Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

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Wrim
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Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Wrim » Sat Nov 02, 2013 05:55 am

I've finished 2 stories I'm currently transferring from paper to my computer.
The first story is called The Citizen and follows a Victim as he enters the world of the Cabal.

The second story follows the first and is called The Witch.
Image

I've uploaded the beginning of both, but I'll probably upload the remaining chapters of the first book before I begin on the other one.
And by book I mean like... 15 chapters. Check out the first five here: http://wrim.deviantart.com/gallery/46473807

There's also a poem called The Thread which is about the different symbols and what I think they all mean.
Image

I'll spice it up with a bit of edited textures in the thumbnails.
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dosgamer000
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby dosgamer000 » Sat Nov 02, 2013 02:49 pm

I can personally vouch these are decent pieces of Blood fan literature. Get the fanfic while it's hot! :D
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Tchernobog » Sun Nov 03, 2013 06:28 am

I would like to dosgamer000, I would really like to... :banghead:

I will be all over these in a little Wrim. For the moment I am way to busy getting the farm ready for winter and working on my python course. Just thought I would let you know I have noticed this and will find the time to appreciate them eventually. :)
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby dosgamer000 » Sun Nov 03, 2013 10:03 pm

Tchernobog wrote:I would like to dosgamer000, I would really like to... :banghead:

I will be all over these in a little Wrim. For the moment I am way to busy getting the farm ready for winter and working on my python course. Just thought I would let you know I have noticed this and will find the time to appreciate them eventually. :)


Haha, take your time Tcherno. The fanfic isn't going anywhere. :)
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Wrim » Tue Nov 05, 2013 06:35 pm

I'm looking to draw references to other bloodites and/or fan fiction writers, possibly as prophets.
If there's anyone who wants to be mentioned in the story let me know. :)
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Nov 25, 2013 07:08 am

First off, sorry for not coming back to this sooner, it unfortunately slipped my mind. :banghead:

Secondly, because it is marked as being mature content I can not view it as you need a DeviantArt account in order to turn off the Mature Content Filter. I do not like getting more accounts than I absolutely need to, so I would prefer it if you could provide it through some other service as well. In fact, if you email me your work, the Blood Wiki can provide alternate hosting for you.

Strangely enough though, chapter six of the The Citizen is not listed as mature. :?
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Wrim » Mon Nov 25, 2013 07:35 am

No problem! I'll paste the chapters here:

Chapter 1 - Notice

Last Will & Testament

I don't really have any possessions left besides my rags so there's not much to leave behind. I'm just writing this note to clear my mind before I jump on the train.
The gangrene in my left arm is spreading and the medicine isn't working, so I'll take my chances with the chapel rather than waiting for death to arrive.
Ever since they closed the city gates due to the plague and everything else no new deliveries have been getting in. I think I've been getting sugar pills.
Yet, I've seen worse.
Men and women fall down dead by their first cough, I'm lucky to have contracted a more lingering disease.
Yesterday I saw a naked man scratching his nails on the cobblestones screaming something about dark gods, ghosts and Black bibles.
The hooded men dragged him to the train along with the others.
Still, they're doing the best they can.
They've been making pyres to purify the streets but this Old Town seems content on being infested with all sorts of plagues and peril, no number of "cleansing" fires seem to stop the innocent from dying.
They're running out of kindling, what will they burn next, the church?
The bonfires have covered the sky in smoke for so long, I don't know if it's day or night any more.
It's been long since I've seen the stars.

Is it true what they say, do the monks from the chapel only have one eye?
I guess I'll find out.
Damn this town to hell.

- A fellow Citizen.

Chapter 2 - The Train

Death surrounded him.
He stood in a train cabin filled with other innocent victims from Old Town afflicted with leprosy, cholera and other various plagues.
Some were crying, some laughing, while others stood silently staring out into the landscape that passed them by in between planks in the cabin's wall.
The Citizen sighed.
Any of these people could have been him under different circumstances, and in ways they were all the same, yet there was something that made him feel different from his fellow passengers.
He had embraced his fate, taking the same train many others before him had been forced to take, never to return.
Not only humans, but also animals had been herded together in the past on this train to ride to the chapel by the mountain where the fires never died.
The fact that cattle had been present was evident by manure covering the floor.
He wasn't sure, but he hoped it had come from animals.

The night went on and the October fog grew thicker.
If some passengers had collapsed from fatigue it was hard to tell as they were packed together neatly like canned sardines.
The Citizen fell asleep standing.
He was awakened by the sound of train wheels grinding to a halt.
The freighter doors opened and bright torches blinded the weak man, having been in darkness for countless hours.
His knees had grown stiff from the ride and his progress was slow.
When his vision returned he noticed they were being herded towards the mountain through some sort of wooden maze.
- This doesn't look like a chapel, the weak man muttered to himself.
Cryptic shouts from monks on ledges above them and barks from hounds behind the crowd led them on, deeper into the mountain.
The group passed a wooden gate with the Citizen being pushed by the crowd, his feet not even touching the ground.
The gate slammed shut and the victims were enveloped by darkness.

Chapter 3 -End of the line

Lights in the ceiling turned on and covered the crowded victims in a pale red light.
They were trapped in a narrow corridor which had a gutter running through the centre of the floor.
A voice whimpered:
- There's no place like home!
The sound of rusty gears echoed somewhere below them and the walls at each end of the corridor started to move towards them.
The victims threw their arms up and began to run around aimlessly, flailing like the wings of decapitated poultry.
Fights broke out.
- Have some dignity, the Citizen said quietly, observing the rampage with a mind that had lost hope for humanity long ago.
Suddenly he was shoved from behind and a warm sensation filled his shoulder. A sharp pain followed which dropped him to his knees.
Fresh blood flowed down his arm and the smell of copper filled the room.
And the walls kept moving closer.

The Citizen reached for his shoulder and felt the hilt of a knife buried deep in his flesh.
As he gripped the hilt and wedged the dagger free, a stabbing wave of agony washed over him and he slumped to the floor, landing head first and biting his tounge in the process.
As the metallic taste of life essence seeped in his mouth he suddenly envisioned a beast's mouth with razor-sharp teeth coming to consume his soul.
And he was not amused.
His daydreaming was interrupted by some of the other victims stampeding over his body, stepping on his head, ribs and arms, caring about nothing else than their own survival.
More blood pumped from his wounds and spilled down the gutter.
As he laid there and contemplated his situation, he noticed the small stream of blood mixing with the other victim's fluids as it disappeared into a grate in the middle of the room.
- Maybe a painful life is better than a painful death, he muttered to himself between split lips.
The Citizen crawled slowly between fighting victims' legs and over dismembered corpses and eventually reached the grate.
And still the walls moved closer.

He tried to pry the grate loose, but his efforts were slow due to the dried blood covering it.
After scraping off some of the coagulated blood, he could see the churning wheels of a giant meat grinder beneath him.
Some victims saw his researching efforts and dragged him away from the grate, trying desperately to pry it open.
The closing walls now gathered them all in a group hug, and the already dead covered the floor.
The room grew smaller.
3 meters. The Citizen wailed his dagger, cutting flesh where he could reach it.
2 meters. He tried climb on top of the squished crowd.
1 meter. He was stuck.
The grate opened.

Chapter 4 - Bathing in Blood

After the victims were pressed through the grate, they fell among garlands of intestines and the meat grinder became packed with all kinds of human waste.
Still kicking and stabbing, the Citizen landed on top of the squirming mass of bodies and managed to climb the sloping wall of the meat discarder while it was stuck and getting ready to dissect another batch of pestilence.
He landed on a metal slab with the look of a newborn baby, covered in excrement and blood.
But he wasn't the only one. Others had managed to escape the funnel of death and resumed their stampede of flailing arms, searching in panic for a way out.
For a while he just laid there, watching the other humans limp around in the chamber.
Beside the slab stood barrels filled with blood and various body parts, electric sawing machines and other cutlery hung on the walls, especially designed to separate flesh from bone.

A door opened, and into the room entered a fat sweaty man wielding a meat cleaver.
- Meat, be still! he bellowed, swinging his cleaver in a wide arc, beheading whatever victims were closest to him.
Those he couldn't reach with his blade were covered by his green projectile vomit.
He regurgitated an impressive amount and covered an even more impressive distance, if one disregarded the horror of the moment and focused solely on effort.
The gall acid melted through the Innocent's backs and left them sizzling on the floor.

The Citizen had seen enough and looked around for a hiding place. He rolled off the metal slab and slipped into an open barrel filled with blood.
Through a small window on the side barrel he could see the bloated butcher chase the victims around the room, but the lack of air made the Citizen emerge from his impromptu bath.
Looking for another solution he found a trachea on the slab and considering it a good substitute for a snorkel, he submerged into the barrel once again.
Having at least an illusion of safety he watched the Butcher finish his work.

When his work was done the Butcher wiped his brow, replacing sweat with blood, and walked over to the barrels to dump newly collected limbs.
After dropping them off in their respective barrels he stopped at the barrel the Citizen was hiding in and smiled.
He plunged his meaty hands into the barrel and cupped them, letting them fill up with blood, but as he was about to drink he saw the trachea sticking up from beneath the surface.
He snatched it and proceeded to suck the contents of the barrel through the trachea like a straw.
After what seemed like an eternity for the slowly drowning Citizen, the Butcher finished drinking and left the chamber with satisfied grin.

The Citizen tipped the barrel over and was discarded on the chamber floor.
Feeling weaker by the second he crawled to the door and left what was left of his travelling companions behind him.
the door led to a system of tunnels with mountain rock walls, scarcely lit by light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
A dusty sign that said "..ain storage - No ....ies allowed".
He crawled inside the small room and sat with his back against the wall, feeling his strength pump away from his body with each heartbeat.
Slipping in and out of consciousness he heard footsteps coming closer and closer.
The door slid open and he saw a blurry shape of a hooded man standing in the doorway.
- Please don't kill me, I'm just a citizen... a victim...
The hooded man responded:
- Victims, aren't we all?

Chapter 5 - Purgatory

"I can help you survive but only if you follow my instructions, understand?" the stranger asked.
"I'll do anything, I swear to god-" the Citizen mumbled before getting interrupted.
"Which one?"
The figure in the doorway entered the small storage room and browsed the shelves above the bleeding citizen.
Murky jars stood neatly arranged in rows. The stranger opened a jar to smell its contents and winced.
"Ew, that's not it. Oh, here we go! Hey, wake up!" he yelled and kicked the Citizen in his already broken ribs.
"I need you to eat this. Do zla boga." The Citizen awoke from his state of ignorant bliss called unconsciousness and screamed in horror when he saw an enormous blinking eye in his hands.
The Stranger showed The Eye into the Citizen's mouth.
"SSH! Do you want Butch to find you and cut you up into ribbons? Eat it and enjoy it!"
The Citizen bit through the gelatinous husk and puss flowed into his mouth.
He was ready to throw up when he felt his body change, and his strength returning.
"This... is incredible!" he exclaimed with his mouth full.
"And disgusting! What is it?"
"It's an eye from something big and dangerous and you better pay me back for it, now come on, you're still bleeding, we need to do something about those wounds before you bleed to death."
The stranger helped the Citizen rise to his feet and supported him as he limped down the corridor.

"If you want to survive you'll have to go through this." The stranger stopped at a cage-like transport on rails.
"A train?" the Citizen asked.
"Of sorts. see on you on the other side. Marana Mallex."
The stranger shoved the Citizen into the cage and closed the gate.

There was a faint smell of old barbecue in the air as the cage slowly rolled towards its destination.
Through a barred window in the front of the carriage he could see small hatches mounted on the walls which opened up with a rusty sound.
Long arcs of fire flowed from the hatches.
And the Citizen burned.

When the carriage stopped, the stranger stood waiting with open arms.
"Welcome to the Order of Heavenly Blood! Or as the hip kids say, Pestis Cruento Vilomaxus Pretiacruento. Vorox pallex!"
The Stranger threw a bucket of blood on the foetal-positioned charred remains and fed him, or it, small pieces of something red and pumping.
"I know it's not life seed but it gets the job done. That's twice you owe me now." He smiled and twirled a stick of dynamite.
"Now let's get you a room, shall we?"

The stranger dragged the Citizen down a wide set of spiralling stairs and stopped at a bend.
"This seems like a good place, the earth is soft here."
He had taped together several dynamite sticks which he lit and pushed into the soft wall.

"Take cover!" he shouted and kicked the Citizen down the stairs. He rolled over the edge of the spiral stairs and fell, landing in a deep stream of water.
"Oops, sorry!" The stranger yelled. "The room will be done when you've gotten your strength back!"

The cave wall exploded.

Chapter 6 - Domus Durbentia

"What the hell is going on?" the Citizen wondered.
The stream slowly carried him away from the slaughter. Being void of violence he allowed himself the luxury of reflection.
His body was covered in boils, scars and burn-marks but his joints had healed well.
The gangrene had been burnt away by the purgatory and aside from his cosmetic defects his worst worry was his itching yet rapidly healing wounds.
He saw hooded figures working together on ledges along the stream, digging tunnels and building structures. Not counting the violent introduction this society seemed almost civil.
Religious effigies covered the walls, burning candles adorned praying altars and decorative gargoyles hung from meticulously carved plinths, observing the workers through lifeless marble eyes.
The architecture was made out of passion and the Citizen found it a shame that no one was bragging about it. Why didn't Old Town look like this?

He washed ashore next to a monk washing clothes by the stream.
The monk moved in silence and handed the Citizen a green robe with a yellow belt. He or she - the Citizen couldn't tell - placed a finger on his chest and spoke with a raspy voice.
"Crunatus."
The monk pointed to a door further down the path.
"Durbentia."

The Citizen bowed, donned his new garment and walked to whatever the Durbentia was.

He had always thirsted for knowledge, and walking through the door to the old library was like entering Nirvana.
The bookshelves were packed with tomes, scrolls and parchments, ready to be deciphered and consumed.
A monk in a black robe recited something from a book in a low muttering voice, giving the chamber a soothing atmosphere.
The Citizen slowly walked among the bookcases, letting his index finger run past the backs of books containing hidden knowledge & forgotten tales.

Titles such as: Legends of the Iconoclast, Dinner with the Preacher and many other promising works. Even poetry.
"Poetry... in a place like this!" he muttered amazed.
He scanned the shelves for more.
His finger stopped at a worn tome bound in green leather and adorned with a yellow tassel, the same hue as the Citizen's robe.
Its title: "Ackolyt Scriptorum: Gero Esco Durbe."
He skimmed through the old pages with reverence.
It seemed to have been written by several people in a number of different languages.
One section contained a dictionary named Domus Durbentia which contained a list of common words and phrases used by the monks.
The first word he looked up was Crunatus.
"Brother."
Seeing no librarian, he kept the book and wandered back up the path he floated along.
He met a row of monks who carried buckets filled with dirt and rocks which they dumped in the stream.
The last monk in the row pointed towards the Citizen's so called home and spoke the word "Bhaava" followed by a welcoming bow.

After adjusting to the darkness inside his room he found it as tidy & neat as a dirt-floored hole could ever be.
A 2x2 meter space had been cleared out and levelled, and decorated with a bed roll and a bucket in which he assumed he would perform his most basic needs.
On the bed roll laid a candle, some matches and a pair of sandals which he gladly adopted to his new couture.
He realized that he must have passed several dens like this on the way back from the library, but since there was no light source besides the occasional use of candles the darkness provided all the privacy the habitants required.
Feeling content to be alive in this new society he studied the scriptures until he fell asleep.
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby Tchernobog » Tue Nov 26, 2013 12:49 am

Very detailed and original. It is nice to see a Blood work that does not actually focus on the main characters but instead tries to flesh out a bit more about the world in which they reside.

At any rate, I have created a section for your work on the List of Fan Fiction article on the Blood Wiki:
http://www.blood-wiki.org/index.php/Lis ... im_Rimbaug

If you could post more of what you have there, I would definitely appreciate it. :)
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Re: Bloodworks: Fan fiction, poems and artwork

Postby dosgamer000 » Sat Nov 30, 2013 01:17 pm

Agree with Tchernobog, no one has written a fic about a civilian being inducted to the cult before AFAIK.

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