tinhuviel: (Muse)

Despite breaking into a clumsy trot, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt not to succumb to his boot toe catching on a rise in the sidewalk pavement, Flint felt himself topple in slow motion, sprawling across The Osmond Family’s star on Hollywood Boulevard.


“So much for Vampiric grace,” Flint grumbled, pulling himself from the ground as tourists studiously ignored the spectacle before them.  Why were there so many tourists out at 2 in the morning? Flint wondered.  Raising his voice to where he could be heard, Flint groused, “Hey, shows over, eh?  Pictures’ll cost you extra!”


The tourists widened their berth around the irked Vampire, as he brushed the grime from an outfit that already looked grimy and unkempt.  The clothes weren’t dirty, they were just old, well-worn, and much too large for Flint’s slight frame.  It was his wardrobe that was responsible for his fall, because the size discrepancies weren’t reserved to just Flint’s threads, but also his shoes.  Flint’s proper shoe size was between a 9 and 10, depending on the make of the shoe.  The boots on his feet were size 13, and the sole of the left boot was loose and floppy.  Flint called it his rubber flapjack.

Satisfied with sorting himself after the tumble, Flint reached into one of his overcoat pockets and pulled out a wretched-looking cigarette, along with an even worse-looking book of matches.  Without moving from the middle of the sidewalk, Flint struck a match, and cupped it to the cigarette, taking a long drag, then exhaling slowly toward the night sky.


Out of the corner of his eye, Flint caught the disapproving glare of bearded young man approaching him, probably on his way to the subway station nearby, given his non-tourist appearance.  He was in just the perfect mood to not let the silent judgement go without comment.


“Calm down, it’s not like I’m a corporation belching filth into the air around the clock.  I think you’ll survive having to pass me on your way to whatever hipster convention is eagerly awaiting your arrival.  They surely can’t get started with their hardcore smugness without your retro arse in attendance!”


The man stopped in his tracks, his scowl deepening.  But when Flint flashed his fangs in a predatory smile, the scowl turned to dismay, and the young man hastened away, no longer concerned with the peril to his lungs.  Funny how people forgot minor dangers to their person, when they realised their throat could well be on the cutting board.  Flint chuckled, his mood buoyed by the brief encounter. He began to walk again, puffing away and humming to himself.  

tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)

Things have been going on, so this may be a bit of an update from Hell, compared to my usually non-updates.


First off, my phone has been on the fritz for who knows how long.  It’s not actually the phone, but the Cricket network.  I went yesterday to try to sort it, but the folks at the store couldn’t even troubleshoot it, so they had to put in a service order, which means up to 72 more hours of no service.


Since the first of the year, my health has been shite.  Recurring migraines with the most vicious nausea I think I’ve ever had, has beaten down my body more than I could have ever imagined.  In the past month, I have lost 10 pounds, and spent three days in the hospital, thanks to these fucking headaches.  I’m thinner now than I have been since I was 12 years old.  It has gotten to the point where I can’t even walk to the bathroom, which is right beside my room, without my having breathing difficulties and a pounding heart.  I feel like I am dying.


But, I might get to tick one thing off my bucket list before heading into the Void, if I’m lucky.  Jeff Lynne is bringing ELO back to the American stage on September 9th, 10th, and 11th of this year, at the Hollywood Bowl. When it was announced, I emailed a bunch of people with a proposition that, if they could get the tickets, I’d try to arrange us a place to stay.  My old high school friend, Andy, has always dreamt of attending a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and he bit.  We’re just waiting for the tickets to go on sale, if I can’t finagle them earlier than 1 May.  The target day is September 10th, as that’s the best day for Andy.  It’s also my birthday, which would be perfect.


Speaking of Jeff Lynne, David Bowie’s unexpected and untimely death made me come to grips with a truth I’ve known for a long time, but never truly verbalised, even to myself.  I decided to accept it and to come out, to use the term in a wholly different manner.  I wrote Barry Andrews and told him that he was the single most influential individual in my life, more so even than even the godlike Jeff Lynne and JRR Tolkien.  I wanted him to know it, in the event either of us kicks the bucket.  You should tell people how they affect you before it’s too late.  It could be too late in the next five minutes.  No one knows what each second will bring.  No one.


A few weeks ago, there was a huge shake-up in the format of the Work in Progress that officially made it into a full-fledged novel in the works instead of a collection of short stories.  I don’t even know what brought it to mind, guessing it had to be some kind of divine inspiration.  The long and short of it, though, is that Flint steals the New Hive’s first - and currently only - relic, Cadmus Pariah’s Harming Tree.  The story will revolve around Cadmus hunting down Flint, with possible help from Orphaeus Cygnus, and will include the stories and vignettes I have already written about the Harming Tree.  As The Blood Crown was essentially a Vampiric Hope & Crosby Road movie in book form, The Harming Tree will be a bit of a book version of a hunt and chase movie, kind of in the vein of Mad Max: Fury Road and the like.  I have asked Barry if he could drum up a photo of his harming tree, which is seen only briefly in the ‘Captain Cook’ video, and is obviously the benign inspiration, despite its name, for Cadmus’ dreadful tool of agony.  It would be good to have a very clear image reference as I continue this mad journey into the Darkness.  I need to jog his memory, though, as it’s been two or three months since I asked him.  I’m sure he’s forgotten, and I keep forgetting to remind him.  We are old as fuck.


The end.

tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)

Over the course of about a day now, I've had one character get resurrected in my current narrative and another new character get added to the same narrative. As it stands in my brainmeats right now, after Cadmus kills Baptiste Chenier, a solitary Vampire whose Hive alliance is still a mystery to me, resurrects him. This would make him the only Vampire to ever be decapitated, but still be saved. The only thing I know about the female Vampire is that her name is Pandora, and she renames the film maker Cadmus just killed Lazarus. The feeling I'm getting from this new and unexpected turn of events indicates to me that they are going to be of special importance to the new story. So, to celebrate, I made a crap Photoshop manipulation whilst waiting for my words to return.


tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)

Each tune had to reinvent rock music, every gig had to redefine live performance. New technologies (particularly the nascent internet) were embraced and forcibly mated with ancient sounds, tunings and atavistic objects like the Harming Tree (a tree root festooned with tiny speakers emitting significant Rat Morse).

rare early picture of the Harming Tree (who went on to a meteoric solo career -we had served our purpose)

CLICK to read the full post.

tinhuviel: (NOT SAFE)

A convincing meditation
On the splendour of the night
Giving out, giving out, radiating
More heat than light
Shriekback – More Heat than Light

Like the whispering promise of infection, Cadmus arrived in Los Angeles. Slicing through the insistent fog, the airplane finally came to rest in a cradle of the garish light upon which humanity seemed so dependent in their fruitless effort to stave away the dark. They denied the stars. They denied the velvet night. They feared that which could not be seen, because the artificial light blinded them to any possibility beyond that which was illuminated. Let them take comfort in their obliviousness. It often served Cadmus Pariah well.

He brought with him one small bag, just large enough to hold a change of clothes and his computer. Cadmus did not plan on being in America for very long. He still had connections to the entertainment empire, mainly on Wilshire Blvd. It should not take much effort to locate the offending filmmaker and dispatch him with haste.

Like quicksilver, Cadmus moved through swelling throng of travellers, his disdain for them growing with every nimble step he took. The stench of their skin was only made worse by their pathetic attempts to mask their natural odours. The only thing remotely pleasant about humanity was the dizzying effect of their blood. Despite their general unpleasantness, human blood was still a sublime intoxicant.

Cadmus was hungry.

No one saw anything, and his dinner never knew what hit her. Cadmus stepped out of time and whisked her with him, draining her of most of her blood as people marched by, burdened with concerns or basking in the illusion of hope. She had a child, who was left standing beside her mother, crying in the belief that the woman had instantly abandoned her little girl. She could not see the female crumple to her knees, still locked in Cadmus’ trans-dimensional embrace. Only when he let the body completely drop to the floor of LAX, did she once again become visible to mortal eyes.

The child’s cries turned to a great keen, and Cadmus peered at the little human, feeling nothing but, perhaps, a vague scorn. Let the airport authorities sort it out, he thought. Let the child become emotionally locked to this moment in time, wracked with a trauma that will only serve to grow as she grows. The sooner anyone has the epiphany that life is but a treasury of agonies, the better off they shall be. What horrors will this little one collect over the course of time?

It was still early evening on the Pacific coast. Cadmus knew, though, that the business that controlled all forms of entertainment never truly slept. He had no doubt people would still be diligently working to perfect their propaganda for public consumption. As he turned away from the inconsolable child and the growing herd of curious and distressed humans, Cadmus attended to his cell, and found the phone number of Neil Beiser, one of the executives who oversaw the dissemination of movie score recordings under the Sony umbrella.

Neil picked up in the middle of the second ring.

“Sony Pictures, this is Neil.”

“Hello, Neil.”

“Christian? Is that really you? Where the hell have you been, man? What’s up with Magnificat? You still doing that gig?”

“Ahhhh, no. After Mary passed, it just seemed a bit pointless,” Cadmus said, perfectly imitating a person who was dealing with grief.

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry to hear about that. So, what are you doing these days?”

“Writing primarily. Lying low, you know. Keeping to myself. Right now, though, I am in town and was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Name it, Christian.”

Neil still knew Cadmus as Christian, because that was the name he had originally gone by with the forming Magnificat. Even though he knew Cadmus’ real name, he preferred that particular cognomen. It didn’t faze Cadmus. Names were nothing but transitory identities to be used and dismissed in accordance to one’s needs in that moment.

“Word has it that a young director is engaged in a project about various Vampire sects. I’d heard he might be interested in using some of Magnificat’s music for his film. Do you know anything about this, perhaps?”

“Oh, you’re probably talking about Baptiste Chenier. He really gets into his work. I’ve heard he’s only filming at night, to maintain that particular undead vibe.” Neil barked out a cynical laugh, setting Cadmus’ teeth on edge. “He started out directing music videos, mostly for alternative bands, nothing like what you guys did. But yeah, I can see where he might be keen on getting the rights to use some of your songs.”

“Do you know how I might connect with him about this?” Cadmus asked politely.

tinhuviel: (Landon Dunlevy)
Very rough, but I kind of like it.

A stillness had manifested within Cadmus Pariah, since he had crossed over into full Vampirism. No longer did he rove restlessly, perpetually hunting for something, anything, to fill him up, gorging upon the blood of assumed innocents, and the Blood of the Endless Night. He rested within a rhapsody that only he could hear, a musical phrase of completion that had eluded him when he had been a slave to the Apostate, and a captive of a destiny that he had no part in writing.
The peace residing within )

tinhuviel: (Frustration)

This is the first revision, with the idea of The Harming Tree being more of a novel than a collection of short stories. There will be more changes here until I no longer find all this revolting.

After the song of the Augury of was sung, the Great Hive was terribly decimated by the mortation and purging of the Vampires. Gone were the last Tarmi of the Hive of Purity, finally rejoining their brethren on the holy isle of Meybhelahn. With them went the only human to grace that hidden home since the Night of the Blood Moon. Eve had fulfilled her destiny and was given her reward of sanctity, despite being Cadmus Pariah’s sacred garden of Blood. The Hive of Redemption collectively mortated back into the human population along with a number of Darklings of the Darkblood Hive. Most of the Tribe of the Tomb perished, finally being released from their crippling burdens. Those who were left also mortated and led short lives in human form. The only Vampires left were most of the Darklings and those of the Hive of the Beast. Less than five thousand Vampires walked the blessed dark, feeding upon the blood of the living.

Few of the Vampire Blood Royalty survived. Orphaeus Cygnus remained the High Prince of the Beasts, happy in his position and undesiring of any greater responsibility. Rebekah and Mephistopheles had never sought power within the Great Hive and had no desire to rise to power now that the King was dead and the Queen had passed into the Tarmian realm. Thaddeus Brannon had retaken his name of Dmitri and had disappeared into the Blue Ridge Mountains to mourn his departed lover. The only one left was the true heir to the Throne of Blood...Cadmus Pariah. The newly-born Vampire, aged to a certain regal beauty, had achieved all that he had dreamt, save for the death of his mother, Kelat. He had outlived his former master, the Apostate, and risen to power within what was now called the New Hive. Humanity was his for the taking, as were the spirits in the New Hive, a resplendent and neverending feast.

But he was not King. After Thiyennen, there could be no other king and, as long as Queen Kelat lived, the leader of the New Hive was considered a regent of the night. It rankled Cadmus, but he was barely concerned with this technicality because he knew Kelat would never return to the world of humans and Upyr. He was truly the ruler of the New Hive, but his title had to reflect his position on the throne. A coterie of Darklings and Beasts convened with Cadmus, despite their fear and hatred of him, and they decided upon the title of Plenipotentiary, the Ruler of All. Cadmus accepted this cognomen and rose to power over all the New Hive, his dark eyes watching the Upyr with dread magicks.

Still, he fed upon the Blood of the New Hive, reminding them of the Sanguinem Mittat and who was their eternal master. But he mostly took humans for food now, and basked in the ability to eat and drink the vast banquet of human food. He was more of a sybarite than ever before, and his West Country home was the center of the pleasure palace he called the world.

But all of it came with a price. Cadmus was fraught with all the trappings of emotion and he found himself countering the agonies of certain feelings with ghastly behaviour. Dogging him almost to the point of madness crept a Darkling who had always been masked to Cadmus’ boundless vision. He sought retribution for those who had been murdered to soften the blows emotion so often incur on those who feel, and he wandered on the peripheries of Cadmus’ world, waiting on a chance, any chance, to end the rule of the Plenipotentiary, by way of destruction or desire...or a strange combination of both.  Driven by vengeance, yet inspired by a kind of fascination, this Darkling was unlike any other in Cadmus' long night.

Herein lie the tales of Cadmus in the early days of his role of Plenipotentiary of the New Hive, the newfound enemy he was incapable of simply destroying or ignoring, and the object he found most sacred as he navigated his way as a Darkling walking a path of desire and revulsion: the Harming Tree.

tinhuviel: (Flint)
When I first started The Harming Tree, it was initially going to be a collection of short stories, each one based on Cadmus re-aqcuiring one of the many emotions abused out of him beginning at a very early age.
I had two stories written already, and was working on The Star Watcher and what was to be Cadmus' realisation of the ultimate emotion, love, in a story involving essentially Cadmus' mirror image, Gethsymonae. I had half of The Star Watcher left, and a rough outline of the Gethsymonae laid out, when the old computer went kaput. None of the files could be save.
So, while I tried to recapture my Star Watcher mojo, and play around with the idea of Cadmus falling in love, I wrote this little drabble that eventually became The Waltham Phantom. I was so enamoured with the idea of Tim Roth being a Vampire, I thought it would be good exercise to see what would come out of such a hellish partnership, what kind of Vampire would be born out of the idea of the Roth. Once I got to play around with the idea, I would of course let Cadmus have his Blood, and forget about the throwaway Darkling.

But I had a wee bit of a problem. Well more than one, actually. The Harming Tree was nowhere to be found in this story, which made it non-canon for my purposes. Also, I really liked Flint. I enjoyed his laissez faire outlook on life, his almost supernatural ability to give even less of a fraction of one single fuck. I liked that he had no concern for the clothes that he wore, only that they had to be large, so more close could fit underneath, and the many pockets could hold as many cigarette butts as possible on any given occassion. It was like he was the founding father of railroad hobo-ism. I could not bring himself to die in this story, but I had to figure out a way where Flint would be able to escape Cadmus' unequivocal grip. Enter the Wall. That vague psychic connect that blurred each Vampire to the other. Sure they could sense one another, Cadmus much more so than Flint, given his superior abilities, but neither could really pinpoint the exact location of the other. This was new to Cadmus, who could touch on every Vampire in the New Hive. The older they were in the ways of Vampires, the more easily he could see them. This should not have been a problem with Flint, who was a mere 19 years out from the Great Mortaliity when he was turned.

So yeah, he got away, with the help of actually feeling rage toward Cadmus for killing his best from from childhood. And he swore revenge on Gareth's behalf before swirling himself into his totem animal, the rat, and running into the Night.

So that was the end of the first short story, and I figured I could just let it go. But Cadmus could not. Cadmus wanted Blood, and Flint's in particular. Now anyone who has known me for any length of time, knows that Cadmus is more than just a character to me. He's like my demon child. He talks to me. He writes himself. I'm pretty much reduced to being his scribe for the things he wants to say. Flint is different, though. Flint throws wrench in pretty much everything Cadmus intends to do. So, with the second story, this time officially canon, with the presence of the Harming Tree, I was fully prepared to give Flint a wave goodbye as Cadmus made swift meat of him.

And meat was had. Oh, indeed, meat was had by both of them, just not in the way I had intended. I only posted the story here in order for a handful who knew they could find it, could read it if they so wished. Most were excited by the idea of Cadmus having a bit of a love/hate relationship with another. Orphaeus was never in that particular position to fill such a role. His and Cadmus' dynamic had more of a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern vibe, though neither were ever even a mite close to being an idiot savant. As I said, though, Flint is different. Flint is well-prepared for the eventuality of anything coming his way. He doesn't give one single fuck about anything...except avenging the death of his best friend.

All that said, Flint could very well be the shadow in the peripheries of Cadmus' world. He could be a witness to the atrocities laid before him. He could watch the Harming Tree grow. And he could turn Cadmus' existence upside-down on occasion, driving him mad with desire or pushing him into a realm of fury Cadmus did not know even existed. Flint could be the catalyst that the Harming Tree had yet to find. He could make the relic a reality to all Vampiredom. He may have the power to expose Cadmus for his dread deeds upon the subjects he is to be ruling. Flint may well hold the key to what The Harming Tree is all about.

That said, The Harming Tree is well on its way to becoming a proper novel, with each short story I had initially mapped out, being a chapter therein. This way, the non-canon stories, the ones that do not directly involve the Harming Tree, can also be included, and will actually enhance the overall story of the first relic of the New Hive. And it will allow Flint to live indefinitely, and quite possibly let him grow into an entity almost as powerful as his enemy and lover, Cadmus Pariah.

I am so doomed.
tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)
I had a bit of an epiphany last night because of a possible plot hole developing from The Vampire Relics proper and The Singing Tree. First, I'll present my dilemma.

Because of events in The Augury of Gideon, the Great Hive of Vampires is purged. None of this is really addressed in the book. My plan was to leave it to the imagination of the reader because I wasn't going to write anymore of the mythos. Since Cadmus refused to leave me alone and I've always been inspired by Barry's Harming Tree, I began to write my first short story that will be a part of The Harming Tree. But, in my head, the Great Hive was no more. The King was dead, and the Queen had moved on to the holy isle of Meybhelahn. The Hive of Redemption collectively mortated back to humanity. The Hive of Purity moved on with the Queen. The Tribe of the Tomb immediately began to die out. That left the Hive of the Beast and the Darkblood Hive, most of which remained in the blessed dark as Vampires. Even though there were some descendants of the royal Blood, none wished to rule the New Hive. They never wanted a role of leadership in the Great Hive, so why would they change their position in the new order of things? Orphaeus Cygnus wished only to lead the Beasts and remain a Prince. He also had a new role as memory keeper for the Vampires left on Earth, so that they never lost their heritage.

That leaves Cadmus, who always wanted to rule. And rulership would naturally fall to him anyway because he was a true child of the King and Queen both by birth and Blood. But I felt I couldn't use the word King for him, not with such a small group of subjects to rule anyway. Regent was too common, especially with all my other Vampire terms. I wanted something Latin or of Latin origin to be in keeping with Vampire terminology. The closest thing I could initially find was...Praetor. For obvious reasons, I couldn't use that because of Tom Hardy's title in Star Trek: Nemesis. Then I thought maybe Rex Praetorum might work. That was Latin enough, and not used technically anywhere else. Still, the whole Praetor thing in any form was distressing to me. So I did a little research and found the word...


The word is from the Latin plenus + potens, which means "ruler of all." How perfect is that? So Cadmus, in The Harming Tree, is known as the Plenipotentiary of the New Hive. And I am a very happy creature.

August 2017

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