The Mage's Domain

[Lokkehart]

((OOC: For my first creative post on this forum, I present a little introduction to Malefax and what happened when he got in from the Monday night RP this week. None of this is public knowledge but can be explored further if people get to know him.))

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Monday 6th January 2014 – 23:48

121 Dominion Drive was identical to the other twenty houses in the road, tall and narrow but very long, a design that had been modern in the Victorian era but now appeared cramped to the average estate agent. Its owner had not chosen this place for its looks though, he had chosen it for its location, situated on the outskirts of Ealdwic with a spacious fourth floor and access to the sewers in the basement. David Morgan, known to his friends as ‘Mal’ slid the old fashioned Yale key into the lock and slid open the solid black door, stepping inside before shutting the world out. He took off his warm woollen coat and scarf and hung them next to the door, pausing to look at his reflection in the mirror.

In his mid-thirties, Mal appeared older than he was, mainly due to his lined face and his tendency to frown a lot. The beard wasn’t helping either, he thought to himself as he gave it a scratch. His blue eyes seemed sorrowful and grey had already appeared in his hair that was tied back in a small ponytail. He contemplated a haircut and a shave again, just as he had before going out this evening.

He took the short sword he kept concealed in his coat out and placed it on the side, the lump of twisted hazel that looked almost like a person next to it. The leather bound book from his jacket pocket was put down next to them, the book almost reverentially. The interior of the house was just as old as its outside, old fashioned wallpaper hung from the walls, door frames and furniture carved from a dark wood that seemed to add to the gloom. Mal walked into the kitchen and made himself a drink. The bottle of Dandelion & Burdock was flat but he didn’t mind. He needed to drink something and being in a pub all night had seriously tempted him to break his non-drinking vow. No, he reminded himself, not going down that path again. He knew the darkness of the road he took now, the last thing he needed was to get sucked into the oblivion of alcoholism again.

There was a strange tapping from the floorboards upstairs as if a herd of small animals had run across it. It was followed by a rhythmic tap and echoed down the stairway. Mal finished his drink and made his way up the stairs, recognising the characteristic call of the only other resident in the house. The stairs were narrow and creaked terribly but they were firm as always. He didn’t go up to the fourth floor too often, especially at this time of night when he expected his lodger to be out. However this time she appeared to be in and he knew the tapping on the door to be her calling down to him. He’d known her habits for too long now.

Reaching the top floor, he tapped once at the door. It was out of politeness, she would have heard him coming just as she had heard him return home. There was the noise of several locks sliding across before the simple wooden door opened, dropping a few flecks of paint as it did so.

“David, you look well,” purred the voice from inside.

Mal stood outside in the halls, making out the shape of his lodger beyond. He never entered her room, he would never dare. Not out of fear but of respect. The woman stepped forward slightly, allowing the dim light to illuminate her features. She was dressed in a sumptuous ball gown, the skirts billowing out from an illustrious corset laced in purple and black. It was as if the Victorian house had retained a resident from that time, her skirts almost her width thrice over. She had dark eyes and alabaster skin, an onyx adorned headdress obscuring her hair.

“Lady Charlotte,” smiled Mal, bowing slightly. “You’re looking very fine this evening.”

“Always the gentleman,” replied the Lady. “Where have you been priest? You are normally in the study, deep in thought.”

Before Mal could finish, Charlotte moved forward suddenly, pressing a thin hand to his cheek. Anyone who looked close enough would have been able to see that her black nails were not painted at all but a claw like material that faded into the flesh of her fingers.

“Your aura is radiating!” she gasped. “You have been socialising!” Her smile was broad, revealing that her incisors were sharply pointed. She sighed, happy and relieved.

“Yes I have my lady,” he replied. “I figured that it was about time I went out into the world again.”

“I am pleased for you David,” she said softly, removing her hand from his face and folding it into her lap again. “I worry for you. You should be with your own kind rather than spending time with me.” She looked aside as if hiding a blush.

Mal let his expression settle into its customary frown. “You know my opinions of my own kind my lady: blind, foolish idiots with no direction or purpose. I would far rather enjoy your company. Fortunately, these ones have been touched by Gaia. I have high hopes for them.”

“Then I pray you shall not be disappointed,” smiled Charlotte. “There is still much to learn for you and I worried that you had too little time to do it in. Your kind can be so short lived.” She adopted a pitying expression, one that Mal knew to be genuine.

“Not anymore,” he replied. “All I can hope is that when I reach your age, I can remain as handsome as you are beautiful.”

Charlotte looked sad but said nothing, stepping back beyond the doorway of her room. She went to close the door but stopped, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Were they… Templars?”

Mal nodded his head, his face solemn. “I know you have no love for them,” he stated. “but there is much to learn and their cause is just. I shall not forget my vow to you and your kind though my lady. May the last drop of my blood be spilled before that vow be broken.”

His words seemed to mellow her expression and she retreated into her room silently. “Good night dear knight,” she whispered before the door shut firmly into place.

“Good night my lady,” he replied before returning downstairs. He paused as he reached the bottom, Charlotte’s words coming back to him. As he looked in the mirror again, he realised what he was afraid of: that if he feared disappointing anyone, it was himself.

[Lokkehart]

((WARNING: This post contains adult themes. Please do not read on if you are easily offended or of a sensitive nature. Mods, if the nature of this post pushes acceptable boundaries, please feel free to remove it.))


He wondered if he was being too cruel too fast. His victim lay there restrained, breathing heavily as he tightened the bindings. Mal had been lost in thought most of the day, his intuition running wild. He knew something was wrong and he was damned sure that he was going to get to the bottom of the matter.

“So you lied to me,” he muttered as he strode around the table. “You know that I don’t take kindly to that.”

The victim shook her head vigorously, trying to show him that what he believed wasn’t true. Mal was having none of it. He had no intention of letting her go just yet. His mind raced, trying to pin down the annoying thought. He saw the symptom, the sudden lack of rats in the Ealdwic sewers but he couldn’t follow the trail of logic that would lead him to the cause. He had to know the truth. Time for more extreme measures.

“Have I ever told you how good I am with a knife?” he muttered, picking up one of the blades from the tray next to the bench. Its wickedly sharp blade scraped across the metal of the tray with a distinctive screech. The woman on the table flinched noticeably, turning in the direction of the noise but unable to see. She was blindfolded after all.

“This one is one of my favourites,” he commented, crouching by his victim’s sweating brow. “It’s extremely sharp, so sharp in fact that I have run it across someone’ neck and it’s taken them at least a minute for them to realise that their throat has been cut.”

The rats were an obvious clue, they never stuck around when there was trouble. His usual informants though were silent, too silent in fact. The whole thing stunk of a cover-up, his contacts told to stay quiet or leave town, as desperate to leave as the rats had been. Mal had taken to extreme measures to find out what was going on, even if it meant resorting to torture. He took no pleasure in it but it had become a necessity. He knew the Templars would frown on his use of it but his instincts were rarely wrong in this respect, something big was happening. He had no time to be subtle.

With a sudden movement, he stood up and leaned over his victim before slowly placing the cold blade of the knife against her collarbone. He left it there, its wicked edge glinting in the light. The woman tried to flinch but Mal held her hair tightly.

“Uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned his bound victim. “You know I told you how sharp it was. One wrong movement and…”

He left the sentence hanging, letting her finish it on her own. The knife was warming against her skin, the blade barely touching her neck.

“Now,” he resumed in a calmer voice, “perhaps you can tell me the truth?” If he could work out why the cover up was happening, he felt he may have a better chance of preparing for whatever was occurring beneath the sewers. The residents there were a part of his history and he knew that if he failed them, he’d be failing Lady Charlotte as well. Screw the consequences, he needed the answers now!

“Mmmmph!” came the voice. Mal turned sharply, watching the woman on the table. She was ready to talk at last. He was pleased. This had been a welcome distraction.

With a nonchalant movement of his wrist, he unsnapped the fastening on the gag and it fell away from her face. She breathed deeply for a few seconds, letting air rush back into her lungs.

“I’m… sorry!” she rasped, her throat dry. “I’ll never… disappoint you… again…. Master!”

Mal sighed, relieved. He worked swiftly around her, loosening the bindings so that she could move her limbs before gently sitting her up and removing the blindfold with tremendous tenderness. His smile was the first thing she saw. She had been sweating and her eyes were watering, smudging her make up. Mal took a tissue and patiently dabbed away her tears before handing her a glass of cool water.

“Better?” he asked, grateful for it to be over. The woman nodded.

“I loved the knife,” she smiled, climbing off of the bench. “That was very…. Mmmm!” She sighed, smiling to herself at the memory.

Mal grinned, pleased with himself as she dressed and tidied herself up.

“Same time next week?” she purred as she stood by the door.

“Of course,” replied Mal, trying not to let his mind slip back to his current worry. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Me neither,” replied the woman before leaning in to kiss his newly shaven cheek. “Later lover.” With that, she was gone, leaving Mal to his thoughts.

The rats were just the start, he thought. Soon other things would be moving and that would get someone’s attention. Someone who might not be so easy to pacify and that would be where to look next. Mal put his tools away, glancing at the blunt knife he had used to intimidate Jade. He smiled as he looked at his reflection in the polished blade. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad at torture after all…