The Harbourmaster's office is a ramshackle building that leans drunkenly out over the waterfront. Inside, a bevy of clerks are rushing back and forth, screaming at each other and waving papers. When you can finally catch one's attention, he directs you to a side room, which is comparatively dim and quiet.

The room is dominated by a long table, draped with white cloth embroidered with an alternating pattern of shields and anchors. There are three chairs, but only the far left one is occupied, by a thin, elderly man scratching on parchment. As you enter, he motions you to one of the semicircle of facing chairs, rings a small bell, and continues writing, ignoring you.

After a few moments, the door opens and a large man with a bushy reddish-black beard lumbers in, closely followed by a thin man in a blue robe covered with arcane and elemental symbols. "Well met," says the man as he takes the center chair. "I'm Cap'n Torian, one of th' Guild's senior merchant captains. This here are Weathermaster Alanax, and Senior Clark Rutherby. Thank 'e for answering th' summons."

Alanax sits down beside him and idly twirls his neatly pointed black beard. "We'll be evaluating your application," he says, "But if you don't mind, we'll wait and see if anyone else turns up before briefing you. No sense in repeating ourselves."

Rutherby grunts and keeps writing.