Commissions

Official Release Date: June 27, 2018

The Blood of the Enemy will be available for purchase on Gumroad!

Hey. Do you like playlists? Well, this book has one. Listen and read at the same time. I promise it’ll be fun.

Today I have something special to show, and that’s art that once upon a time I commissioned for my characters. There’s something special about each piece, whether up to date or not.

This piece features two characters who stayed and one who didn’t. The artist, who I’m not sure is still on tumblr, was a friend I made while I was networking. This piece is actually what inspired me to push for androgynous elves, since (as you can see) Misera in the middle there looks way more effeminate than I’d taken him for. So, that aspect stayed!

This piece done by absurdelights was the first ever rendering of my main villain Drystan. Drystan was and is my first villain to ever grace the pages of my novels. The only villain I have who is older is his dear old grandfather, for whom the series is titled. I have dreamt of what he would look like for so long, so seeing him come to life was just so amazing.

This piece was done by one of my good friends in goobermation. She made Salia, Arungeist, and Varian look so beautiful. Kasimira, though her appearance is now pretty different from this image, was also drawn so beautifully. I could not ask for more accurate representations of the other three though.

My girls. Absurdelights also gave me this beautiful first portrait of twin sisters Ria and Faewolf. They are such strong characters, beautiful and determined. I love them so much. I can’t thank my friend enough for bringing this generation of Inimicas to life.

Finally, we get to see what my old friend Princely did with Jaguaris and Lorne. Now, Jag and Lorne are mostly talked about throughout the first book and you meet them at the end. We will see them again in the follow-up novel. Jag’s appearance has mostly changed. He has darker skin and hair, in earth terms he’d be Polynesian. But the vampire carrying him looks the same 🙂

That’s the art. Now, for one more promo drabble!

^^^

Members of Drystan’s elite came and went over the course of three years. At first, he worked on his own. It was easier that way, knowing that any witness could and should be killed so his business went uninterrupted. Then one day, when he realized his presence naturally demanded respect of those he did not immediately kill, Drystan recognized the value of keeping company. With followers, he could build a grander scheme in the Cinican Kingdom. With a grander scheme, he could accomplish more. Earn more money. Own more of his city. Improve his reach. With reach and money and presence, he could amount to so much more than just the average crime lord.

 

He could own Cinica itself if he so wished.

 

It took time. Many proved disloyal. Some even proved downright defiant. Defiance could be broken usually, but if someone remained unbroken they usually also did not remain alive. Drystan tested many of his initial followers, ensuring only the best stayed in his company.

 

There was one individual he’d kept at his side the longest.

 

Faces changed, loyalties shifted, the weak died. Drystan’s agenda grew and expanded, his knowledge of his heritage skyrocketed. If someone didn’t fit explicitly where he needed them in his plan, then he removed them. There was no room for useless tagalongs. His single longest party member, however, played a necessary role. What’s more, they were in no position to tell him no.

 

They had learned well never to say no to him.

 

The white-haired elf was by no means powerful or strong. In fact, many saw Drystan’s willingness to keep them around as a sign that perhaps the man was capable of mercy. Such an outlook was fairly useful for Drystan, as it weeded out those who thought they could get away with half-assed work. Unfortunately for the elf, however, Drystan was actually a rather merciless master.

 

And if the elf ever defied Drystan, they would live just long enough to regret it.

 

Drystan sat at the head of a stone table in the basement of a now abandoned tavern. His current elite disbanded, each individual heading off to perform the tasks assigned. The ghost woman and archer showed promise, both rather unlikely candidates but proving their worth all the same. As they departed, the elf which Drystan had kept by his side for so long entered. Their orange gaze remained downcast, long white hair framing a dark face. Drystan crooked a finger and gestured for the elf to come hither.

 

The elf’s hesitation to approach Drystan even when summoned could never be beaten out of them. Their feet shuffled across the dirt floor softly, those brightly colored eyes never once making contact with Drystan’s sharp gaze. Everyone referred to the elf as the dullard, even Drystan at times, but he had to admit they were wise to avoid eye contact with their master.

 

As they came to stand at the arm of Drystan’s chair, Drystan reached up and brushed his fingers through the white strands dangling from the elf’s head. They flinched, as they always did whenever Drystan touched them. He could keep his touches gentle, but the elf’s own muscles reacted involuntarily to the harshness they knew lay coiled within him. It was with that very harshness Drystan had forced the elf to submit to him. From the first moment the elf had caved under him, Drystan had made good use of them. He had practiced the use of his psionic abilities on the elf first, which was the main reason they were insistent on keeping their eyes down. He had also used their body, their blood, taught himself new ways to make a person bend and break by bending and breaking the elf. Though elven bodies were certainly different from human or otherwise human-looking bodies, research was research.

 

For the time being, though, Drystan needed to use the elf for their blood.

 

Drystan slid from the chair, the piece of furniture dragging across the floor as the man stood. His fingers remained threaded through the white hair of his servant, pushing it aside for him to view the fresh bite mark which could not hide their fluttering pulse. Drystan kept himself well fed on his blood slave. To every vampire or vampiric individual who wasn’t him, the elf’s blood smelled like the blood of the dead: foul, and cold.

 

To Drystan, it was one of the sweetest, most attractive scent.

 

Cupping the elf’s jaw and tilting their head back, Drystan’s tangled fingers gripped their hair as his lips neared the column of their throat. First a hot kiss, then the steady push of fangs into already sore wounds. He felt the elf’s jaw clench in his hand, a sharp gasp fleeing lips usually pressed shut. The sweet nectar of the elf’s blood coated his tongue, Drystan’s fangs retracting so he could suckle the life source from the vein easier.

 

It only ever took the equivalent of a few sips to satisfy his thirst, but sometimes Drystan lost track of time. He would press closer to the elf, grip them tighter, push them against the nearest flat surface as he drank like an alcoholic drank his poison. The elf did not protest, they never did. They had learned long ago that only lengthened their time spent together. Drystan didn’t begrudge them their desire to be away from him so long as they came when they were called. The elf’s time away from him was reward enough for their services.

 

Drystan licked the blood from his lips, then focused on the remains of his meal. Running his tongue along the bite and gathering the drops and streams leftover, Drystan drew back to stare at the wound for a moment longer. When it didn’t weep quite so readily, he released the elf’s jaw and untangled his hand from their hair. “You may go,” he said. The elf obeyed without a word.

 

People and settings changed over the years. Drystan’s leadership and possession of certain individuals did not.

Hello! Since I’ve shown you the GREAT art, I can now show you my crappy high school art of these characters. It’s so bad, I’m putting it down at the bottom.

For now, have an awesome drabble!

^^^

“I think she’s calmed enough now,” Salia murmured as she emerged from her children’s bedroom. Arungeist and Kasimira had waited out in the dark living room, Geist’s eyes still wet as the air hung heavy with grief. Though Kasimira didn’t outwardly show any sign of upset, she hung her head as their vampire mother gestured for them to head for their room. As the teenaged vampiric pair stood, Geist’s green, Kaidan wings brushed Mira’s side. He was so much larger than her, her wood elf parentage lending her no promise of greater height. They were a strange triage of children, Geist, Mira, and Ria. Each had vampire in their blood, but each resembled their non-vampire parents more. Ria appeared human, but with fangs. Geist looked Kaidan, but with lighter complexion. Mira was wood elf, but with black hair and unchanging skin color. For their many differences, the three shared a great many similarities.

 

Including their intense grief.

 

Mira kept her back to Salia, who covered her face and breathed in the first broken, dry sob of her own with no audience to watch her. Mira, though the youngest, knew how important privacy was. She’d longed for it enough times since being stolen from her aunt’s and uncle’s village. She had not found that privacy until Salia offered to shelter her when no one else could stand to.

 

The half-elf knew her new mother needed to grieve the loss of her dear friend in her own time. Mira also knew that, unlike Salia, Ria could not be left alone with her grief.

 

An uncanny darkness had fallen within the normally energetic walls of Salia’s house when their reluctant father had been killed. The long-lived halfling man Varian, for what he had lacked in stature he had made up for in presence. Now that his presence was gone, the house was emptier. Almost three hundred years of living, and his final hours were spent fighting a dragon. If Mira were being truthful with herself, that was an impressive way to go.

 

Entering their room was like attending the funeral they couldn’t have for Varian. Their three beds, each pressed against a wall, could have been coffins with the atmosphere so dire. On her bed lay Ria, who was curled up facing her respective wall. They could see her holding her chest, which always seemed to hurt more than average when she was overwhelmed with feeling. The uniquely blonde child didn’t move an inch as her siblings entered the room.

 

Geist was the first to join her on her bed. His wings tucked in tight against his back as he sat, then one of the green appendages draped over Ria’s legs. Salia’s sobs from the other room did not permeate the home as Ria’s screams had upon learning of Varian’s death. It wasn’t a surprise Ria had taken his loss the hardest.

 

She blamed herself for his death.

 

Salia had done all she could to console the girl, assure her that Varian pulling her out of the dragon’s range and defending her against the creature was not something she should feel guilty about. Ria couldn’t bear to believe that, though. She just couldn’t accept that anyone would willingly put themselves in harm’s way to save her. No, that’s not it, Mira thought. Not quite. She couldn’t put her finger on it just yet, but she knew there was more to Ria’s immense self-condemnation than that.

 

As Mira also took a seat with Geist, the Kaidan rubbed Ria’s back gently. The soft touch made the girl go tense. Ria wasn’t much older than Mira, but sometimes Mira felt like she was much more jaded than the other to loss. While each of their demons were far from them, the pair were still haunted by them. Ria was just more vocal about her demons than Mira, so seeing her so still and quiet was jarring.

 

The half-elf tentatively ran her fingers through Ria’s light hair. It was an old habit she had, one that used to soothe the very, very few who were close to her in any way. Her hand felt heavier just from touching the yellow strands attached to Ria’s head. A few moments passed as Geist and Mira attempted to continue Salia’s venture to console Ria. They were all hurting over the loss of Varian, but somehow that didn’t stop them from wanting to help one another. For as long as they’d been with Salia, they’d acknowledged that this was the only family they might have. They were not an easily shaken family. In fact, these moments of utter vulnerability were exceedingly rare. It was virtually unheard of for all of them to be torn up at once.

 

Mira conceded mentally that that was the true gift of death: it revealed just how close those who remained truly were.

 

A sudden gasp out of Ria gave Geist and Mira a start. Both sat bolt upright, the tears which had been clinging to Geist’s gaze finally streaming down his cheeks. As Ria heaved her breaths, still clutching her surely aching chest, the girl murmured.

 

“Everything I touch dies.”

 

The brokenness with which she said the words shattered their resolve. Geist leaned over Ria, his face contorting as he released his own broken cry. Ria turned just enough to embrace him, one of Ria’s arms lacing with Geist’s arms around Mira. Mira conceded to the tug and the three squeezed one another tight. Though Geist was the vocal crier now, Ria’s fresh tears and Mira’s quiet grief were not drowned out. They shared in their space the same, silent resignation to Varian’s ultimate loss. As Ria had so bluntly verbalized though, his death forced them to recall everything else they’d lost before coming to Salia.

 

This was not their first family. Though Geist was raised by Salia from infancy, the knowledge that he was unwanted by his mother lingered forever.

 

This was not their first funeral. Though Ria’s brother had not truly died, his transformation into what he was now was a death nonetheless.

 

This was not the first time they’d lost. Though Mira was jaded from being commodified and used, the memory of her family turning their backs on her remained.

 

Varian’s passing was one in a chain of misfortunes. This misfortune, however? It was the loss of a someone who had been an ear for everything else that had happened to them. He’d been there to help them through the lasting hurt from all of their respective paths. He was their father, and he was gone.

 

At least for this loss, they already had loving family to turn to.

^^^

Okay here’s the bad art. It’s bad. Really bad. I warned you.

FIRST OF ALL, Lias and Geist no longer look like that. Their skin is much darker. In earthly terms, Lias would be of Indian and Native American descent while Geist would appear African with some dragon thrown in because . . . he’s a dragon.

Varian, my dude on the end there, is accurate. His hair is definitely bigger and kinkier, and he probably lets his beard go at times.

Ria is still for the most part accurate, as is Misera beside Lias. Kasimira, my girl there, is definitely more androgynous now. All elven clothes are more revealing than what Misera is wearing there, but because elves are all one sex she would not have boobage. Boobage is not a thing elves see on the daily. Also, her hair is all black.

These characters have been with me since I THOUGHT I could draw TT^TT