Be afraid

Phoenix

2006-06-16T13:53:04Z

Rated PG.

Older art

2006-06-16T13:44:14Z

Rated PG
Photoshop

Art!

2006-06-16T13:38:22Z

Merman
Rated G.
watercolors

Art

2006-06-16T13:36:26Z

Flying Umbrellas! ^_^
Rated G.
Opencanvas

anistorita @ 2005-08-31T15:46:00

2005-08-31T12:35:15Z

>.>

2005-08-30T21:38:26Z

Well, it seems I'm only posting here when I'm "hiding" from people. >.>

Teh Spanish Peacock again! :D

sob

2005-08-16T21:02:54Z

Scene from the RPG. >.> 15 minute sketch.

Well, I suppose that if Phoenix caught Kraven close to Viktor...

2005-07-07T20:19:25Z

Phoenix's making.

2005-07-01T22:27:48Z

Spring of 993

The coven had known better times. And Viktor had started realizing that his efforts to strictly control who was turned into a vampire, were making the vampire community weak. It wasn’t about quality any more, at least not only about it. Vampires were starting being turned by lower immortals who would give away the dark gift in exchange for gold. And the gift started becoming some kind of merchandise, one restricted to the crème de la crème of Europe. A dark secret passing from generation to generation. But this situation was bothering the still young in rule elder. If more and more vampires “sold” this privilege to eternal life, the coven would grow weak. Worse… the vampire lords would get too powerful and maybe they’d decide to turn against the hand that used to feed them, the primal vampires themselves.

“This is not going to happen!” the elder had assured lady Amelia, but the raven haired vampire had looked upon him with doubt and took her leave, saying nothing her face revealing nothing.

Viktor had felt lost. Amelia knew that it was his turn to rule, that she wasn’t supposed to be awake, that she wasn’t granted any authority. Yes, this was his time, to rule, enjoy his privileges and be blamed for his mistakes. And Amelia wouldn’t lift a finger to assist him. If he was going to mess up, it would totally be his own mess. Plus, in less than ten years he’d have to return to the ground and Viktor was more concerned about the name he’d leave behind for 2 centuries of slumbering, than the endless sleep itself.

So he had thought about it, on his own, no help of council or trusted assistants. His attribute was this: that a man turned into vampirism from a lowly vampire would be weak…

If truth be told, this was an exaggeration. Apart from the vampires the elders created themselves, the ones created by any other vampire possessed almost the same power. But one thing Viktor knew about mortals, having been a mortal himself in the past, was that this species was greedy. He knew that even before acquiring the dark gift, even as mere mortals, those lowly creatures wanted the bigger better deal.

And that was what he exploited.

He knew he wouldn’t have to go too far to gain wealth for his house. As a matter of fact, he’d go straight to the blue blooded snobs, the mortal aristocrats who were already free of superstitions, of religious fears about the unknown and they were corrupted to the core. They’d give anything to live for ever… Young and beautiful. For eternity.

The Arpads who ruled the country for centuries were not blessed with good health and as death was close, they had exchanged hectares of land to get immortality in return… Soon Viktor owned a big part of Hungary. A part of which was preserved for eons as property of his “generation”.

Of course he wasn’t going to let his own blue blooded creations survive. But death came for them when he wasn’t around to answer any accusations.

As a precaution he had made sure to let this offer be known to local landlords and rulers only. He couldn’t let this get serious; he couldn’t let the rumors spread. After all the new vampires were sworn to secrecy… And this secret was keeping them alive, protecting them from the crowd’s rage.

They still fed on humans back then…

So when, one night an important, yet uninvited guest reached Ordoghaz, his first thought was who else knew about it. And for a few moments, he had panicked. Villavicencio? He hadn’t even heard of that name. It sounded Spanish.

It rolled off the tongue…

-

2005-06-26T21:07:04Z

Το χειρότερο είναι ότι όταν πραγματικά χρειάζεσαι κάποιον να μιλήσεις κανένας δεν είναι εκεί για σένα. Όλοι θα εμφανιστούν αργότερα, για να περιμαζέψουν τα κομμάτια σου. Αλλά κάθε φορά είναι και πιο δύσκολο να ανακάμψεις. Και αναρωτιέσαι πότε και αν θα γίνει κάτι. Οτιδήποτε…

Δεν ξέρω αν της αξίζει άλλο όνομα. Και αυτό με το οποίο την αποκαλώ θα το κρατήσω για μένα. Αλλά έχει μεταμορφωθεί πια σε τέρας ενώ θα έπρεπε να είναι ότι πιο σημαντικό για μένα.

anistorita @ 2005-06-24T23:47:00

2005-06-24T20:36:41Z

Rated probably PG 13 up to this point.

2005-06-05T21:32:46Z

It still hurt. His skin was now marked with several reddish lines across his back and although he couldn’t see them, he could feel each and every one of them. He’d cried out when he got lashed, he’d begged, but nothing spared him a single strike. His master never paid any attention to his pleads. In fact Kraven was convinced that the man enjoyed his servant’s cries even more than the whipping. And now he was still sobbing silently, curled up in his corner, feeling his skin aching, his scars burning. Would it heal fast? This was all he had, all he was. He was alive- if one could call this a life- because of his looks; because, although he received more pain than caresses, they kept him around because he was a pretty sight. Pretty to look at… On a the wall, on the floor, or even on the whipping pole. But if he lost that, then, without a doubt, he’d be send to a field to work. He’d die there, under the sun. The same man who would rape him just for fun wouldn’t hesitate for a moment before selling him to a farm.

He wiped his tears. Staying there and whimpering wouldn’t make the pain go away. Nothing could. And although he was already miserable enough to sit there and die, he knew that even death wouldn’t come easily. He had to become presentable again; if only to suffer more, to life.

His master could ask for him that very night.

Standing up he headed for the small room behind the stables, trying to fix his clothes. This time he was punished for “smelling like a horse” although, if he hadn’t been afraid of further punishment, he would have shouted to the man that it wasn’t his fault; that this was unfair. He wasn’t allowed to leave the castle yard, he didn’t have a second change of clothes and running water was a luxury. Deep inside, he felt ashamed of his state. He wanted to be able to dress like a free man. And whenever the Landlord’s sons came to the stables to get a pair of horses, he’d dare to look at them, hidden behind the wooden pillars of the stable. He was supposed to keep his glance fixed on the ground and his body bent. But he just couldn’t help it; heavy velvet and golden jewelry… And all he asked was something to replace his worn out shirt and pants.

Getting in the stable he stared with disgust at the water buckets they used to wash the horses. No, he wouldn’t use that… he was a man not an animal. But staring at the black stallion his master used for hunting, he couldn’t help admiring the animal’s shinny mane, clean and perfectly brushed.

No, he wasn’t an animal. Although it sounded terribly bitter, the Landlord seemed to treat his horse better than his young servant. He wasn’t an animal, he was much lower.

The young man removed his shirt and kneeled next to the bucket. Taking a rag he dipped it inside and let the water run on his shoulders. It was cold and not necessarily clean, but he had to get rid of this smell, the smell of his own blood. This time the Landlord had taken it too far. Even after Kraven’s back started bleeding for good, the man didn’t stop.

tbc

Art post. Rated… R?

2005-05-09T17:40:43Z

Fanart

2005-03-23T22:30:23Z

Making Viktor...

2005-01-01T21:26:21Z

anistorita @ 2004-12-30T16:51:00

2004-12-30T14:41:19Z

This LJ is friends only. Comment and I'll add ya.