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~Worldbuilding~

The Valcari family became the original vampires through a curse(which Artemis unironically thinks is the best thing to ever happen to anyone ever).

They actually suck ass, all things considered. All they can do is drink blood and not die. Anyone turned by them isn't considered a part of the curse, and over the years have developed powers/abilities, and generally just became stronger. This is not true for any descendants of the Valcari line. They are still incredibly pathetic.

Yes, they are the main focus of the majority that I write.

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~Worldbuilding~

Mabristan engagements consist of a small token of emotional value on a chain. These tokens vary in the object, from a small cog to shells, something handmade, to anything in between.

Alek receives both a ring and a small vial with a dried flower bud in it during her lifetime.

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Kirian Folk: Daergrwn

Build: very short and dense, with a thick amount of body hair to keep themselves warm. They have a long tail, typically with a large tuft of fur at the end like a flame, and long pointed fur-lined ears. Think of them as small, furry orcs. That's basically them.

Height typically caps at 5'3, but most are far below that.

Skin tone wise they are typically shades of green and grey, but surface dwellers have a larger range with some entering the human skin tone range(Ellys is an outlier and shouldn't actually be counted, surface dwellers typically go a shade of teal, not peachy but alas).

Eyes are brightly coloured, with large pupils and black sclera.

They have big teeth! Especially on the bottom, where the two canines jut out like tusks.

Surface dwelling female(Ellys) vs cave dwelling male(Gatling):

Magic: Absolutely no magic wielding ability, but they make up for it by inventing wild contraptions.

Skills: Very mechanically minded, you can set some scrap in front of them and they'd figure out a way to make it useful. Actually designed much of the Syi Dorian decor.

Location: Underground, caves, anywhere that's dark and damp. Can live elsewhere but that is the Main Settlements.

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Kirian Folk: Humans

The newest to the inhabitant roster, they arrived several hundred?thousand? years before the current timeline.

Note: I refer to them as human plus on the basis of how they've evolved to fit on Kirus, and not because I think they're particularly special.

Build: Shorter and built far denser than their earthen counterparts. Their bones are thicker and there's more of them, ribs are longer and wider to cover their larger organs. In recent years, many have larger pointed ears or tail nubs depending on Kirian ancestry.

Height typically caps at 5'8, though there are some outliers.

Magic: The least magical of the roster, but many are still capable of wielding it. Typically elemental, with the majority of human mages using fire as their primary.

Skills: The most adaptable species, and annoyingly determind. They're capable of long treks, and adapt easier to changes in temperature than the other races, though it's best not too push them too far or they'll, y'know. Die.

Location: Everywhere and anywhere. They will adapt.

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You have no idea how excited I am to rewrite this scene... shame it's near the end

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Lieutenant Cooper

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The academy loomed ever closer, the crumbling stone walls standing out like a sore thumb within the whites of the city. The last of the city’s gas lamps burned a sickly orange, barely illuminating the night compared to the newer white lights that killed off the stars but shone just enough to see where the dirt path cut through the grass. For all its prestige, it was a scab on the face of Kingshill. No amount of posters plastered across its walls, no amount of upgrading and building anew could change that. Against the marble walls Cooper was raised in, it was an eyesore that she couldn’t wait to officially leave. Along the white walls, advertisements for the latest sponsors were pasted, each and every one torn through the middle in an unsuccessful attempt to bring them down, only succeeding in ripping off the already peeling paint. Godrick Gears - Get Your Motor On. Lindys Industries - Be Prepared for The Future. Lancer & Co - Light Up Your World. Cooper rolled her eyes and shuffled through, fingers fumbling in the shallow pocket of her sleep trousers, poking through the thin ring of her room keys. It was only the rare occasion that she slept over in the dorms, she barely had a reason to. The temple was close enough for her to return, and — as much as she loved him — her assigned roommate rattled the room with his snoring.

A quick extract of what I finally got around to writing lmao. This is still the first chapter, it's not stopping.

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A re-intro since I'm leaning hard into this new aesthetic with the rewrite

Basic Info

1920s Art Deco themed high fantasy

Undead creatures and werewolves

"The world's most horrible gays go on a roadtrip"

Blurb

Cooper was dead, and that was only the beginning.

Lieutenant Cooper is a Templar of Omera, goddess of Death, or was at least. After fleeing the woods after her untimely death, leaving her squadron to die in the process, she's forced out of the city she was raised in as nothing more than a fugitive. In an attempt to return to her temple's good graces she joins a small team of relic hunters to look for the legendary sword of house Valcari, but along the way gets involved in more than she bargained for.

Characters

Cooper - devout little holy warrior with so many issues.

Raelyn Godrick - wannabe doctor with questionable live decisions.

Finn Hawthorne - tall brooding fire mage with zero social skills unless you're a horse.

Val Caron - Finn's... aunt? boss? both? Tiny gunslinger who eat hot chip and lie.

Sir Barnabus Daniels - The actual boss, a world famous historian who's honestly pretty lame.

Idris - A Good Boy.

Will contain:

Body horror (maggots, creatures made from corpses, surgery while awake, werewolves)

Murder! Death! Rebirth! Murder!

Blood, naturally

Questionable relationships (cheating, implied incest)

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Risen - A (Unfinished) Version of Chapter One

I'll be real, I don't know how to feel about the direction this is going but hey, it's something.

It was on that planet, at the very edge of the universe, a decade after anything remotely interesting had happened, centuries after the important bits, that the city of Kingshill thrived. The city glimmered in the morning light, its geometric designs of gold and brass cogs shining brightly and its white buildings towering proudly above. The overhead wires crackled with Lancer & Co branded electricity, connecting every house and business and small, forgotten shack to the beauty that was a danger to society, but very good at powering newfangled appliances. Cars and shuttlebuses created by the Godricks of Godrick Gears rushed around to no end through busy streets and polished roads. The same city that was protected by its many soldiers, from those of the military academy to the templars of the twin temples that stood mirrored on opposite ends of this glorious place. A perfect haven, where nothing wrong ever happened. Ever.

In the courtyard of the Temple of Omera, a dog knight lay dying. Flat on her back, her chest a concave broken mess. She wore no armour - that was a first, and now her last. She assumed that when the time came, as it does for all, she would go peacefully and quietly. No such mercy ever came her way.

When the elders dragged her still-wheezing corpse from that patch of evergreen grass, she could not fight. Her eyelids were heavy, eyes staring unfocused into the sky, sending one sloppy glare into Sanctum. Behind her, she left a red carpet across the marble flooring, a snail trail of gore that wouldn’t be her problem.

And there, in the back room semi-used as a mortuary, she lay across the stone table. An altar to her. A bottle pressed to her lips, thick liquid forcing itself down her throat as if it were a living thing. Minutes. An eternity. No time whatsoever. Her chest re-inflated with a violent pop, bones sewing back together, skin mending. She sat up with a start, gasping to fill her semi-fixed lungs, hands grasping at her front, feeling how the skin pulled itself together.

She was alive, and that was awful.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, patting her gently. A rook, one that the humble dog knight knew years ago, though time is a fickle thing that does what it wants. His name was Rutherford, once. If it still was, she could never be sure. A fellow barbaric cocktail of etain and human, big catlike eyes and pointed ears hidden beneath a thick cascading mass of black hair.

“Cooper,” he said, voice low but crackling like a hearth. A warning. “You need to be more careful, if anything happened to you-”

“Well, I can’t die,” she said through blood-stained lips, the sound closer to a gurgle than her voice. Closer to water fighting to flow down a plughole. “Idris would get lonely.��

“Forget about the damn dog for two seconds. You have a duty. To the temple and your squad.”

“You had that duty, once.”

Rutherford huffed, blowing air forcefully through his nose as if he could breathe fire. He couldn’t, Cooper had checked. His big purple eyes regarded her, stared through her, before he sighed once more. “Get some rest, Cooper. You still need it.”

Nails scratched at the door, shaking it on its hinges. A loud whine shattered the air before Rutherford opened the door and let the bounding mass of fluff and muscle.

“Hey puppy!” greeted Cooper, voice raising several uncharacteristic octaves; reaching over to rub the overly large wardog between his drooping ears.

Rutherford clicked his tongue. “It’s not a pet, Cooper. It’s also not allowed within temple walls. Your bond shouldn’t have called him.”

Cooper did not have a bond with Idris, not how she expected. They were not connected in any way, either through magic or some other means. She cared for him and, in return, he cared for her. The very fact that he was allowed to grow up without that link is likely the reason for his size, the largest out of his litter, who looked closer to a lycan tank than a typical wardog. His size, unfortunately, came at both their downfalls.

Despite this, the temple was unaware that she skipped the bonding ritual so many years ago. Now standing at the ripe old age of twenty-one, she didn’t see a reason to do so. “I need to get back to the barracks somehow, yeah? Were you going to carry me? Probably not.”

“Don’t let me catch it in here again.”

“Yes, sir.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the table, Idris instinctively laying down so that she could climb onto his back. Her spine cracked, joints popping, but sore now rather than dead. Digging her fingers into thick black fur, Idris stood and carefully walked out of the room, his colossal body squeezing through the doorway once more.

The grey room was still and cold, and the only sound was the soft chatter of the other Templars. After everything, it was a welcome sight. Nothing could have been more comforting than the straw of her bed that she gained from wearing her old mattress down for the past twelve years. Idris lay beside her, his big head dropping into her lap with a thump. One step away from perfection, that last step being positively ruined by Hawkins, the rampant bitch of the twelfth herself, changing in the corner of her eye.

“Back already?” she called over, torso bared and a white cotton shirt that was practically the same colour as her skin bundled in her hand. “And you brought the mutt. Of course. Weren’t you busy dying?”

“Rutherford gave me ichor.”

“Ah.”

Cooper rolled her eyes. “Don’t get too worked up about it.”

“Oh, I’m not. If anything, I’m more upset that you’re still here.”

“I hate you.”

“Who got the better of you? I’ll buy them a drink.”

Cooper replied rather eloquently with a middle finger in Hawkins’ general direction.

It was Mayburn who spectacularly ruined her chest. A child. A child, who both wielded a hammer and was raised by Cooper herself. A young dog knight who had, actually, had the temple’s bond with her animal. Was it pride that Cooper felt blooming in her chest, that the girl she trained bested her so royally? No. No, it was likely heartburn from where her ribs continued to fuse back into place.

Regardless, she did not want to encourage the ten-year-old to gain a drinking problem. Not just yet.

“I think they’d only fight you.”

“Then I welcome the challenge.”

Cooper snorted, hand flying to her chest as it throbbed. Fingers pressed at the bones beneath, massaging out the flames that grew within her heart. Hawkins cast a look that could only be described as pitiful, or rather, pitying. A horrific thought. Her eyes soft and scrunched, focused on Cooper and only Cooper, before hardening once more before strapping a pauldron onto her otherwise unarmoured self.

“The Bishop wants to talk to you.” A roll of the shoulders. “Talk to us.”

“Now?”

“Get some rest, Lieutenant.”

As the sun set over the city, bathing the land in a warm golden glow, Cooper found herself once more in the chilling breeze that haunted her. She lead Idris back to his pen, back to his pups and pack mates, hand lost in the mass of fur of his front leg. The sun disappeared over the gleaming white buildings, the city’s gold glinting for the last time that day.

She sucked in a long breath, lungs chilling and filling with the scent of old mutts that would have once caused her to gag, was now a strange comfort. The dogs understood her like no other templar. She ushered Idris in, rubbing him between the ears one last time before closing the door and locking it behind her. The last stop before her summons.

In the temple’s backfield, she felt the wind on her face, and was free for a few glorious moments. Free in the chilling air as the day slowly but surely turned to night. Above her inky black ate away at the pinks and ambers, the twin moons still out of sight behind the paint dabs of clouds. Free. Cooper couldn’t say what the word meant.

The inside of the temple was hardly any warmer. The chill followed her in, hiding within her bones and gripping its withered fingers into her skin. In the ribcage of marble, the only thing that resembled home, the world fell silent. There she stood before her greatest foe, the dark wooden doorway to the Bishop’s quarters. Her heart hammered away, stomach rolling. She hadn’t been in that room in many years; she could still feel the desperation of leaving Andrin behind, even all these years later. For him to never return from the Bishop’s lair, buried with the rest. She alone left victorious, a new title to pin on her chest.

She didn’t regret it one bit.

Cooper knocked. The sound echoed down the empty hallway. She mustered her courage and struck again, the sound ringing in her ears. It was this time a muffled voice came from within, words unknown but assumedly a “come in” or “go away”. Gambling, she entered.

Bishop Nyxus sat hunched behind his desk, his back arched in such a way it almost overshadowed his head. The same man who took issue with his shining templar’s posture looked closer to an uncooked shrimp in purple robes than the head of their fine regime. Slowly he raised his head, green eyes staring unblinking at Cooper, pupils slits in the soft lamplight.

“Late, isn’t it, Cub?”

“You wanted to speak with me?”

The Bishop nodded slowly, gesturing towards the seat before him. Cooper sat, unaccustomed to the soft fabric that stretched over its overstuffed form. She fingered at the deep purple velvet of the armrests, rolling the pads across its surface. Soft. Cosy. Not for her, but she indulged nonetheless. He watched her. Looked through her. Searching for something beneath the surface.

“Bonbon?” he asked, finally breaking his unblinking stare. Cooper grabbed one from the little ornate bowl on the desk with very little hesitation and popped it in her mouth. It was awful. Chalky and bitter, like licking at where the stone had began to crumble in the courtyard, or the powder that had accumulated behind the peeling wallpaper of the armoury. It coated her tongue, viscous and sour, and stayed there like her own personal punishment. The Bishop gave a small smile at her struggle. “You died today. Perhaps I should be impressed, that the one you trained has overtaken you so quickly, though I invested a lot into you. You do understand how hard it is to fill our ranks since the war, yes?”

She nodded, despite not understanding at all. The temple was worthy to serve, no matter how curious she was about life outside. Four hundred shills, she cost. She had never seen that much money in her life, wasn’t allowed. Too valuable, Nyxus had told her. That, paired with free room and meals for the past twelve years, was more than she could ever give back. Twelve years. She had been dragged through the temple gates kicking and screaming, a feral little thing; underfed and sharp. She had been placed under Rutherford’s care, and had bitten him plenty of times during those first few weeks. That, too, had been beaten from her, trained from her.

She scarfed another bonbon to fill the silence.

The Bishop poured a glass of red, swirling the liquid around the chalice. “Now, Cooper, you’re better than this. You’ve always been better than this.” Cooper grew warm and uncomfortable, sweat prickling her skin. It was a compliment. She was sure it was a compliment. With a long sip, and a lazy appraisal, the Bishop spoke again. “Make it up to me?”

Cooper nodded without hesitation, sitting forward in her seat, though not daring to touch the desk. An over eager child in adulthood. Her skin itched, burned with the need to please despite it all. She could count on both hands the times she had seen him, spoken to him, in all her years serving the Goddess. A busy man who the Goddess chose as her eyes and ears over the Kingshill temple. Too busy to raise her and too busy to father her, but pushed her forward the best he could. She owed him.

“How?” she croaked out. She cursed herself, swallowing the words like a bitter pill. For the Goddess, she’d do anything. It was only right. “How do I make this right?”

“I would have told you in the morning, though there’s no harm in telling you now.” He sat back in his chair, chalice abandoned and fingers steepled. Still, he watched her. Never once had he taken his gaze off of her. “You’re needed on a search party, as you’re likely aware Prince Kirran is missing, and his siblings have asked for you personally.”

Cooper’s stomach dropped. It twisted and boiled, raging against the flesh it was housed in.

Through gritted teeth she said “of course.” And left it at that, which brought a little smile to Nyxus’ lips.

“You’re our best,” he said like a threat. “I agreed on your behalf, though I will have to send Captain Hawkins alongside you. Should take a few months, and I have something in mind for when you return.”

That something, Cooper hoped was the greatest reward of all; no longer being under Hawkins’ leadership.

“Of course, sir,” she nodded, “anything for the Goddess.”

Nyxus smiled at her now, teeth gleaming like the paste advertisements littered around on posters around the city. Very white, and dripping charisma. “You’re dismissed, my cub. You have a long week ahead.”

After sleeping the day away, it now evaded her. The silver moonlight washed over the barracks, untainted by the stained glass that filled the front half of the temple, barely kept out by heavy purple curtains. There in her once-white shirt that had belonged to at least a dozen templars before her, now drenched due to the warm night air; Cooper wanted to die.

As silently as she could she shifted her legs to the side, pulling on her worn down excuse for shoes, she fled the barracks as she had many nights before. It was something she would have considered herself quite good at, if it wasn’t for the knowledge that Nyxus had given the order to let her leave whenever it fancied her. A perk of training under Stykes Academy, though that in itself was only natural for templars. Despite it all, they had a better training ground.