The eyes see, the tongue may taste, the ears listen, the nose smells, and the skin feels, but it is through the mind that one interprets what is being sensed. The huge stone towers riddled with glass and crystalline objects shimmered brilliantly, and a wide array of sounds, the sounds of commerce, echoed about while accompanied by a light breeze that snaked through the boulevards, streets, and alleys, and gently caressed the flesh of those who were near.<br/><br/>Like any good city, however, the most impressive, outstanding, overwhelming, and altogether brutal feature of Avaricum was the smell, a stench that did not offend so much as feverishly rape one's nostrils, and unless one had excellent breath control, it would attack the back of their tongue as well. Truly, it was something that Avaricum could be proud of, its smell; it was not even all bad, either, depending upon what district one was in. Markets had a stink of hot grease, pungent herbs, and spices that may have well descended into 'acrid' territory if a whiff was taken at less than ten paces. The Overcity had an ethereal air, but a heavy aroma, one of flowers, perfume, incense, and most of all, arrogance. The Undercity, on the other hand, had perhaps the most diversity of them all, but it was merely in what form the horrific people and activities were going on at the time, most of them carrying the metallic, tangy accent of spilt blood that tainted the air. Apart from that, though, much of the place merely stunk in an indescribable manner. Many would compare describing the smell of the Undercity to describing the taste of salt.<br/><br/>Thankfully for the group of four that the story focuses on, they were not situated in such a wretched place, but were instead inside a building in the Core, where the hustle and bustle of mercantile affairs was, for the most part, muffled out by the thick, clay brick walls. Faint, golden light emanated from the afternoon sun and softly cascaded through a window on the west wall, while in front of the four stood a solitary man. His hair was so short it was almost nonexistent, but that it would have otherwise been a dark, almost scorched umber made the top of his head look like it was blurred with an ebony mist. His eyebrows were shaved- or perhaps burned- off, and replaced with tattoos in intricate patterns that entwined, each line being a different shade of purple or indigo. His almond eyes, the color of earth, shone warmly in the sunlight, and his sharp face's details twisted drastically for something even so small as the smile he greeted the party with, almost as though every fiber of tissue was not only self-aware, but was also aware that it had a job to do.<br/><br/>"Now that all of you are here," said the man, known to essentially everyone as Rashad, folding his arms behind his back, "we can clarify a few of the intentional obscurities left in when your help was called for." From behind his back he drew a poster that had a man's face, one that could have been metaphorically compared to a knife. If there wasn't something that looked sharp, it instead looked as though it was perfectly smooth, his hair slicked back, a thin mouth almost devoid of any kind of lips, and a disturbingly symmetrical mustache-goatee. The sepia and darker inks may have played a part in the undeniably evil aura the picture had, but if there was any sort of accuracy in the depiction, it would be impossible to mistake him for anything but diabolical. "As you know, this here is a wanted man, Gaylord Asselin. Fifty thousand gold pieces are on his head for murder, and another forty thousand are for various sexually-based offenses, including rape, torture, and kidnapping. This is but the surface to be scratched, however, and we cannot allow his true nature to be revealed to the public, for fear that it would strike paranoia unto the people."<br/><br/>The smile faded. "Gaylord is, in fact, a Thrallherd, and happens to be quite mad. Through research of old books of myth, he has discovered what the folks of old called 'necromancy'. He believes that his talent for psychically controlling others is linked to a sort of fictional creature known as a 'vampire', who are infamous in these old stories for their powers of suggestion and supernatural ability to instate victims with desire. Among other things, 'vampires' are known to drink blood, and through it absorb the life force of their prey; we can only assume that he has attempted to do so as well. Many of his psionic abilities reflect this, as he has been known to leave those he allows to survive with their psychic energy depleted. Recently, we had discovered one woman nearly dead from how much he stole from her."<br/><br/>Rashad began to pace slowly. "Gaylord's thrall is known as Chachiuitl Yaotl, a human woman whose homeland is far across the western seas. From what we can tell, she has a religious bent that is rather unusual, and treats battle as a rite unto itself. None of my men have, as of yet, survived an attempt to attack her directly, although the ones who do not engage her have escaped and brought reports of a smattering of her capabilities." Setting the poster onto a nearby desk, he then took hold of a crystal about the size of an orc's thumb, and his eyes glowed white for the briefest of moments before an image was cast from one of the crystal's faces. Onto the wall was projected a morbid scene; blood and gore spattered all over walls in what looked to be an area of the Undercity, with mangled corpses littering the place. Many of them were missing heads, limbs, and in a couple of them, there was evidence that their hearts had been cut out. Counting all of the bits that had been detached, one could estimate that there were the remains of about fifteen men scattered around. "That is what one of our surviving agents had brought back. His right arm, left index finger, and both of his eyes will be sorely missed.<br/><br/>"What I am proposing to you all is that you take it upon yourselves to help bring Gaylord to justice. It would be best to start by sabotaging some of his lesser plans, so as to aggravate him to the point that he eventually slips up. One such plan is that he aims to get his hands upon an ancient tome that is reported to be in a section of the Undercity that has recently been uncovered. Our goal is for you to find it first, and you will be handsomely rewarded if you can do so without causing much of a stir."<br/><br/>Setting the crystal back onto the desk, at which point the image winked out, Rashad stiffened and folded his arms behind his back once more. "I realize it is likely that you all may have some questions, so now is a golden opportunity to voice your concerns," he said, looking rather satisfied with his speech.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>