Self portrait as a spooky girlie. This is the only #drawtober I managed to pull off this year. But I really needed the pick me up, so I went self indulgent.

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@nhitchcock
Self portrait as a spooky girlie. This is the only #drawtober I managed to pull off this year. But I really needed the pick me up, so I went self indulgent.
The Mascot. The Menace. The Art Gremlin. âš
Iâve been presenting this Art Gremlin as my mascot in nonprofit work, on social media profiles, and even in my professional life. She started off as a joke-a profile picture for an in-company forum that barely anyone visited.
Now sheâs my go to mascot. Iâve started using her everywhere, from artistâs statements to business cards to name tags when I volunteer in local arts gigs. This little gremlin has crawled into my heart, and she is here to stay.
đđđȘđđŠđŻđą: đđ„đą đđđ°đźđČđąđŻđđĄđą â đ đ©đŹđŹđĄđ©đŠđ«đąđ° (đđŹđČđ«đĄđ±đŻđđ đš)
Flesh beast and wild. Let yourself be changed.
Oh the agony. The sweet unity.
What could be more perfect than this terrible metamorphosis?
Ayaâs misadventures brought her to the Tremere regent and a terrible curse laid on her blood. The only way to escape it was a true metamorphosis. To embrace the land, the earth, and the power sleeping beneath her sireâs haven.
Now sheâs a real little bird. But at what cost?
The VTM subreddit had some discussion of Nosferatu/Toreador romance the other day but the peak inter-clan pairing for me will always be Salubri/Tzimisce.
Itâs the rich contrast between âI was created to be a healer. My touch erases pain and casts out evil. I canât even feed if it would cause suffering, even if I am on the edge of starvation. My clanâs progenitor described his childer as lambs made to be sacrificed,â versus âOther clans know me by a word that means âdemon.â My hands are tools of torture and mutilation and even acts that are attempts at reconstruction rather than ripping apart are agonizing. My blood ties me to the land and the land is poison. The power that is my greatest strength is also a disease that is eating me from the inside out.â
Itâs âYour abilities indelibly mark you as an enlightened savior while mine mark me as a horrifying monster.â Itâs âI worship you because youâre everything I could never be.â Itâs âI was doomed from the start but maybe if I take on the burden of violence so you can stay pure, I can find some kind of redemption.â Itâs âI adore you but Iâm terrified to touch you.â Itâs âWe couldnât be more different, but we are both united in the horror of knowing we have no choice but to be exactly what we are.â
NOLA BY NIGHT
Sometimes you stumble into an unbelievable group of discord vampire storytellers. And when that happens, it only makes sense to honor our chronicle with its very own logo.
I based the New Orleans by Night logo on ironwork and old fashioned hanging signs found in the French Quarter. The shapes in these intricate railings often symbolized certain things about the homeowner. Here I incorporated the Sabbat inverted ankh because our Chronicleâs most sympathetic kindred tend to fight for the Sword of Caine. Even Aya-my sweet, horribly insane Malkavian-would be honored to be inducted into their ranks.
As promised bonus cards for Anarch, Sabbat, Camarilla and Tal'Mahe'Ra!
Three misfit childer. Three undead mistakes. Three sisters who fight against their lowly fates.
Matthia, @harbingerofskulls âs melodramatic Italian doctor still hates Aya. (The feeling is very mutual and even somewhat justified.)
Blood Raven, a sassy teenage thinblood who performs endless favors and emotional labor for its two âsisters,â belongs to @bombpipe .
Then thereâs my girl Aya. A Malkavian whose visions and blood dreams endlessly torment her fragile mind.
Will these three misfits set aside their differences? Carve out their place between the blood feuds and jyhad? Or will they fall to the intrigue and bloodshed that lurk behind every corner of New Orleans by Night?
Talk to the people that fight the monsters in the dark, skulking in the alleys no one remembers and hiding behind suits and smiling faces in the expensive buildings, they'll tell you stories. They say there's a city block that doesn't belong to the city anymore.
Don't make trouble for the people there. The unspoken statement is that the people there aren't... exactly human anymore. They used to be. But there's worse things in the dark then men with the hearts of wolves or undying monsters that drink the blood of the living; worse than patchwork men that spread disaster in their wake and don't understand why. Sometimes, a terrible mystery ensnares someone, trapping them in promises and story and lies, and drags them away.
What comes back isn't human anymore. It's still a person, though. They reason and understand things, same as the humans they were, once. You leave them alone, the local Union rep says. They're no harm to no one, as long as you don't bring trouble to them.
Don't rat to them, you get warned. If someone who looks too good to be true comes around sniffing for their addresses, you just smile and nod and say you never heard a damn thing. Don't rat them out. Because the people in that place will know, and they'll find you, and your family. You try to throw them back into hell, they'll return the favor three times over.
But it goes both ways; if you watch out for them, mind your business and keep their secrets, they'll help you out.
The Union rep tells you a short little story; he says that most of the time, the people in that city block look the same as you or me. There might be a few signs; a girl with teeth unnaturally sharp and pointy, or a man who knocks on wood and it makes a noise like HE'S made of wood. But if things are going normal, you won't see what they really look like, just a kind of magical mask that hides them. But they got their fancy tricks, and they know all about escaping bad situations.
So if you do your part in the deal, they'll help you out. Pretty much anything; a single mother went down to them after some bad business with her ex came up and her kids went missing. Well, she talked to Pop Hammerfist, the big ol' dude that looks like someone carved a tree into a man. Her ex was on the news in the hospital a few days after, yelling about the trees following him, and her kids were back home safe and sound, and with the ex having already signed a few agreements to pay his damn alimony already.
Or a little boy with a missing cat came up to them and asked for help. If any of the real hunters or Union folk had heard about it, they would have stopped him, but the people in the city block didn't turn him away. They nodded, and listened, a few hours later came back with the little boy's cat, safe and purring up a storm. You help them out, they help you out; I hear that kid tells 'em stuff he heard. 'Spose there's a lesson in that. We're all in this together, long as we don't tear the boat down with us in it.
Reminds me of a story about the lady who brought the cat in, in fact. A big lady; has to go to special shops to get clothes that fit. Weird shiny teeth, too, with the weirdest damn braces I ever saw, if those are braces. You hear some funny stories about her, that when she comes knocking the whole floor shakes, but she couldn't be a sweeter lady. Nice to kids, loves cats, always help out. If she's got the weird habit of speaking in rhyme before she says anything else, well, we all got our promises, I guess.
Well, a while back, we had a Slasher. Yeah; the thing that happens when a Hunter goes bad, or someone just gets too much of a taste for murder. Killing opens up a soul, and some part of us leaks out, or something else gets in. This particular fellow liked to call himself a real genius; a real nasty piece of work that liked making elaborate death traps and leaving people to die. Well, we worked out he was there when they started finding the bodies, and by that point he'd already gotten the Big Lady.
...Yeah, that's the name of that lady I mentioned. Long story.
Well, we found what was left of him, and his death traps. The whole place was smashed to pieces by something big. Big and helliciously strong, I'd say. It was like the set of those torture horror movies got hit by a storm. And they found the guy, or. What was left of him. Looked like a wild animal had bit him up, or a jaguar.
Well, from what we heard, he got her all right. But she might have been a bit more than he bargained for. I'm not sure exactly what she did to him, but they were cleaning his blood and bone off the wall for weeks. They said his skull looked like something real strong had just slugged him, so hard he sorta splashed. Don't make me draw you a picture, pal.
But, yeah. Funny thing is, they said the fist mark was so big you'd need a person the size of an elephant to throw that kind of punch. And we kept seeing cats around the area. Really, really big cats.
..You remember about promises. You keep 'em with the city block folk, because they got all kinds of things keeping promises to them.
What happened to the Big Lady, you ask? Oh, she's still around. Helps out the local Union cell now and then. Good hand if you need brute force.
She don't much like having to handle anything that's got too much iron in it; steel is fine, but not real iron. She saws its an allergy.
...Yeah, I know how it sounds. But we got our funny ways, and she keeps her promises, so keep your nose out of it, yeah?
What is the context of that interaction between Aya and your Quinn? The comic is pretty cool!
Hi!!!
Aya is @nhitchcock 's lovely malkavian, adopted by my tzimisce, in a small little written roleplay group set in New Orleans. said tzim is Quinn's packmate and has had many interactions, Quinn has a soft spot and has done his best to bond and ground Aya when the cobweb is being particularly cruel.
The context of the comic is Ferdinand recalling what had to be done in order to bail Quinn out of Camarilla Jail as being on the redlist, he was on the brink of being sentenced to final death before Ferdinand chose to allow Sinclair's intervention as all other attempts had resulted in failure.
Sinclair is the eldest of the pack, and the 'last resort' his vicissitude/dementation combination is nightmarish, and while it worked, and Quinn was able to escape, Ferdinand was left with the burden of whether it was the right choice, whether it should have been done at all. Quinn took some years to recover and still has some latent derangements/dementation from the ordeal.
Was the cost of such agony and long term scarring worth it? Aya and Ferdinand reflect.
Quinn eases the Cobwebâs shrieks with kind words and a gentle touch. Ferdinand levels delusions with merciless, frank truths.
Would she have made the same choice? Was there any other way to escape the execution? Should madness only be triggered as a last resort? Or is it her right as a Malkavian and a Cainite to embrace it?
âIâm sorry I brought those memories back.â
âYou are a Malkavian. You have premonitions. You bring nothing forward that was not already there.â
âYes. But it haunts me too.â
âIt is natural to feel that. What could or could not have been.â
âThank you uncle.â
âââ
Aya and her Uncle, @tzimizce âs Ferdinand, sharing a rare, vulnerable moment.
Hello all!
I have a form set up to accept the commission of your dreams!
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Iâm currently between jobs, so this is work that I take extremely seriously. Every commission helps me stay alive and pay my expenses so that I can get back on my feet and keep making and sharing beautiful things. Thank you for your time, and I canât wait to share what I make for everyone!
The Harbringer of the end times walks among us. A lamb with seven horns and seven eyes, bearing a scroll with seven seals. Even as it mourns the worldâs passing it opens the first seal, unleashing revelation and ruin upon all.
Little baby Aya dressed up for @tzimizce âs Charred Saints Palla Grande! Itâs this little Malkâs first ever Sabbat festival, and itâs certain to be an unforgettable night.
Quick doodle of Aya dancing with another of @beanphomet âs characters, the enigmatic toreador Quincy. Aya hasnât known many roses who would give her the time of night. But when they swept her close at that Anarch concert and whispered sweetly to her, she found herself hopelessly spellbound.
Uncle Rex. Ayaâs spunky, crunchy, rambling, chess-loving uncle, and the only parental figure Aya ever knew. Sure. He wasât completely honest with her about being a mage (all heâd admit to was hedge-magic, and the need constantly keep moving.) He meant well. He truly loved her. And when his little huckleberry stormed away to make her own life, he was willing to let her make her bones.
Three years have passed. And now the crusty old mage knows something has gone horribly wrong. Heâs been crossing the country, meeting oracles, magi, prophets, and grifters, trying to track down his little girl.
A Euthanatos knows that no one can defy their fate. And when he finds her, he has to either make sure sheâs safe, or stop whatever monster sheâs become.
Aya and @beanphomet âs lovely Tzim fledgeling Chiron.
Their regnants (An alien Tzimisce and a prissy Ventrue respectively) may be feuding over organ meat. But these two? Fast friends. Are they jealous of each other? ABSOLUTELY. Chiron wants an adopted sire that actually cares about him. Aya canât stand someone fleshcrafting with her sire, an art that her Cassandra blood canât do.
But Aya canât deny her maniacal curiosity or her friendly nature. So she reached out to the lonely muppet boy, and pushed him to explore the world outside his comfort zone.
Happy spooky month! Hereâs more of my Malkavian Aya. The sweetest, friendliest sticker-slinging, self-proclaimed âwitchâ youâll ever meet.
If you spot her on the cityâs rooftops sheâll jabber your ear off about âmagic powers.â Itâs mostly BS-not surprising for a Cassandra. And yet thereâs something so esoteric and unsettling about the stickers that sheâs pasted around town.