User blog:NyricTheDeceiver/Sins of the Dead (Mage: The Awakening)

Mordecai Rowen awoke to the sound of someone rapping on the other side of the door, the frequency of which was steadily increasing between pauses, and the groggy aftereffects of staying up well past the witching hours to research the Mysteries and test his hypotheses and theories through experimentation in his lab again; he was a Moros after all. The latest object of his mad obssessions was finding a way to combine translocation --that is to say teleportation, a skill of Space magic-- and transmutation --an art that Mordecai had near mastered as an Adept Moros, one skilled in Matter and Death magic-- into a useful manner. He was close to perfecting the spell, though there were complications.

The knocking on the door grew in pace and strength, jolting and annoying Mordecai awake in equal parts. He arose from his seated position --he had slumbered at his desk, face planted firmly on the pages of a grimoire he purchased from the local lorehouse-- and became aware of his surroundings, all the while scratching his slightly messy strawberry blonde hair. As he expected, his laboratory was in a state of utter disarray. Alchemical reagents were scattered about, many a grimoire and tome of arcane lore were piled haphazardly in corners and tables, some of them open, multiple of his more experimental technomagical tools were on the floor, and worst of all, his cheeky familiar, in the form of a black cat to mock him, sat upon a shelf, taunting him with its mere presence.

"Why hello there, dear master. I see you are finally awake." It said, its voice mocking.

"We share an empathic bond, you insincere Count. I know you're mocking me." Mordecai said in return, his voice laden with irritation and insomnia. "Who is it that's knocking at the door?"

"It's your servant, Allison, of course. Who else would degrade themselves by interacting with you in anyway, your master aside of course?" It replied, the sharp blade of friendly derision obvious in its tone.

"You are unbearable sometimes, and, for the record, she is not my servan- For the love of the Supernal, please stop knocking. Come in and tell me what you want." Mordecai commanded.

"Sorry, sir," a muffled voice said from the other side as soon as the knocking stopped and the door creaked open. "It's just this is very urgent and I wanted to get it to you immediately; you've received an email addressed to you from Master Ptolemaeus." Ptolemaeus was Mordecai's master and was equally, if not more, just as eccentric as Mordecai himself.

Into the room walked Allison, Mordecai's assistant. She had long, flowing raven hair that