About the Syndicate

Our goal is to create a fun and dynamic atmosphere for it's member detectives. We will work hard to create friendly competition and a sense of community for Sleuth. The detectives that pass through our halls will learn the skills that will help them be better detectives in the future.

Founders

R Anstett

He woke sore from sleeping in his chair again.

Looking up at the wall, stare at the mural of the clock painted on it; "best alarm clock I ever bought, wakes me up at the same time every day."

He patted his pockets, notebook, blade, flask, everything was there. He glanced over at the pile of papers on his desk. Where did those come from? Maybe a little bird dropped them off in the middle of the night.

>>>>>

Who wants what where?

  

Rhiemma Moon

She looked out the window at the distant bustle of the city contrasted with the calm serenity of the old Library and school. A quiet smile graced her lips as she thought, 'Home. I'm finally home!' The exuberance of the first couple of days was subsiding into her usual quiet calm. She'd grown in the weeks she'd been away, ess shy and more sure of herself. Her sense of humor and propensity for mischief had grown as well. Well, perhaps not mischief per se, but her sense of adventure was alive and well.

Thinking of adventures reminded her that she had not yet had the time to fully explore the building. That would have to be remedied. There could be any number of puzzles and treasures to be found down there. She had a sense that there could be not a little danger as well. Prissy gave a wide berth to the one doorway that led to who knows where.

She also wanted to spend a little more time at the pool getting to know it's denizen. If the creature was what she suspected it was, it would be a very interesting friendship.
With a last look at the distant bustle she decided it was time to get down to work. There were cases to solve and treasures to find. She'd have time to daydream later.

  

John Q. Publik

John Q. Publik was born in Kilkenny, Ireland in the year 1899. When he was five, his parents immigrated to the United States and settled in New York City. They made their living by opening an Irish home-cooking restaurant across the street from the neighborhood bank. At the age of fourteen, John began working there as a waiter after school. It was on a slow Monday night, not long after he started, that the local mob boss came into the restaurant and demanded that John's parents pay him for "protection." They refused and the don murdered them on the spot. John had been in the kitchen washing silverware during the episode, and when he heard all the commotion he snuck towards the dining room to eavesdrop on the conversation. Just as he reached the door, he heard the two shots ring out. And as he threw open the doors, the only things he saw were the silhouette of the don walking outside the front window and his parents lying on the floor in pools of their own blood.

When the police arrived, John was sitting at a booth against the back wall. He had become deaf, dumb, and blind to the world around him. Having no other relatives in the country, John was taken home by Patrick Flannigan, one of the older Irish beat cops that frequented his parents' restaurant and had also come to New York from Kilkenny. It was weeks before John came out of his trance, and when he did he swore that one day he would track down the criminal that had killed his parents and bring him to justice. Patrick began to teach John everything that he needed to know to become a detective. He studied under the beat cop day in and day out for the next five years. And then suddenly one evening, Patrick Flannigan was shot and killed while trying to stop a robbery at the bank across the street from where the restaurant had been.

John, now nineteen years old, hit the street. He survived only on what he could earn with his charm and wit. Every once in a while, he would pick up a lead on the mob boss, but they all fizzled out before giving him any useful information. A couple of years went by, and on the anniversary of his parents' death, he went to eat at the restaurant that had changed hands many times since his parents had owned it. As he left, he noticed that there was some remodeling being done to the bank across the street. The bank's sign was being taken down and replaced with another that read "Omega Detective Agency" along with a second sign in the front window that said "Now Recruiting." John wlaked into the old bank, and introduced himnself to the secretary, knowing that becoming part of an agency as large as this one would surely open up to him a world of information and contacts that previously would have been inaccessible. And he could use that to find the don and bring him in. After a short interview with the directors, John was shown his desk and began his life as a professional private investigator. At last, justice would be his.

 

Breitkat

Hi! I'm Breitkat (pronounced Bright-Cat). I got that name because my dad named me for my mother, who died soon after I was born, and because I have a cat (or rather, Her Highness owns me). I was raised as a diplomat's kid, and my dad took me all over the world while he did his work as a Scientific Emissary (don't ask me what that means, he won't tell me!!). Anyway, I got to meet lots of really interesting people and do lots of things that most other kids never even dream of (like riding a camel and speaking Gaelic).

After university, I tried getting a regular job like everyone else, but that lasted about twenty minutes (for some strange reason, I just didn't seem to fit in). So I decided to go back on the road and work for an international newspaper, the World Herald. Every so often I help out some of Dad's friends when they need some information or someone found, or even the occasional murder or other intrigue solved. One day, a private investigator contacted me and asked if I would like to help him too. I said why not, and here I am.

Speaking of favors, probably the most unique one involved my helping the Maharajah of Bengal a couple of years ago. I managed to track down his Ruby-Studded Reading Glasses (the poor man can't see a thing without them). In return for my 'brilliance' (I didn't think it was that big a deal, but okay...), His Majesty presented me with a small multi-colored kitten. He told me she was a sub-species of the Bengal tiger, and she would only get to be about fifty pounds big, but she would still have the spirit of a tiger and would protect me wherever I went. I couldn't pronounce the name he gave her so I tried an approximation and called her Missy.

She goes everywhere with me and is just adorable. She's very well-trained, but she does have something of an obsession with feathers and shoes (I have no clue why!). Everyone falls in love with her as soon as they lay eyes on her (distant yell, "YYEOW!"). Well, almost everybody. Missy, how many times do I have to tell you, don't chew on the director??!!! (distant even louder yell, NNNNNOOOOO!!!!!") Or the director's shoes!!!! Do you have any idea how much custom-made rattlesnake cowboy boots cost??? For that matter, do I have any idea how much custom cowboy boots cost?? Oh Missy...

(group chorus of shouts, "BAD KITTY!!")

 

Tinuviel

The first to arrive in Cairo.