The underground headquarters of the Order of Influence were abuzz with activity (no doubt of the evil sort), lit by the dulcet, tawny glow of rusted bronze oil sconces. Stalwart figures moved purposefully through the labyrinthine passages, casting aberrant, gangly shadows that danced on the rough-hewn cave walls. Stalactites hung precariously from the ceiling, dripping coalescing moisture into the stagnant pools below.

Amidst the scene, a figure swathed in dark amethyst robes paced restlessly, his gloved hands gesturing wildly as he muttered to himself.

“Why, oh why, is this so difficult?” He lamented, turning abruptly to face you, the Order’s esteemed alchemist. “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, but this infernal mechanism—” He gestured emphatically at a tangle of obscure arcane machinery and furiously bubbling concoctions that seemed to be on the brink of chaos. “—is refusing to cooperate.”

His fingers twitched, as though itching to tear the offending mechanism apart, and shot you a glare beneath his masked face, ostensibly daring you to offer any counsel that wasn’t drenched in flattery.