WARNING!

This profile possesses potential seizure triggers for people with photosensitive epilepsy!

Viewer discretion is advised!

----------------------------------------------------------------

Warlock | Criminal | Underdog | Protector | Lover

----------------------------------------------------------------

"You asked if I've ever killed someone before, and if so...if I liked it. I have...and I did. I'm a bad man, but the things I do...they're not meant to be bad, or good. They're meant to be protect the people of the world, of this city, of London. The police have arrested me, the gangs have hunted me, and the citizens...they've shunned me. I'm the outsider, but that's just fine. No one knows what I do to keep them safe at night." - Desmond to Dorian Grey, 1998

London is a city of wonder, a place filled with ancient wisdom and magicks as old as time itself. Its citizens are staunch defenders of their home, even if they may not always be the most honest or kind of people. Yet in spite of their defenses and strength, crime runs the streets of this English city, controlling the minds and hearts of thousands. The police are outnumbered, the citizens fearful and their children too young to defend themselves.

Who protects the great city of London when no other can? 

The answer to that question is simpler than anyone can ever know. A name is whispered on the lips of the broken men they leave behind, the shattered guns whose lives are ruined by a single man. That name is Desmond Rowannan, better known as M1$T3R M4G!CK to the people of London's less fortunate boroughs. To the city's gangs, Des is considered the Bogeyman, the Black Shadow, Death's Little Helper; to the common folk, he's their dark Robin Hood, their Puck. Through the use of black magick and technology, Des has done what the law could not- bring true, final justice to the deserving and helped the citizens who ran on the wrong side of the tracks. He doesn't do this for himself or for anyone in particular- rather, he serves to help bring back balance to the city he'd once fallen prey to in his youth.

In a time of strife and horror, of chaos and bloodshed, of brutal mutilation and acts so vile that God himself dared not watch, Desmond Rowannan was born. People looked to the Church for aid and were rebuked for not being strong enough in faith. They turned to their strong defenders, the guards they placed their trust and hope in, only to be met with hard steel and blasphemy. Their eyes turned to their friends and neighbors, men and women they'd known since birth, and even then they were struck down. Power made the weak become strong, oppressed those who would dare to seek sanctuary among others of their ilk. These were the people that Des grew around as a boy, watching the terrors of man unfold before his own eyes.

He watched at age five as his parents begged for bread from the baker and were spat on for it. He watched at age eight as his mother was used by their landlord in order to pay for their home. He watched at age ten as his father struck his mother in a drunken stupor, wasting away their last pennies on his sorrows. He watched at age fourteen as his parents were thrown from their home and cast into the rain with only the clothes on their back. He watched at age sixteen as his father walked away from their family and stumbled into the sleet and snow of winter, never to be seen again. And last, he watched at age seventeen as his mother withered away from sickness, her final breaths given in thanks to a God that had never before answered their prayers.

"Lord, protect my son. Protect this beautiful boy, my love, my light. Guide him as I fall into your arms one last time and enter the Pearly Gate to Heaven. Jesus, my Lord, my Savior, help him as I..."

That moment was nearly ninety years ago to the day. In a matter of minutes, a boy of seventeen became a man, beholden to none but lost in the hatred of the world around him. This was the moment that defined the rest of life...until now. Desmond alone mourned his mother, buried her alone in the cemetery nearest to him and cried over her grave, alone.  He realized then that the world was not a good place, not a kind place, and certainly not a fair or just place. If that was the world he grew up in, he didn't want to live in it any longer. However, unlike so many others who gave up and drunk themselves into a stupor or hung themselves to end the pain, Des did something entirely unexpected...he adapted. Under the pressure of his burden, of his knowledge, he sought out more.

Desmond made himself a promise that night- he would do his utmost to prevent others from undergoing the same horrors that he himself had suffered.