A Mage and a Whore

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Well, I wanted to work on my other story, but this one has been knocking at my brain lately, so here you go.

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     This story starts like many have before it. A dark and hooded figure walking down a filthy street stops and enters a building time forgot but age did not. This was the worst part of the city. The man in the cloak had only been in town an hour or so, but he could tell that much. Spider-webs, rats, flies, cockroaches, diseased alley cats and starving children, this neighborhood had them all. The building he had entered looked as bad from the inside as the outside, but smelled of sour perfume and flesh rather than garbage and urine. This was the lowest kind of whorehouse, with the lowest kinds of whores. Looking around at the sad lot on display, the newcomer could see scars aplenty, missing teeth, eyes, and even limbs. The girls reeked of disease and despair and were lined with age and abuse.

    Some brothels had courtesans, women who choose the life because they were good at it, beautiful and talented, paid for their company as much as for the carnal delights they offered. Women who could make a mint and would retire long before time took its due on their lovely bodies. Some brothels had prostitutes, women who were lazy and for them sex was better than getting a real job. Or maybe they had no other talents. In any case they brought in good pay and had pretty heads with little inside them and no thoughts of the future. This brothel? It had slaves. Women who life had dealt a poor had. Objects to be thrown around as one wished. Desperate shells of human beings who humiliated themselves daily to stay alive. Or perhaps they just went through the motions until their bodies just gave out on them.

     The hooded man was not fond of such places, and regretted that he must do business with an owner who would take what he was paid and no whore in his care would see a bit of it. Still, the stranger could not do business anywhere else. His kind was not exactly look well upon, and no pimp or madam with any shred of decency would give a girl to him willingly. So he had no choice but to go to a place with no shred of decency, where money meant more then morals. He needed a body tonight and could not afford to be picky about it.

    The girls all cringed and pulled back as he approached the man who looked to be in charge. They knew what he was. Even their lives had not deadened them to fear entirely. He cursed silently to himself. It was getting harder and hard to find willing bodies. Any girl he did not have to drag out forcefully would be good enough and he wasn’t even sure he would find that here.

    The merchant of despair seemed hesitant to do business. He was slightly concerned about one of his whores being sent to her death. A handful of silver changed his mind. There were plenty of replacements to be found out on the streets, after all. What was one broken plaything between businessmen?

    The whoremonger spread his arm expansively, gesturing to the room of terrified woman. “Take yer pick.” He suggested.

    The man shook his head. “I would rather one pick me.” His reply was soft, but could be heard clearly by all present. The girls shuffled awkwardly and hung their heads. Finally a rail thin child stepped forward. Her hair was frizzy, red, and poorly sheared. She probably had lice recently. Her arms were bruised deeply, and she had a hacking cough. She approached the man wordlessly. She kept her eyes to the ground except to glance up at him once. Her expression was one of false bravery. She was doing this to protect the others, the closest thing to family she had. That was good enough for him. He took her by the hand and led her out.

 

     The hooded man’s name was Lycengel. His kind was a rare and much feared species because of their aptitude with the dark arts. They were called the Geno. The Geno each lived very long lives and rarely mated. In fact, they rarely came across each other. They lived solitary lives at one with the destructive elements they shaped and wielded. Humans rarely, if ever, saw them. They always recognized them, however. Even the smallest child knew to fear the demon spawn, the fire eaters, the storm riders, the Geno.

    For this reason Lycelgel often wondered how he had been talking into traveling across the ‘civilized’ world with a pack of humans would liked him little more than the cringing whore he had brought back to his wagon. They had needed him. They still did. Enough to risk the torture and death they had been warned of as children. They offered him money, gems, comforts beyond his wildest dreams. Anything he needed.

    He still wasn’t sure why he had agreed.

    These people, these self styled ‘heroes,’ were after a Geno-made collar that was said to be the key to the gates to Utopia. It had been found recently by a king in the Ariel Mountains. The area was rich with mines and the ancient magical relic had been dug up on accident. Unfortunately everyone who had tried to touch it had turned to dust. Only a select few could handle the thing. Lycengel could have told anyone that for nothing. All the ancient Geno-made items of power would destroy all but a specific few, and each specific few was different for each item. It prevented anyone person from having them all, or any one family from keeping one to themselves.

    He had told the adventures he could contain it so it could be moved, but no used. He could even determine after observing the collar who would or would not be able to handle it. He could tell them nothing without looking at it, so they were forced to bring him along.

    Apparently the rush to retrieve the collar was because the king who had obtained it was determined to use it to control Utopia. Lycengel knew that such a thing was impossible, and that the gates of Utopia nothing less than portals to an ironically named minor hell. Still, the mad king was forcing thousands of his own people, and captives from foreign lands as well, to each touch the collar in turn, so he could find the one to wield the thing for him. The death count was rising fast, and even a recluse like Lycengel was willing to do his part to stop senseless genocide. Hell, the Geno would probably be blamed for it, when history looked back on the incident. Geno… genocide… that was probably where the name came from. Lysengel didn’t know, it was before his time.

 

    The two arrived at Lycengel’s wagon. The long procession from town to town as the group made its way to the Ariel mountain range was made in only the highest comfort for the group’s respected mage. Actually the cart was cramped and uncomfortable, but it was hard to complain when everyone else went by foot or by horseback. It seemed like a friendly gesture, but it was plain the small room set up in the lone wagon was more to keep the Geno separate from the rest of the group than anything else. And of course there was no need to try and check out a room in a local hotel when Lycengel had all the comforts he could need right in their merry little caravan.

    He hauled the girl up the steps to the wagon and set her on his hard bed. She curled up protectively, but said nothing. Her eyes were watery, but she was not yet crying.

    Lycengel turned his back to her and prepared the room for the necessary ritual. He cleared the floor and revealed the outline of a mage’s circle in charkole. He lined it with small crystals from a drawer, and then sprinkled it with some sort of sand. As he worked he made conversation. “My name is Lycengel. You may call me Lycen, if you wish. What is your name?”

    “A-Adeline.” She stammered. Her voice was slightly hoarse, but filled with the same façade of bravery.

    He stepped towards her and brushed her face with his hand. “Tell me you flaws.” He whispered. His voiced was edged with magic. Adeline felt herself overflowing with words as her response streamed out of her mouth uncontrollably.

    “I’m the daughter of another whore who died before I was old enough to know her name. I had lice last month and I think they are still there. I think I may have them in my pubic hair as well. You paid far too much for me and I will probably make you sick. There is something burning down there I cannot get rid of. I have ugly, purple scars on my stomach and back from being stabbed. I bite my nails and I am really bad at blow jobs. Actually I am bad at all of it. I am pretty much completely worthless.” Tears rolled down her face, but she continued without missing a beat, “I get beat pretty much every night for not making my quota and my nose is crooked from when it was broken a few years ago. I am too skinny and my dress is padded in the front. I have burn scars on my knees and the palms of my hands. I think I have the flu. I will probably die within the ye-”

    “Enough.” Lycen commanded softly, and the whore fell silent, still crying. “Take off your clothes and lay down in the circle, on your back. Make sure you are completely inside.”

    Adeline obeyed, of her own free will this time. She was dead anyway, what more could be done to her? As she lay down she prayed silently that Maggie, another whore who had taken care of her most of her life, would be okay. The one-armed woman was older, but very tough, with a surprising number of regulars. Maybe one of them would take her away from that foul place.

    Lycen sprinkled her with more of that sand and then began to chant softly. His movement, his voice, everything about him was soft, smooth, and gentle. Far from being reassuring, it was downright creepy. Adeline squeezed her eyes closed.

    He eyes opened again when she felt the warm waves licking at her arms and legs. She was on fire! She flinched, but did not get up. It was not hot enough to be fire, but it sure looked the part. She saw the red-hot flames dance around her, completely engulfing her. She shut her eyes again.

    Stinging pain raced along her body. She could no longer move her limbs. She spasmed on the ground, writhing her torso back and forth. She may have screamed. When the pain subsided she was too exhausted to notice. Lycen lifted her from the ground, brushed her off, and placed her on the bed. He stroked her short hair until she cracked open her eyes.

    “There now,” he soothed, “it’s all over with, you’re alright.”

    Adeline groaned and pulled her self upright. She expected to be sore, but, incredibly, she was free of pain. The itching on her scalp was gone; the burning in her nether regions was gone.

    Lycen moved onto the bed next her, and sighed. He was already tired from the long journey away from his home. What no one understood was the connection one of the Geno got from their homes. Without it he had no power. Every magic he preformed was draining beyond belief. He needed human contact to draw more power from. It was a bluff to get around his biology. The Geno only left their homes to mate. If he mated, even with a human, he could draw power from his partner. He had done it before, and it did little damage. A couple seconds of life maybe. He did not even need to penetrate her; he just needed her flesh against his own. He had to prepare her first, however, and that pushed him over his limit. He should have done this sooner, he had been putting if off. His reprimanded himself for his mistake even as he lost consciousness.

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Oooh, cliffhanger-y. Next chapter: What does Lycen look like? Is he going to be OK? Will there be sex? Reviews are alway appreciated!