A man wreathed in shadows

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The following document by the Mzeusian Library is a response to the request made by the Mectasovean government for a document on Mectasove but they gave the Mzeusian Library free reign to decide what it should be on. If you would like to know more about what the Mzeusian Library can do for your nation, click here.

It is rumoured, that among the, narrow, damp, cobbled alleyways of the more industrial cities, there lies a sickness. Its symptoms can be disguised, but not for very long. First, it begins with a meeting in the dark fog, usually a chat follows that, involving a knife of course. After that, some poor souls adapt better than others and the better you adapt to the new situation, the easier you'll find life. Once the disease has gotten hold, it strangles harder and harder. If you don't break free soon, it will kill. Clinging on works, but only for a little while. It is in rare cases that the person can make it in the cut throat world. Many try, many fall.

The disease is a simple one. Some call it Greed, others name it Fear and yet more whisper Extortion and Malice into the air. Whatever it is, there is one man in particular that many say to be behind the rampant destruction it causes. This man is never seen, keeping mainly to the shadowy docks where he orchestrates his dealings. Ships glide silently into port, in the dead of night while the policemen have been paid to look the other way. Most of those ships may carry legal goods but that doesn't stop them from also carrying illegal ones. They unload the cargo, making sure that the goods are safely transferred to the next person. One slip up while working for this man, no matter how minor, is fatal.

On misery and desperation he feasts, luring the poor in to what is for him, just a game. He has set up a nation-wide system of criminals, dabbling in almost every type of illegal activity there is. Some of his employees are discarded the very same day they are hired, if you can call them employees that is. With the simple promises of money, work and food, the poor and homeless flock to him as he provides what their government cannot.

Others in his company are hardened by spending years in the gloom, evading the police. They can rise to better positions but being closer to the boss increases the danger and if you are invited for a walk along the canals, you better ring your family because you can't say no.

It is clear that this is by far the largest gang in the nation, dominating the Mectasovean underworld. A vast criminal network operating in only the blackest corners of the most twisted alleys. The boss himself is made of rumours spread by his enemies and his allies. They say he wears a smooth, plain silver ring on the stub of his index finger. They say half his face is a morass of scars and ruined flesh. They say that he smells of fat Mectasovean cigars and keeps a packet on him at all times.

In pubs you will here the regulars say that he suffered a terrible childhood trauma. A savage beast devoured his parents when they were on holiday in some far off land. Then he was thrown like a rotting apple from foster home to foster home. During this time his hatred for the state grew as they failed miserably to protect him. It wasn't long before he ran away and disappeared, evading the authorities who searched only halfheartedly for him.

You never know when the sickness of human desire will drive you into his employ, but when it does, the first thing you see are the silhouetted figures against the brick wall, knife blades glinting in the moonlight. Escaping that world is nigh impossible but there are those who have done it, it's just a matter of finding them.

Commissioned by Mectasove