7, 8, and 9!
Sorry it took me so long to answer this. Things have been pretty difficult lately, and I have been down in the dumps as a result. My poor mood is only amplified by the fact that I am in that “everything I do is bad” state of mind, which is why it’s taking me forever to get anything done.
Anyway…
I answered 8 in a previous post, so I’ll skip it here.
7. Create a character on the spot…. NOW!
It is a struggle to open his eyes after so many years, and after a few moments of consciousness he realizes that it’s a struggle to move at all. His dry muscles and tight joints begin to loosen once his long-stilled heart begins to pump a sluggish river of ichor through his veins. It feels strange to be alive after lying dormant and dead for so many years. There is grave-dirt beneath his fingernails and graveworms in his ears, but oh, to be alive after so long — it’s exhilarating.
Even more thrilling than life is the presence he feels in his tomb, and he struggles to move his arms, struggles to pull the cobwebs from his eyes, but the struggle will be worth it if he can only see his guest. And though his vision is blurred by the dry callous that covers his eyes, he can hear his guest. He revels in the sound of it’s quickened breaths, and the sound of it’s heart, beating like a war-drum, and beating even faster when it finally lays eyes on him. When it finally realizes that the tomb it has entered is not as empty as it once believed.
(ermahgerd, making characters on the spot is hard. I think it’s a mummy? XD)
9. A passage from a WIP
(This WIP is pretty rough, and I apologize for that. A while back there was a kmeme prompt requesting a consensual, sexy feeding scene between a vampire and their partner. I saw it as an opportunity to explore my vampire Altmer character - Cyril. I chose Eola for his partner because she made the most sense and because I like the Altmer/Breton size difference…. I like it a lot. Ah, but, unfortunately, I kinda lost my steam on this and I don’t know if I will ever finish it.)
The iron doors close behind him with a hollow boom, and Cyril can feel the tension easing from his shoulders with each step he takes deeper inside Reachcliff cave. This place feels more like home than Volkihar Keep ever will, and the inhabitants are more of a family than the mindless sycophants back at the Keep. Here there are no fake smiles, and no words of empty praise oozing from sneering lips. Here there is only acceptance.
The air reeks of decay and the musk of rot. Most would turn away from a place where many have met a gruesome end, their remains still festering within. But Cyril is not like most others, and the scent of death only serves to lure him through the twisting corridors of the cave, and closer to the Altmer’s only friend; a woman with genuine fondness for him, someone who understood and accepted his hunger long before he ever did. Just thinking of the intoxicating Breton beauty has his fangs itching to sink into warm, willing flesh.
"Not many would walk blindly into a crypt, smelling of steel and blood, but not fear."
Those words — those very words that placed him under her spell just a few weeks ago — rouse him in a way that still surprises him. After he was turned, he found no enjoyment in others. He thought that simple, very mortal, part of him died when he was turned. But that all changed when he met Eola.
If there was breath still left in his undead body, it would catch in his throat at the sight of her. She’s perched on the edge of the long, dining table, dressed in steel and fur. The golden strands of her hair are illuminated by a lone fire burning in a far off brazier, and she glows like a beacon in the dark. She is beautiful. She is his. She is all predatory grace and desire, and Cyril can feel the hunger growing inside him at the mere sight of her. It snakes up his spine like the fingers of a specter, his mouth dry as sand and aching for that first taste of iron-rich blood.
