*bangs head against wall*
Oct. 28th, 2003 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessOf course, upon ranting abotu being forced to write fic by stubborn muses, it's generally a good idea to post said fic, right? I blame the alcohol.
So, Generation Gap No.3, mainly a prelude for things to come (i.e. it's finally got a plot)
Radoslav stirred from his ancient throne. The graveyard was perhaps as old as the city, and the city was truly ancient. One ancient mausoleum slowly crumbled into ruin in the centre of the graveyard. If anyone could read the long faded dates engraved into the stone they would have see that it was the first monument to the dead raised on the grounds, the first monument to the dead crafted in all the city. If some questing archaeologist were to break the seal in the ancient crypt they would find ancient wonders none ever even imagined beneath the modern, rational city.
Behind the ancient, tumbledown doors lay not the dead in state, but merely one sarcophagus heavy with the weight of time. Should a man open the lid of the intricately carved casket, a lid carved by hands that had skill and knowledge belying the artist’s era, they would find no long mouldered corpse, but a stair well, spiralling down into the darkness. Of course it would take a man of unbelievable strength to lift the lid, a team of a dozen would be hard pressed to make the great weight shift so much as an inch.
The stairwell was sheathed in the deepest darkness, a darkness that would eat any light brought down by intrepid, foolish explorers. The staircase was treacherous and pitted by centuries beyond knowing, footing unstable and venerable, but active traps waiting with reptilian patience for the unwary interloper to step within their lethal reach.
Should the explorer achieve the impossible and finally each the bottom of the nearly endless stairwell, they would find a truly impossible place. A cavern under the city, a cavern of such size that the ceiling was only visible because of the rows of beautiful chandeliers whose candles burned eternally, reflected and magnified by myriad crystals burning with inner fire. The cavern stretched in flickering candlelight, bordered by a hundred intricate candelabra. Artwork from every era of the world adorned niches in the walls, stood on pedestals in perfectly planned positions. Enormous oil paintings adorned the velvet covered walls between banner sized tapestries alight with threads untouched by time between metallic glinting of gold and silver wire.
There, on a raised dais that towered over the rest of the hall, commanding over the rest of that grand room. Atop its veined, black and white marble surface sat a throne. A throne so massive its back nearly touched the vaulted ceiling of the chamber. A throne that should have dwarfed anyone who presumed to sit in its gilded and be-gemmed seat. But Radoslav sat tall and strong in that seat, undaunted and undiminished by the ancient grandeur of his chosen home, sharp, ancient eyes piercing everyone of the flickering shadows, ears hearing every fall of dust in his chambers, every footfall on the ground seemingly miles above his head. It had been centuries since he had sat in this chair, yet nothing had changed, held stable by the powerful force of his mighty will. Any human who has managed to penetrate so far down into his inner sanctum would find their explorations brought to an abrupt end. Ended terminally by Radoslav’s disapproval.
But in human would ever trespass down this far. Radoslav’s power ranged the cemetery above, his will flowing between the rotten stones. Humans would look the other way, minds flinching away from the stones, curiosity quelled by a deep, nameless dread they couldn’t explain nor bring themselves to face. Radoslav valued his privacy.
His also prized the power he had lost, the control that was once his, represented by the throne on which he now sat. Once he was king here, or the vampire ruler. At his whim mortals danced on strings they could not even see. With a word or gesture vampires and revenants ran to fulfil his commands terrified of his wrath and desperately eager to please. The werecreatures snivelled and begged for his attention, craving his favour above all else. Even the mysterious and unknowable court of the fae bowed to his will and made sure their agendas never clashed. The very shadow court of the restless dead consulted him before making any decisions, even placed several of their minions at his command to ensure his support and out of pathetic terror of his enmity! He was a near god once, commanding over the supernatural world and controlling the sunlit world of the mortals .
He had lost it all. With no vampires to act as his dukes and lesser nobility there had been no-one to enforce his will during the long sleep. The Revenants ran wild and the other supernaturals had divided to their passions. No-one held the reigns of the mortals, and they now had more power than ever before. Radoslav growled with frustration. What once was would be again, even if he could find none of his former nobles, this was still his domain!
He needed to find where the lines of power now lay, who controlled what, who obeyed who, who commanded what. He needed to see the various factions and political groups and identify what supernatural forces still existed in the city, or what new forces had arisen in this strange, alien modern world.
There was a lot to do, but he had infinite patience and infinite time to achieve his goals. He would rule again. He would reclaim his throne.
So, Generation Gap No.3, mainly a prelude for things to come (i.e. it's finally got a plot)
Radoslav stirred from his ancient throne. The graveyard was perhaps as old as the city, and the city was truly ancient. One ancient mausoleum slowly crumbled into ruin in the centre of the graveyard. If anyone could read the long faded dates engraved into the stone they would have see that it was the first monument to the dead raised on the grounds, the first monument to the dead crafted in all the city. If some questing archaeologist were to break the seal in the ancient crypt they would find ancient wonders none ever even imagined beneath the modern, rational city.
Behind the ancient, tumbledown doors lay not the dead in state, but merely one sarcophagus heavy with the weight of time. Should a man open the lid of the intricately carved casket, a lid carved by hands that had skill and knowledge belying the artist’s era, they would find no long mouldered corpse, but a stair well, spiralling down into the darkness. Of course it would take a man of unbelievable strength to lift the lid, a team of a dozen would be hard pressed to make the great weight shift so much as an inch.
The stairwell was sheathed in the deepest darkness, a darkness that would eat any light brought down by intrepid, foolish explorers. The staircase was treacherous and pitted by centuries beyond knowing, footing unstable and venerable, but active traps waiting with reptilian patience for the unwary interloper to step within their lethal reach.
Should the explorer achieve the impossible and finally each the bottom of the nearly endless stairwell, they would find a truly impossible place. A cavern under the city, a cavern of such size that the ceiling was only visible because of the rows of beautiful chandeliers whose candles burned eternally, reflected and magnified by myriad crystals burning with inner fire. The cavern stretched in flickering candlelight, bordered by a hundred intricate candelabra. Artwork from every era of the world adorned niches in the walls, stood on pedestals in perfectly planned positions. Enormous oil paintings adorned the velvet covered walls between banner sized tapestries alight with threads untouched by time between metallic glinting of gold and silver wire.
There, on a raised dais that towered over the rest of the hall, commanding over the rest of that grand room. Atop its veined, black and white marble surface sat a throne. A throne so massive its back nearly touched the vaulted ceiling of the chamber. A throne that should have dwarfed anyone who presumed to sit in its gilded and be-gemmed seat. But Radoslav sat tall and strong in that seat, undaunted and undiminished by the ancient grandeur of his chosen home, sharp, ancient eyes piercing everyone of the flickering shadows, ears hearing every fall of dust in his chambers, every footfall on the ground seemingly miles above his head. It had been centuries since he had sat in this chair, yet nothing had changed, held stable by the powerful force of his mighty will. Any human who has managed to penetrate so far down into his inner sanctum would find their explorations brought to an abrupt end. Ended terminally by Radoslav’s disapproval.
But in human would ever trespass down this far. Radoslav’s power ranged the cemetery above, his will flowing between the rotten stones. Humans would look the other way, minds flinching away from the stones, curiosity quelled by a deep, nameless dread they couldn’t explain nor bring themselves to face. Radoslav valued his privacy.
His also prized the power he had lost, the control that was once his, represented by the throne on which he now sat. Once he was king here, or the vampire ruler. At his whim mortals danced on strings they could not even see. With a word or gesture vampires and revenants ran to fulfil his commands terrified of his wrath and desperately eager to please. The werecreatures snivelled and begged for his attention, craving his favour above all else. Even the mysterious and unknowable court of the fae bowed to his will and made sure their agendas never clashed. The very shadow court of the restless dead consulted him before making any decisions, even placed several of their minions at his command to ensure his support and out of pathetic terror of his enmity! He was a near god once, commanding over the supernatural world and controlling the sunlit world of the mortals .
He had lost it all. With no vampires to act as his dukes and lesser nobility there had been no-one to enforce his will during the long sleep. The Revenants ran wild and the other supernaturals had divided to their passions. No-one held the reigns of the mortals, and they now had more power than ever before. Radoslav growled with frustration. What once was would be again, even if he could find none of his former nobles, this was still his domain!
He needed to find where the lines of power now lay, who controlled what, who obeyed who, who commanded what. He needed to see the various factions and political groups and identify what supernatural forces still existed in the city, or what new forces had arisen in this strange, alien modern world.
There was a lot to do, but he had infinite patience and infinite time to achieve his goals. He would rule again. He would reclaim his throne.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-30 03:43 am (UTC)I still think they shoulda done smething bout Old dracula's hairdo. damn double bee hive. the brown locks looks much better. *G8 top it off with the john lennon glasses. ha! perfect.
Nope! more like end of the world holy stuff. heh and the angels envying us humans. Christopher Walken is funny. best watch all 3 in order. Not enough wingses shots tho. Blah! but then again wings are so hard to get to move right... and have large enough without your actors falling right over backwards from all the weight. Dogma has some good wing shots. so does the Adventures of baron von Munchausen. but that's an angel of death. Those be my recomendations. ^_^
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-30 06:37 pm (UTC)Perfect - apocalypse always fun. And Dogma rocks well and truly, always worth a massive laugh. And I do like Alan rickman. Did have some very well done wings.