anonymous asked:

Has Camilla ever done with it somebody or does she only see other people (with the exception of James) as food?

She’s actually done it with hundreds of human dudes throughout history and as a result has sired dozens upon dozens of half-vampire/half-human kids over the centuries. It’s ironic as most people wouldn’t look at a pint-sized woman of her size and stature and think “bastion of fertility with a lot of kids” but looks can indeed be deceiving. 

She has varying relationships with all of them, from great, to pretty crummy. But you honestly can’t get mad at a kid for hating their mom cause she ate their dad over something petty 200 years ago.  

James is just the most recent on a string of relationships she’s had through history, had but she’s already enjoying him the most. 


We last left our Armiger in the belly of a ruin turned skooma operation. Vampires had set up shop in a place called Redwater Den and were using their special Skooma concoction for nefarious purposes.

Varen kept to the shadows when possible when dealing with each new threat. These vampires were stronger than him, but not smarter, and so the dark elf put his strengths to the test eking out progress through the ruins. Finally, he came upon a bubbling red pool. No doubt the source of the active ingredient in this “Redwater Skooma”. Having no option to destroy the place at present, he resolved to shut it down.

Varen came out of the ruin complex and executed the proprietors he’d met earlier. To his dismay, their victims had all passed away whilst he had been uncovering the truth. He spent the remainder of the lightless hours on the broken down building above that wretched hole in the ground. He would Continue on the road to Riften at daybreak.

One more reason to hate vampires.

anonymous asked:


((how dare you insinuate I have ever made anything sexy.))

Alek stood at the edge of the glacial crater, astonished by what he saw below.

The wreck looked like a corner of hell bubbling up through the snow. Flocks of winged creatures coiled around hollows in the wilting gasbag. Crewmen moved across the great beast’s skin, accompanied by bizarre double-snouted, six-legged dogs that sniffed and pawed at every bullet hole. Looking closer, he could see that they moved strangely too, some of them lifted debris no son of god could manage on his own, others scaled flanks of the deflated air beast like insects without rope to hang onto. Rumors of the British turning their soldiers into monsters crept into the forefront of Alek’s mind, causing him to shudder.

All this was simply too much. The stench, so much like the fish he had for dinner, the men who crawled like maggots across the sickly flesh of the air beast, the German’s argument of exterminating them all suddenly seemed a bit more reasonable. The Darwinists were were an insult to nature, and perhaps even all good things in the world.

And yet he couldn’t take his eyes from the creature. Even lying wounded it looked so powerful, more like something from legend than the work of men.

Four searchlights flared to life, illuminating one flank of the creature. Alek could see now why the beast had rolled sideways during the crash: The gondolas hanging from its underside had escaped being flattened against the snow.

As he stole down the length of the airship, the green glow seemed to be bleeding out onto the ice. Surely the beast was dying. He’d been a fool to think he could help. Perhaps he should just leave the medicines somewhere and slip away…

Alek gasped aloud when he slid down too quickly, landing on something soft and dark with a thud. Immediately he leapt away, the ridiculous snowshoes tangling together in his retreat. In a panic Alek unhooked his boots from them to scramble back further, only to realize he had no reason to fear the figure at all. More so then after catching that first awful glimpse of the carnage, Alek’s stomach lurched. He forced himself to walk closer, forced himself to bear witness to what lay broken in the snow.

It was obvious that the boy was dead.

Definitely not as a result of Alek so rudely dropping in on him, from the stillness of his shape and dread that permeated the air it was obvious the boy had left the realm of the living perhaps even before impact. Stubbornly Alek fought the warning of a sob in his throat. He ought to move on, but it didn’t feel right leaving a soldier to be buried by snow. Even if he belonged to an airborne circus of nightmares, he had still been a person once, and thus deserved Alek’s respect.

Or maybe Alek just needed moral retribution for leaving the man he killed in the wheat field all those weeks ago. He wasn’t completely certain.

Alek pulled a scalpel from the bag of medicines and went about sawing the boy’s safety lines. He was about half way through cutting him free when he first caught a glimpse of his face. Again Alek’s stomach lurched, but not entirely with disgust.

The first thought that ran through Alek’s mind was that this had to be the most beautiful corpse he had ever laid eyes on.

That wasn’t saying much, admittedly. The only dead bodies Alek was familiar with were that of decrepit relatives in their open caskets and that guard from the wheat field. But gazing upon the boys face Alek felt an overwhelming amicability to him, as if he were only dozing.

His skin was a deathly pale, eyes darkened at the edges with postmortem. But despite this his sandy hair seemed to gleam in the green lighting, coupled with a soft shine to perfect pink lips and long pale lashes. Even his face, deflated from its loss of a soul, seemed only to become more angular and elegant. Alek wondered what kind of boy he had been in life to be so striking in death, then shook the thoughts from his head.

Beautiful or no, this airman was a dead airman, and Alek was more determined to honor his body then ever.

Finally the boy was freed from his harness and Alek dropped the scalpel to drag him out into the open where his crew would find him. The rest was up to the Darwinists, whatever their customs might be. Alek crawled back to his snowshoes on hands and knees, not daring to escape without them.

Before he reached them, however, he yelped and snatched his hand away from where it had supported his weight. He saw a coat of his own blood paint the scalpel blade, as well as droplets speckling the snow as he tried to stop the bleeding. The surgical edge had sliced right through his leather glove, but luckily the resistance was enough to keep him from damaging his hand. The wound was more akin to a paper cut then anything, but the irritating kind that bled for all its insignificance.

Groaning under his breath Alek went about reattaching his snow shoes with one hand, not noticing the rustle of movement behind him. This might have been a good thing, if Alek had actually witnessed how the body rose to its feet like a phantom marionette he might have screamed and alerted the others to his location. Instead he only gasped with surprise when a strong grip tackled him and pinned him to the snow.

Immediately on alert, Alek struggled to break free but was unable. Though the gloved hands that held him were undoubtedly human the force behind them was anything but. He would have an easier time breaking free from a pair of kraken fighting arms! Alek was rotated to lie on his back, like a dog exposing the belly of its prey.

The boy, the beautiful, ghostly, and very much dead boy was looming over him, features sunken and eyes blazing with feral aggression. Alek might have strangled out a scream if not for the force on his chest. Though he looked as ragged as an animal his chest did not heave or at all contort with breath. It was as if he were a shadow given shape, still and oppressive as he held Alek captive. His gaze glanced frantically across Alek’s prone form, eventually fixing on the bloody hand pinned to Alek’s chest.

Pupils more like slits quivered as they watched the blood seep into Alek’s clothes, then slowly and deliberately peeled Alek’s arm away from his chest. Though the creature did not brace himself Alek was still unable to snatch his hand back, only watch in horror as the corpse inspected his wound and brought it to his lips. The air that surrounded them was frigid, but nothing Alek could have imagined was more chilling then the flick of the boy’s tongue over his open cut.

Immediately the stinging of the petty injury abated. Whether this was by the same witchcraft that animated the dead or his own terror Alek didn’t know, but he could feel paralysis creeping down his arm and leaving his body entirely out of his own control. All Alek could move were his eyes, which glanced into that of the corpse and felt his very soul freeze in his gaze. Everything else seemed to melt away. The pain of the boy’s grip, the freezing air, even the darkness surrounding them seemed unimportant as he met the boys eyes. Very faintly he was aware of a mouth opening, teeth long and sharp coming closer to him, but Alek found he was unable to care.

Then all he could see was the side of the boy’s head, feel the soft cartilage of his ear grazing Alek’s chin.

Everything felt so warm, Alek’s own body especially. Almost too warm, almost sweltering. How had Alek not noticed how sickeningly hot his own body was? He was acutely aware of the pumping of his blood, the squelching of his organs. It was disgusting, confusing, disorienting, like the drugs his men had used the night they stole him away from Prague. Thinking of that night made him burn all the more painfully. He wanted it to stop, so repulsed by searing despair.

Something cold and powerful was close to him, its touch so refreshingly cool in comparison to his own putrid heat. Alek knew what it was doing, knew it was trying to steal his heat. Would it really be so horrible to give it what it wanted? Let it all slip away to an empty darkness, a place without mourning or war. He would be able to rest; finallyhe’d be able to just rest. Like his parents, like the guard in the wheat field, like the broken boy he had found in the snow, like Da in his balloon.

The last image sent a jolt through Alek, immediately recognizing it as not being his own. Reality returned to him and Alek was able to shove the creature away.

The corpse fell back to sit on his heels as Alek sucked in a breath of cold air. Both of them took a moment to be dazed, before Alek noticed quite a bit more blood on the front of his jacket. Slowly his gaze traveled upwards and fixed on the crimson lips of his attacker. The boy himself seemed to be having a similar revelation, as he brought his own hand to his mouth and looked down at the redness on his glove.

The look of horror on his face managed to make him seem more human, if only just.

“Blisters,” he choked, “I really wasn’t supposed to do that.”


I’m still stuck in bed because of the flu. So I took the opportunity to re-visit some really old characters from one of our earliest stories. Above is Lajos, who, as the story progresses, becomes Victor’s best friend and the first reliable source of emotional support for him ever. Below is Caradog, his ex-employer, a paranoid information broker/smuggler, who kept messing with his head as a past-time activity. Victor was absolutely terrified of him. A large chunk of the story involved getting free of the guy…

This was a rare occasion when I drew everything digitally from scratch.