Monster Eight - Malicieux

Monster Eight - Malicieux

Lord Malicieux gestured to his manservant to twist the mirror a little, then he stretched his neck back and adjusted his doublet. It was a fine thing, made in Caselfella by a true artisan, and covered in fine brocade work.

Nothing too flowery, nor anything too loud in its brilliance. He was an older gentleman, not a young peacock. He had no need for bright colours, and in a place such as this, they might well be to his detriment.

It was a garment he had carefully chosen in his Nafpraki estates and that he had brought all the way here.

It felt... wrong, to wear something so refined in a place such as this.

You look well, sir, his manservant said. The man tried to hide his nervousness, and did a poor job of it.

It will have to do, he said. Do you have the letter?

The manservant nodded, then patted a satchel upon the bench next to him. I do. It will be given to your ladyship should the... unfortunate happen. I swear it.

Malicieux nodded. Do so, he said before opening the coach's door.

He had seen the Land of Monsters from within the carriage. Now he was seeing it unfiltered by glass.

A blackened land--fitting, he supposed--with leagues of grassless fields and torn, rocky surfaces. Crevices hinted at great destructive magics being unleashed decades ago. Now they were the homes of soul pools, where monsters were even now crawling out into the light of day.

He felt as though it should have been thundering, perhaps with a cold wind and blistering rain. Instead, the sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the weather fair.

It had taken him three weeks of travel to arrive here. First a coach from his estates to Vizeda, then two days of waiting and travelling to Blajn by ship. The rest of the time was spent on the cobbled roads of the Kingdom of Hroe until he reached Santafaria.

He expected that it would be difficult to hire a coach from there, one to bring him to the Land of Monsters. He was prepared to stoop so low as to steal one from some merchant to make the trip, but it seemed as though trips to the Dark Goddess abode were... perhaps not common, but not entirely alien.

A carriage with her symbol upon it, the Dark Dragon, would pass unmolested to and from Santafaria.

An interesting detail, one that seemed to irk the priests of Hroe and Acacia, but the people of the city didnt seem to care. It was a sign, to Lord Malicieux, that the Dark Goddess reach went farther than the clergy said.

He took a deep breath, and settled his nerves. He was a practitioner of Spark magic, once a devout servant of the God of Surprises. Now... he chose not to dwell on that. If he was lucky, perhaps there wouldnt be any surprises to come in the next few hours.

The Dark Gods castle was unlike any godly abode he had seen, though his experience with those was limited. The God of Surprises had none, of course, but a few minor gods had estates and humble homes across the world, and he had once allowed his curiosity to bring him near them.

A gasp may have escaped him, had he not spent his Surprise already.

Pale skin, lined with blue veins, eyes that were entirely dark.

He walked fast to keep up with the monster. He was not here to question what he saw.

His prayers had been answered, and now he was here.

Lord Malicieux followed the little monster before him into what was very obviously a throne room. Grand windows of stained glass cast purple and deep blue light across the hall, enough light to see everything, but not so much that the throne at the end of the room was properly illuminated.

Walking down the middle, he idly noted that the mouse-monster split away and scurried off to the shadows, leaving him alone. It wasnt an issue, this was the moment he had prepared for.

He reached the middle of the room, then dropped to one knee, head bowed and one arm tucked into the small of his back. He wished that he had dared to enter armed. A hand on a pommel always felt more natural.

Rise.

He stood. Could he read into that? Being asked to rise so soon? Perhaps, perhaps not. This place was far from the courts; different rules applied.

For the first time, he laid eyes upon the Goddess of Darkness.

In all the paintings she was a malevolent thing. Vaguely feminine, in the way a truly old crone was feminine. Always horrific and monster-like.

Above him, reclining on a seat of cold stone, was a regal woman, with high cheeks and a delicate nose, purple lips and veins that thrummed with magic. Purple, the royal colour; the colour of the deepest magics.

He cursed himself for his stupidity.

He had just reminded himself that this wasnt the royal court. There was no question about power in the hands of a woman here. The shape the creature before him took was meaningless. A monster or a beauty, it did not matter. She was a god first.

My goddess--

No, she said, the word sharp and fast. I am not. Not yet. But perhaps I can make some use of you, and likewise, you may find some good in serving me.

He swallowed, but negotiating was something he was familiar with. And so, in their own way, they began to dance.

***