tinhuvielartanis: (Triskele)
(playing around with this because 'Starwatcher' is on the computer that's currently in the hospital)

Rarely did Cadmus haunt the hallowed halls of the pseudo Goth club The Poison Rose these days. He had always appreciated the symmetry to the club's names, a fragile representation of every nuance Creation could muster within its delicate petals, so very fraught with the promise of an irreversible finalisation. Somehow, the two fit perfectly together, bound in a waltz that could certainly spin for the eternity perceived by those incapable of understanding what true eternity was in all it all its terrifying connotation.

This time Marlow greeted him at the door, his immediately supplication to the silent Vampire evidenced in every subtle nuance of his body, right down to the involuntary twitching of that of a teen turned youth, so every eager to please at any cost.

And cost it would indeed, scoffed Cadmus Pariah, studying this young man whose every fibre already belonged to him without any question whatsoever.

"I will have both - "

But the Pariah was interrupted by this upstart. "Oh oh, yeah, the owner said that nothing was too good for the famed Cadmus Pariah. I - I know about you, though I've never had the honour to actually meet you. You're like our night club's very own royalty."

Leaning into Marlow, his aquiline Elder's nose against the rancid moisture's bursting through the human one, Cadmus gritted his teeth with unbridled disgust.

"I built this club on the blood and bones of those such as you," he whispered, his voice more a thought lost to the din of the club's music. "Long after the maggots have made their lurid meal of your eyeballs deep within the Earth, The Poison Rose will dance and sing, and worship, and celebrate the Blessed Dark...all in my name. No kindly announcement need be made of this most secret and sacred court that shall be held tonight. I hunger for blood, I hunger for flight, I hunger for that which both bring a seemingly endless bounty of wonder. But what I hunger for most is the look of shock on the faces of those realising that at the very end, they were nothing but meat for the beast, inescapable in their rhapsody at the moment of death, when one gives over to that from which there is no hope, no escape. Now, run along little rodent. Bring the throng to me, there's a good one, that's a good lad."

Phoenician

May. 10th, 2012 10:57 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus_Profundity)
Dear Lady, I can't believe I didn't post this here, but I can't find it, so apparently I did not. Bruce sent me the song "Phoenician" by Stic Basin. It's an early recording featuring Bruce, Barry, and Carlo Ascitutti. The later tracks are pretty much only Barry. Anyway, my first thought was Cadmus. Because the "historical" Cadmus was a Phoenician. Since this was a Barry-centric song, of course I went down that path and came up with this.



It's really quite a lovely song, so unlike "Pin."

Anyway, I garnered a discussion between the three of them, but this one was directed particularly at me, from Carlo. It was fascinating, and so well-told.

"Escaping the tyranny of her own Country, Elissa, an exiled princess of the ancient Phoenician city of Tyre, the future Carthaginian Queen Dido, commonly known as Alissar, founded Carthage, the "shining city" that ruled the Phoenician world.
Princess Elissa was the daughter of King Matten of Tyre (also known as Muttoial or Belus II). When he died, the throne was jointly bequeathed to her and her brother, Pygmalion. She married her uncle Acherbas (also known as Sychaeus), the High Priest of Melqart, a man with both authority and wealth comparable to the king. This led to increased rivalry between religion and the monarchy. Pygmalion was a tyrant, lover of both gold and intrigue, who desired the authority and fortune enjoyed by Acherbas. Pygmalion assassinated Acherbas in the temple and kept the misdeed concealed from his sister for a long time, deceiving her with lies about her husband's death. At the same time, the people of Tyre called for a single sovereign, causing dissent within the royal family.
Phoenician, a Canaanite caretaker previously working for King Pygmalion of Tyre, decided to move his residence to the mythical Carthage.
He also decided that, after so many years endlessly spent caretaking, he deservedly needed a loving bosom where he could comfortably rest his tyred body, i.e. a woman to cuddle, fondle and canoodle.
Not being satisfied with one, and wisely knowing that a bird in the hand is worth three in the bush, he fell in love with the whole lot of them : Elissa, Dido and Alissar.
As a result of too much stress and too much tyring caused by intensive physical labour, Elissa died. And with her, the other two readily followed.
Although some contemporary historians, as well as many modern scholars, think it might well be a typical Punic exaggeration, Phoenician, allegedly, cried so much for the loss of the threesome that his tears increased the level of the whole Mediterranean Sea.
(Legend has it that he might also have overflooded the Black Sea because of tears leaking through a strange hole in Costantinople).
Shocked, stunned and shattered by unbearable grief, Phoenician moved back to Tyre and decided to retyre.
All the rest is History.
The song "Phoenician" is a dirge built on this sad and true story centred on such a legendary and caretaking hero.
A Threnody, a Requiem, a Jeremiad, a Coronach, a Lament and an Elegy will be offered shortly.
Thee Caretakers will stay tuned to this Frequency for more happy-sing-a-long songs."

I replied with: Love how you tell this story. And..."A Threnody, a Requiem, a Jeremiad, a Coronach, a Lament and an Elegy will be offered shortly.
Thee Caretakers will stay tuned to this Frequency for more happy-sing-a-long songs." This is heartening to hear, being the carefree soul that I am. ;P


Of course, for me, it will always be for my primary Phoenician.

"May blessings be upon the head of Cadmus, the Phoenicians, or whoever it was who invented books." ~ Thomas Carlyle

<3 <3 <3

How I love these guys.
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Wrath)
I've probably mentioned this, but one of the reasons I believe Tom Hardy would make the perfect Cadmus is his proclivity for giving 'The Crazy Eye' in every movie I've seen him in. When [livejournal.com profile] janalyson and I went to see This Means War, I contended that Hardy wouldn't get through the movie without giving THE EYE at least once, even though this was a romantic comedy. I think he did it twice in this film, if I'm not mistaken, but here's concrete proof that he did it at least once. Chris Pine died shortly after this scene. Oh, and if Tom Hardy is 5'10", then Chris Pine isn't 6'1", he's 9' tall. And that's all I'm gonna say about that...

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tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Dark Eyes)
Yes, I am still writing. No, this has not been proofread/edited. I still wanted to put it here, in a kind of commemoration. It seems that the emotion for this particular Harming Tree short story is going to be lust, and that's why the words are coming so slowly, so fraught with difficulty. Lust is such an alien emotion, even to Cadmus, who is so endowed with the entrapments of both human and Vampire after the Augury incident. I just have a problem with emotion" when it comes to Cadmus, especially anything bordering on love or the entrapments of the physical body. Still, it has to be done if any sort of realism is to be brought to the character. Anyway, here's the continuance of the story I'm currently and will probably continue calling The Star Watcher.
Cadmus meets Litania )
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Castigation)
 

It's very seldom that a character I write about proves to have a will of its own. In fact when I hear authors claim such things I tend to.....roll my eyes.
Well,I was wrong.
A character called Preyer Kry ,who has been waiting in the wings of ABARAT until the fourth volume has just kicked this author very hard..
..and once he had my attention made a full list of THE SINS OF PREYER KRY.I am now going to sit and give thanks to the deity who made Kry.

It wasn't me.




Welcome to my world, Mr. Barker. Welcome to my world.
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Wrath)
Righto, I'm posting this for the Tom Hardy fans here. Although I'm all about me some homo-erotic photies, this is really kind of disturbing, because Cadmus Pariah would never ever assume this position. He would slaughter everyone before doing this. Well, he would slaughter everyone anyway, but the character is just too dominant to be a bottom. Anyway, for all you Hardy aficionados, this picture may be sure to make your heads explode. You're welcome.

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tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus)
"To purge himself of the taint of the human herds with whom he reluctantly interacted, the Dark Chylde of Night would make a yearly pilgrimage to the Mojave Desert to commune with the sparse life of that exquisite wasteland, and to test himself before the merciless light of day."

"“I am Cadmus, called also Pariah. I am the Child of Night, born of Kelat and Thiyennen, and was once an agent of the Apostate. I killed the man whose body you seem so keen on digging up tonight.”"

"“I am Cadmus,” the Dark Chylde of Night replied, his voice caressing the night with a velvet sonorousness. “Known also as Pariah.”"
tinhuvielartanis: (Faust)
I'm trying to get my ducks in a row, gathering up various pictures [livejournal.com profile] acook will need for reference, as well as writing up what I envision for the cover of The Augury of Gideon. Then I'm going to tackle some other publishing mountains before me. That aside, though, I found this picture, and it perfectly represents the innocence that defines Faust/Kallum. Scottles is the other half of the Faust/Kallum character, but the picture that best defines that is not published and I'm not gonna be responsible for doing that now. Anyways, here's the James McAvoy picture.

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Gotta get this, the Scottles picture, and the picture of B that best represents Cadmus in the third book (I have the perfect one), along with a picture of the actual Augury, and a written description of what I'm seeing, and we'll be good to go. ::crosses fingers::
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Wrath)
If Tom Hardy won't star in my movie that will never be made, I will wail like a freakin' Beansidhe.

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tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Castigation)
After having finally gotten Word back, I was able to really trawl through The Waltham Phantom and see the mistakes and omissions I had made. I've set to righting those wrongs by, essentially, making part of the story more wrong. The most changed is the last part of Gareth Owen's final terrifying hours on Earth. I wanted to make it as profane as possible, in order to bring out the proper rise in Flint. He is, after all, a bit of an insouciant individual, and I felt that the story of his friend's murder and subsequent defilement did not go far enough, especially since we're talking about Cadmus' handiwork here. So here is the first edit of that particular part of the story.

“I forced my fingers into Gareth's mouth, holding him still whilst taking my favourite knife, the one made from my dragon matrice's claw, out of the belt beneath my robes. So very slowly, which is the only way to do things such as this, if you want the blood to hold its gamey essence, I let the sharp point of the black claw slip into the aged flesh of your dearest mortal, my sweet Flint. You should have seen the look of surprise on his face, despite his already knowing that I was going to slaughter him. They never quite believe it, neither mortals nor Vampires, until you begin to take the life they had always assumed was their own away from them, one heartbeat's worth of blood at a time. He gasped for the breath he could not catch, with his throat so open to the air, and he moaned deep within the secret cavities of his chest as I let him bleed into my chalice.

“When the flow ebbed, slowing to a hearty trickle, I decided to let that remaining blood waste into the Earth. Turning the body of Gareth Owen upside down, I plunged an iron spike through the cooling meat's ankles and into the pike I had erected. I then finished its decapitation with my claw knife, and I secured the head to the top of the wooden post.”

Once more, Cadmus paused, letting a genuine smile spread grace his lush mouth, making his face shimmer in the moonlight like icy starshine behind a veil of thin clouds. He pulled the air in quickly through the nostrils of his patrician nose and he looked down at his captive audience.

Continuing, Cadmus purred the last of the cruel tale. “But I wasn’t finished exacting sacred atrocities upon this nonentity’s flesh. Oh no. I found a nearby branch and affixed it to the base of the pike and, taking Owen’s arms, I tied them to the ends of the rotting wood. He was a veritable English Saint Peter, he was. And I should know…my former master arranged for that apocryphal Jewish dissident to endure the profanities of reverse crucifixion. Despite what you may have been taught in whatever religious past you might have, it wasn’t Peter’s idea, that. It was all the Apostate, may his dessicated ashes never light in peace. At least you can take comfort, my odd little friend, that your mortal blood brother was quite dead when I strung him up like the meat that he was. Oh, and the way he looked hanging there, softly swaying in the cool country breeze! It was indeed a work of art, Flint. A true piece de resistance even for one so skilled as me. Moments such as these are the reason memories, and Polaroids, are made…to capture in the full magnificence of time that which might forever otherwise be lost.”

Cadmus allowed himself another small smile in mock honour of Gareth's gory memory, and in reaction to Flint's increasing anger. He lightly caressed Flint's cheek with his blanched fingers, enjoying the reprehension his act of pretend affection elicited. Looking down at his frozen charge, Cadmus wondered at the horror he found there, his expression filled with an angelic grace that was in no wise pretense.

“As I said, he was long past dead, by then, dear Flint. Long past it indeed. But the reflection in his drying eyes held a distant recollection of his most cherished friend, that of the Waltham Phantom, the soul he had all but given up in the last moments of his brief and sad wee life. The only thing he had not divulged was the name of the Phantom; however, had I found it important enough to do a little detective work, I would have easily discovered the name of 'Simon Flynt,' and followed the warm trail straight to your doorstep.”

Cadmus leaned down and kissed Flint on each trembling eyelid.
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Ink)
I haven't abandoned this project. It's just taking me longer than expected, basically because I haven't been doing anything important lately, for obvious reasons. Anyway, here's the latest development. I only have to pencil in the skin tone and the Basin of Blue Flame, and the piece will be finished, unless I decide to do some sort of background for it. I doubt I will, though. It's been so long since I've done any serious art, I'm afraid I'll screw this up if I go too far. Anyway, here's what I have so far.

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tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Ink)
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Bleak

Apr. 9th, 2012 06:33 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Dark Eyes)
I guess I need to admit something to myself.

It seems that the more depressed I get in real life, the more manic I become online to try to counteract it all. The past couple of days have been pretty bad, with missing Aunt Tudi terribly, reliving all my regrets about her, and being completely alone here in the house, in utter silence. I have been so lonely, and so lost.

Then, every time I'd feel the tears welling up, I'd throw myself into cyberspace and write anything, everything, even if it didn't need writing. And I'd seek out pictures and post them constantly on Facebook. And I would obsess over everything.

I see myself being pulled to those things and people that have comforted me in the past, when no one and nothing else could. And my focus would be diamond-sharp. It's been scary of late, but these are the only things I can think about. I grasp desperately for these sources of solace, and I find myself trying to take everyone along with me, despite their probably being sick of me and my insanity.

And then there's Cadmus. My one great tormentor, my demon child, has suddenly become a safe and familiar haven. This entity that's filled with rage and hatred, so capable of unspeakable cruelty, always eager to take the road that will bring him closer to the dark matter of the spirit...I am running to him for some sort of sanctity and reason in my life.

What does that even mean?

All I know, is that I'm woeful, my sleep patterns (as if I had any) are flipped inside out, and I'm...well, I'm serenading monsters, quietly seething. I don't want to cry anymore. I want to laugh in the face of all of it, and come out the other end as unscathed as I can be. I'm tired of grieving and regretting. If I don't stop it, I may just succumb to the void that is my mind-child. Only the Mighties know what I'd be capable of then, what lengths I would go to, to achieve some sort of peace in my world.
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus - Long Hair)
Far off galaxies were reflected, spiralling in the depths of Cadmus Pariah's obsidian eyes. He blinked slowly, allowing himself to go ever further outward into the cosmos, reaching out spidery tendrils of ancestral memory, where his ancestors had taken their first breath and sung their first songs of Creation. Across the multiverse he travelled, taking in each galaxy and naming it according to the ancient Tarmian ways. And he pulled to him the presence of the black hole at the center of each heavenly body, that inevitable dark matter that was the source of the life that chose to ignore its origins. Black holes were the realm of the Pariah. Surely the songs pulled into their ineluctable gravity fortified their existence, forging the event horizon that was the only indication of their presence amongst the vibrations of the living stars. It was at these times that Cadmus grasped at his philosophical apices only to realise that he could actually feel wonder and amazement without the assistance of his long-gone beautiful pets.


He shuddered in reaction to the moisture that pooled around his endless irises. Such emotion presented a kind of terror in Cadmus. He was wholly unsure what to do with it, and so he fought it with every fibre of his being.


He blinked again, his heavy lids resting at half-mast as he absorbed the light around him. The blessed dark would always be his primary realm, that rhapsody in which he could touch eternity by gazing into the impossibly ancient stars, and the dark matter that suspended them in time.

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Titch

Apr. 7th, 2012 07:22 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Flint)
Why does Cadmus call Flint "titch" so often? It's art imitating life.

From the MacMillan Dictionary: Titch - Someone who is very small.

From an extensive biography of Tim Roth:  So Roth, disturbed by his father's departure, now living in the company of artistic females, was sent into this macho hell-hole. Being short (his nickname was Titch) and named Timothy only made it worse. The bullying was bad and Roth had no physical response.

Cadmus calls Flint this because he is familiar with British slang, having lived amongst the English for centuries.  Flint hates the cognomen, and takes it as the insult Cadmus intends it to be.

See, everything is there for a reason.  I'm just glad that The Waltham Phantom has been exorcised...for now~.

Plaguing Me

Apr. 7th, 2012 11:45 am
tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Ink)
I've just finished a Cadmus story, but he is demanding more words. This is one of the reasons why I was awake all night. His vicious demands are incessant, and I wish there were some way I could silence his diabolical purr. Sometimes I get weary of the dreadful imagery that haunts my head. The thing I find most distressing is that this is a large aspect of who I am. I have no idea how I ended up with a morbid fascination with insane violence and unimaginable abuse. I always return to the visions of vivisection. Cadmus basks in what he perceives to be incredibly beautiful, to rip apart a Vampire and allow him to heal, just so he can do it again. What kind of deviance do I harbour, that I can immerse in such darkness? Sometimes I feel as if I'm going mad.
tinhuvielartanis: (Flint)
 

The Waltham Phantom



He spent the night in the cinema house, slipping effortlessly into a small brown rat, one of many of them that the clean-up crew would probably see. After a very productive night of watching a compelling movie, he also supped on a luscious female, who was all too happy to share with Flint the needed nectar from her veins. Spying up from across the aisle, the woman could not watch the movie for stealing more glances with every passing minute. By the time the film was halfway finished, Flint had also lost interest and was sitting next to his new admirer. It wasn't every night that the unassuming Darkling could attract a human without using an almost uncomfortably level of Glamour. He just really didn't have it in him to be naturally irresistible. So when such a opportunity presented itself, Flint always gladly took advantage of it. It would mean that he wouldn't have to kill to eat this night; rather, he could take all the blood he needed and all the pleasure he may want without the inconvenience of having his prey realise what he was doing, and begin an angry protest. Flint just could not be sussed with such, and would bring their lovely little encounter to a close by affixing his mouth to the throat of the unwilling before him, and draw out all the blood, taking the lifeless husk to his favourite hill above Tinsel Town. It was just a pain in the arse, really, and there was no bonus of intimacy to be had, just food.

Flint liked the company of humanity, even if the attentions were brief. He preferred them that way, as oftentimes, the brief encounters were the most intense. For instance, in a dark movie house, surrounded by other people, to bring a person to the desired orgasm for the best effect of taking blood was a feat that Flint was more then ready to attempt. He liked challenges like that, and Flint was not prone to do much of anything that he did not fully enjoy.

And the afterglow from this one...well, it had been more than satisfactory for them both. Blood was enough to bring a Vampire to climax, particularly the Incubi and Succubi of the Darkblood Hive. But to have a human do what this woman did to him after the fact was nothing short of extraordinary. They both floated in one another's orbits, reaching levels of pleasure rarely experienced, especially in public and particularly in utter silence. The happy lassie had left quite fulfilled, but also left Flint profoundly spent.


finally finished! )
tinhuvielartanis: (Flint)
There are just way too many delish pictures that can be 'shopped to represent Flint. Here are just three, one of which portrays both Flint and his dearest friend Gareth.

Gareth and Flint were the closest of friends. Extremely close. It is because of Gareth's murder that Flint is now hellbent on killing Cadmus Pariah. That's a pretty lofty goal, but Flint isn't known for setting limitations on himself.
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I love how the phosphorescence in his eyes is made all the more intense in black & white photographs. 'Tis mesmerising.
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Waltham

Apr. 6th, 2012 07:10 pm
tinhuvielartanis: (Flint)
"The Waltham Phantom" is complete! At least the first draft, anyway. Flint survives his encounter with Cadmus, which is nothing short of miraculous, and I survived writing it so that this happens. Cadmus is fairly ticked, and I'd say he'd get over it, but Cadmus holds grudges. He'll demand some souvenirs for his Harming Tree. I won't get off this easy. For now, though, I can let rest my restless rat man, and build upon the next story, this time allowing Cadmus free rein to wreak as much havoc as he wishes.

Sleep now, Flint. You'll be back, of that there is no doubt.
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tinhuvielartanis: (Cadmus Castigation)
Pardon me, I am a tad intoxicated. Why? This is why!

Starling Murmuration and Toroidal Vortices are, by language default, the exclusive realm of Barry Andrews...or at least they should be.

But noooooooo... Murmuration apparently appears in profound ways in the movie Skellig...and I saw it like a day after I made the Illuminati video for 'Walking on the Wind,' aaaaannndddd toroidal vortices, the focus I made for 'Sea Theory' the pre-Shriek alternate version by Barry Andrews, are also called smoke rings, which can be seen HERE, being made by Tim Roth.
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The very phrase, TOROIDAL VORTICES, belongs to the realm of Andrews. How could it not?

Is it any wonder why Cadmus wants to wipe the Earth clean of Flint? Hell, I want to! It's fucking my shit up, these connections. Stop it already.

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