Tag: vampire

Day 10: Buffy the Fluffy Sheep

| November 10, 2013 | 1 Comment

#10 Buffy the Fluffy Sheep
(A sheep in wolfs clothing!) Streamed this one on my iPad using the app “SketchClub” and got some great help from the great members on there. This is what resulted from those 2 hours of streaming! 🙂 Enjoy~

#7, 8, 9, 10 (Playing Catch-up)

| November 21, 2012 | 0 Comments

Eleanor 9/30

| November 18, 2012 | 0 Comments

Here is Eleanor. She is a prohibition era vampire hunter. She packs silver bullets hot loaded with a holy water and garlic cocktail because she is gangsta like that.

11/14/2012: Dragos, Vampire Prowler

| November 15, 2012 | 0 Comments

NAME: Dragos  SPECIES: Human (Vampiric)  ORIGIN: Nexus City

Once a doctor for the criminal underground of Nexus City, Orban Victore fell victim to a creature of the night. Now, as Dragos, he stalks where the light of the Star-Core cannot reach, falling upon lonely travelers who tread too deeply into the shadowy depths of the Undercity.

Model designed in Sculptris and TinkerCAD (3d print pending…)


#23 Viscount Konstantin Turskbane

| November 27, 2011 | 0 Comments

Viscount Konstantin Turksbane

The scion of the house of Turksbane has held the title of Viscount since they fought the Ottoman invasion of Hungary in the 16th century. Since the days of Vlad the Impaler, the Turksbanes have been vampire hunters.

The current Viscount is Konstantin, the last vampire hunter of the Turksbane line. Despite being a professional vampire hunter, there hasn’t been an actual vampire sighting since World War I.

With a lack of vampires in the world, Konstantin Turksbane has spent most of his time hunting witches and ghosts. Konstantin has managed to wipe out most of the witches in Europe.

#24 Famous Ray

| November 25, 2011 | 0 Comments

Famous Ray

Famous Ray

You’ve seen him around, on red carpet premieres, in the VIP section of exclusive clubs wearing an open shirt and shoes with no socks. Occasionally he shows up on television to offer a semi-informed opinion. Who is he? What the hell does he do?

The best way to explain it is, Famous Ray emits a low-level celebrity field, which makes the world treat him as though he is a minor celebrity, no questions asked. Some of the perks of his power include:

-gets free food, clothes, discounts in general
-people listen to his opinion
-VIP/backstage entry to clubs/shows
-people just always assume he’s important, or with the band, or that actor’s assistant, or a producer, heir to some fortune, etc.

When you get him high as hell, or when he’s in his cups, he’ll tell you that his power is because way way back on his mother’s side, he’s part vampire. Dude’s just crazy, right? Witch-One‘s not so sure, and so keeps a close eye on him.

#11 Wolf

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

It was the name that stuck.  Even after all these years, still seemed to be the name that stuck.  Even after the wolf in question had been dead and buried for hundreds of years, never mind the fact that the galumphing beast had been more of a huge black dog far too fond of licking your face.  Sure, he’d brought down a bunny or two in his day, but he was hardly a wolf.

The name had been given to the dog, more of a joke than anything, but within days it slid right over on to him.  Which stood to reason, given that pet and master were almost always at each other’s side.  So, the dog remained dog and he became Wolf.  Had he known it was a christening, he might have fought it off with a bit more force.  But perhaps it was a blessing of sorts, in that it both separated him from the bloodline he came from but still kept him connected to his past, before the inception of the creature he was to be.

He wondered idly sometimes if perhaps his creator had played a hand in his naming, had left him this anchor as a parting gift.  He never knew who had made him into a vampire.  Among the current creatures of his ilk, much was made of the master-spawn relationship, but back then you were surrounded by people who both believed in your existence and had far fewer reservations about throwing a person or two on a pyre for no damn good reason.  Indeed, in those first days he didn’t know what he was or what he was to do about it, but he learned right quick.  The body knows, the body teaches.  The blood speaks, and contrary to so many ridiculous movies and tv shows, the hunger gives the soul enough time to learn how to hide before it rips all thought from the mind.

He had little more than glimpses, brief memories of his master from the hours, or perhaps days of his transformation.  And he could not remember his face as little more than a shadow.  But he remembered a voice that called him Wolf and told him he could live forever if he could manage to stay out of the sun.  The casual way that young man’s voice said it somehow made a deeper impression than any dire waring would have.  So, he stayed out of the sun and survived.

Hundreds of years later, he would not admit that he was still searching for that voice.  He liked to believe himself a more pragmatic creature than that.  The nature of his creation had demanded a realistic point of view, something which he felt younger vampires, so coddled and cared for in their early years, might benefit from.  It made them weak and prone to beliefs and flights of fancy which were little more than impediments to achieving the full and terrible glory of their true nature.

But perhaps, he mused, he was just a creaky old man with a downright childish name.  He didn’t know.  If there was one thing he had learnt in all his years was that none were more foolish than those who thought they had the answers.  If there was one thing that his unnaturally long and violent life had taught him, it was that there were no answers.

#12 Krackula

| November 12, 2011 | 0 Comments

#8 Scalpula

| November 9, 2011 | 3 Comments

Scalpula was once a great and powerful vampire. That is, until he was beheaded. Luckily his accident occurred in an era where pigmy cows and industrial grade hamsters are plentiful.

#4 – Reaver

| November 5, 2011 | 0 Comments

Byron Snow was not happy.

He was far from it, actually.

You would think that someone who spends his life sleeping, partying and indulging in any excess his mind could think of in equal ways, a man who would never have to worry about money for as long as he lived, would not have to deal with such things as unhappiness.

Yet he did.

He did because the reason for his unhappiness relentlessly followed him wherever he went. It stared at him at any club he went. It brought him his supper, he could see them even from his penthouse apartment, far above the city, aimlessly loitering like the mindless cattle they all were.

Humans were his problem.

Humans were the reason of his unhappiness.

300 years ago, back when he was “born” into his new life, he and his kind would have no issue with rampaging through villages burning everything in sight, openly feeding under the moonlight, enjoying from the warm sustenance as well as from the fear saturating the atmosphere. But those halcyon days were long gone. Quietly bowing their heads and blending in with the meat was now the name of the game. Both The Council and The Covenant had agreed to this. In this new era of enlightenment and widespread information, acting in such an open manner would only invite more attention than the one they already got from The Huntsmen, and that was more than enough attention already.

So they blended in.

Most of them finally made use of their vast fortunes, amassed through centuries of never needing a single dime, spending it in every possible thing they could conceive off in order to chase boredom and hunger away.

Reaving was unanimously outlawed by The Council, the decision enforced by The Covenant. Anyone found reaving, no matter how careful or privately they did so, would be executed on the spot. No exceptions.

And so, Byron Snow hid. And lived. And was unhappy.

He was unhappy while a once proud and mighty race cowered under the numerical superiority of the meat. While their legend was forgotten, the terror they once instilled in the hearts of men and children alike lost to the passage of time. He saw as the meat made fools out of them, turning them into parodies of their former selves, little more than fodder for the romantic delusions of teen-aged girls, spinsters and unsatisfied housewives.

And the worst part was that every day, every month, every year he kept on feeding but not nurturing himself, he cared a little less about all of those things that should have continued to fuel his righteous indignation. He was growing fat and complacent.

He had to do something about it.

The first night he went out there was yet to be a costume. He had honestly convinced himself it would be a one time thing. Something to sate his thirst and be done with it. He knew it had to be someone who wouldn’t be missed. Someone you’d already expect to found splattered across the walls and floor of a dirty alley. When he heard the woman scream, he knew that was it. Even as weakened as it was, his body did most of the work for him without his even realizing.

The woman in itself was of little interest. Who cared what had happened to her? She was nothing but an enabler. By being the victim, she allowed him to come at him in any way he damn pleased. He was the real star of the show.

His original thought had been to just take things slow and enjoy it as much as possible in order to get the most out of it, considering this was gonna be a one-time thing. Even when the first warm jet started gushing, he innocently still believed this. But it had been so long since he had last reaved. The sensation, the rush, the excitement, the frenzy.

It completely took over him. How could they have stopped doing this?

How could they keep denying themselves something that was so unequivocally theirs?

It was wrong in so many fundamental levels. He knew it all the way inside of him, as he felt his body getting stronger, already demanding more sustenance.

He would need to disguise himself. No need to attract the attention of The Covenant. And already the humans had this long standing tradition of dressing in gaudy outfits and beating the living hell out of each other. And certainly no one would miss a few dead robbers or rapists. Nor the police would dig to deep when they found their broken, maimed and dry remains. They simply had it coming.

Byron Snow smiled.

He was happy for the first time in a long time. Happy that he had finally found a way of being himself once again out in the open, were his kind truly belonged.

Out there in the night.





Character No. 3 – Ezekiel Washington

| November 3, 2011 | 0 Comments

Continue Reading

#2 Trent Kenna

| November 2, 2011 | 0 Comments

Trent used to be your average jock. He played soccer from middle school through freshman year of college, slept with more girls than he could name, and was generally an asshole to anybody he could get away with. And to be honest, this was getting him through life far better than he would have ever imagined, except for when it ended up with him on a hotel room floor, attacked by vampires.

Now living life as a vampire, he rooms with his once-hated college roommate, Val, who is the only one who knows his secret. Cut off from the sunlight and stuck using Val as a renewable food resource, Trent has notsomuch come to terms with his situation as much as he’s tolerated it for the sake of his continued existence. Being technically undead is beyond depressing, and the vibrant jock has morphed into a loner even more reclusive than his bookworm roommate.

Trent wants nothing more than to be human again, but he knows he’s nowhere near smart enough to understand what vampirism even technically is, let alone how he might cure it. Sure, he can’t die (easily), won’t age, et cetera, but all of that is worthless now that his life has lost its meaning. He works the night shift at a local supermarket to help pay the bills, since Val has promised to find a cure for his ailment, and the least he can do is keep the electric on. The rest of his time is spent either sleeping, or, more typically, playing as many sports video games as he can afford.

#22 Otis

| November 30, 2010 | 2 Comments

Hick? Redneck? Bad-ass? All true of Otis. Raised in Toad-Suck, Arkansas, (It’s a real place people), Otis knew only fishing, hunting, and chasing tail, until the tail chased back with a set of fangs that would have put Otis’s coon-hound Blue to shame. That’s when Otis learned he had a particular talent for Vamp-killin’.

That’s really not the way I wanted to nail you, Clara-belle.

#18 Vampire Skeleton

| November 27, 2010 | 0 Comments

The Vampire Skeleton is the entity of a sorcerer who was killed by the Seneca people in the 1300s, but instead of dying he became a blood sucking vampire skeleton. He has no problem killing people and sucking their blood, but most of the blood flows down his bones as he feeds on the loss of life that blood represents and not the blood itself. He is the epitome of evil in the Seneca Tribes’ folklore.
He is a rather small human skeleton (5’6″) that is almost too perfectly intact with pronounced cheek bones, oval eye sockets, long black hair that is attached to his exposed skull (he is known to wear the hair of those he kills as he is very vain about his hair, thus adding feathers and beadwork), and pronounced fangs that cannot be hidden by lips. There is an aura of evil that surrounds him at all times that shimmers even in complete darkness. His magic allows him to shapeshift into a Screech Owl. He is cunning, often feeding on young female victims while others sleep in the same room or even share the same bed.

~ Seneca History

#17 Vampire Bat

| November 26, 2010 | 0 Comments

#8 Hiltengarde

| November 8, 2010 | 1 Comment

Imagine, mes amis, a mere man for whom the rapier’s edge is no risk!  An immortal so dismissive of the sword, he invites it into his gullet as an hors d’oeuvre!  Observe as the iron-throated Hiltengarde ingests an arsenal extraordinaire and emits not an ounce of crimson extract!  HOW does he live?  WHY does he not bleed?  WHERE do the points delve safely within?  Questions inconsequential!  Pertinent only is your perusal of his performance!  The swordsman supreme will display the danger of his devices!  A dagger for a dying damsel!  A machete through man-meat!  A stiletto for a still-beating heart!  And each blood-blessed implement passed perfectly from person to palette!  Nary a wasted, precious drop!  And, now, partakers of the purulent, prepare to participate!  Hiltengarde is here!  Time for volunteers!

#4 Jugular

| November 4, 2010 | 4 Comments

Bonsoir, Messieurs et Mesdames.  What you are about to see, what you paid in sanguine coin to experience, is at hand.  Behold the pallid purveyor of pantomime!  Quiet drinker of the crimson ichor!  Europe’s most renowned undead!  The Mime Jugular!  Once the most celebrated voice of humanity!  A singer unparalleled,  the young master forfeited his gift for the immortality of a jealous admirer.  The very folds of his vox pulled from their box on the fangs of a leeching count in wont of the melodic organs for himself!  So, hear now, admirers of the exquisite, the song of silence!  Observe the music of movement!  Feel the eloquence of impression!  Give freely of your lifeblood so that the eternal performance never ends!

#2 Max

| November 3, 2010 | 1 Comment

Max is a somewhat mysterious individual. He shows up at cons – sci-fi cons, horror cons, fan cons – always dressed as an old-school vampire. At least, we think it’s a vampire. He doesn’t say much, and keeps mostly to himself. He’s no fan of the sparkly “Twilight” vamps, or even the hip “True Blood” or even “Buffy” or “Lost Boys” bloodsuckers. No, Max kicks it old school. WAY old school. Like, “Nosferatu” old school. Come to think of it, is Max even his real name? Nobody has gotten close enough to him to find out….