in the adventurers Guild, in law enforcement, in the churches, in the justice system, in legitimate businesses, basically everywhere money changed hands or labor could be blackmailed.

Insidious.  Pervasive.  And smart enough to play weak when they were at their strongest they’d ever been.  For a bunch of criminals, they could bank their greed for a future day.  They were patient and long-thinking.  Probably run by a damn elf or something.

War was coming.  It might be contained to this city, but it was going to be brutal.  Rooting out the guild was a dream for fools, but Lord Chembryl wanted to at least prune the Nine Hells out of them.  When he was done, would the gains have been worth the cost?  He hoped so.  He hoped that the gains could be built upon by future generations.  He knew the damage the Thieves would do to him and the city in the short-term would not be worth it.  He knew he’d be ousted from the Council at some point.  He knew he likely would be jailed for moving against the Thieves.  But this wonderful city he grew up in, and raised a family in, was turning into a sewer.  And the fulcrum point to turn it back around was slowly moving so far away that if something wasn’t done soon, there would be no fulcrum point.

His wife was gone now.  His eldest had been an honest guard besieged between a rock and a hard place almost each action he took – until he became too large an obstacle for the Thieves and they simply removed him.  Quietly, but efficiently.  His parents had passed several years ago.  He, after decades of being easily leveraged, was in a position now where most levers couldn’t budge him.

And then Heeno contacted him.  Like a drop of justice from the gods.  Heeno, a man well connected in the Thieves Guild and, for reasons he kept to himself, was feeding him inside information.  Mountains of it.  Extortion rings.  Tunnel systems.  Safe houses.  Bought judges.  Corrupt guards.  Not everything, but enough to make Chembryl think a window of opportunity had been swung wide if he were committed enough.

Shock and Awe, a guard’s favorite weapon, was usually useless against the guild.  They melted and reformed.  They struck killing blows into organizations rather than street brawling.

A plan sprouted in Chembryl that he could not shake.  Complex.  Dangerous.  Delicate.

He gave his war one chance in 12.  Good enough to make the stab.

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You will either be recruited, or pressured, or volunteer, to be a part of Lord Chembryl’s war against the Guild.  Your race and class will not matter to him near as much as your commitment.  He needed resources.  He needed secrecy.  He needed luck.  He needs you.