OTHER ANCIENT ROMAN LAMIA SANGUINE (vampires) in the environs of NEAPOLIS (Naples) .. 7/18/13

I saw other life-eaters gliding through the shadows as I made my way about the city. We never spoke and rarely acknowledged each other's presence. They existed to serve their 'clan.' Free vampires were extremely rare in my world. I'm told they exist in the capital and certain other cities. Returning legionnaires report feral pockets out beyond the River Hister (Danube). They travel in packs and are known to decimate remote country hamlets, before travelling on to kill again someplace else. I am glad I am not one of them. 

But occasionally I trade glances with the Lady Eudora. She is a Greek vampire, ostensibly created and trained in the esteemed vampiric academy on the island of Thera. They say it goes back to Minoan times. Imagine, a culture quite as old as Egypt. Her mistress is a wealthy dowager, the surviving wife of a general laid low in the wild, out beyond the walls of Colonia (Cologne) and one of the few female devotees of Mithra. They say she plans to use her vampirina bodyguard to escape death. They have a pact, upon her thirtyfifth birthday, the night-girl brings her over. Conventional men-at-arms, veterans of the late general will witness the event... each one armed with a specially prepared, lead tipped spear. Should Eudora renege, or intentionally kill the mistress outright, those in attendance will dispatch her as well.

The whole thing is very hush-hush and highly illegal. Ruling families are not to dabble in necromancy. That's why certain Jewish sects, such as Christianity are still outlawed. Only Caesar is a god, though the Imperial Cult withers every day. And from what I hear, our great Marcus Aurelius believes in his own divinity about as much as he believes the Cybilline Prophesies. Money makes the world go 'round in ninth century Rome (reckoned from its founding by Romulus and Remus) and only the Jews (plus their variants) harangue us with 'morality.'

I am off to the bear pits, a secret nocturnal pass-time known only to the wealthy. We meet in a cave, hidden deep withing the confines of a large, old edifice, ostensibly a warehouse dating back to the days of Magna Graecia (Greek colonies in the south of Italy concurrent with the birth of Rome farther north). The master knows I go. He does too. And although unorthodox, allows me to revive certain grievously mauled dwarfs with small draughts of my miraculous blood. You know how expensive they are and they who keep 'stables' hate losing favorites. 

The heavy bronze doors to our private sanctum silently swing open, powered by an ingenious hydraulic set-up designed by  a certain engineer out of Syracusa. I cannot tell you his name, for he also creates weapons for the military and they don't want it to get around. Parthian spies are everywhere you know. 

The doorman knows our faces. He nods. We nod. Money changes hands. We go in. I can smell the ursine stench down below. Apparently mortals are not so lucky. Besides dwarfs, they also have children, the vilest of urchins scraped from the sewers and fit for nothing else. I'm looking forward to it. Some of them put up quite a fight.

After the slaughter... a fine wine tasting. And even a vampire like me can appreciate that... 

Ego vobis valedico (Farewell to you all)...
Til next time...
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Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for November 2012.. THISD IS THE FIRST POST of what became the BINGO BOY film treatment arc...a GOOD STORY ..7/17/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for, November 2012: Post 2 Now walk-in bingo parlors are a fixture in certain areas, usually cropping up along low level strip malls or struggling old businesses ...  Here's a chance to PEEK in at one of my BEST story arcs... all about crazy, convoluted LOVE in a crooked, hard scrabble walk-in bingo hall. Serves as a novel-like treatment for upcoming screenplay. People seem to LIKE it. I hope you will too. If you want to READ THE WHOLE THING, scroll down til you see 'NEWER POST'and click on it. THANKS and the ANCIENT ROMAN story line will pick up again tomorrow.

I APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT.....

Billy

if you want to look through my whole canon, click on ~>HERE'S THE WHOLE CANON ...and wander through it all. join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... thanks. your COMMENTS are always welcome. 

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for November 2012.. THISD IS THE FIRST POST of what became the BINGO BOY film treatment arc...a GOOD STORY ..7/17/13

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: Post 2 NaNoWriMo for, November 2012: Post 2 Now walk-in bingo parlors are a fixture in certain areas, usually cropping up along low level strip malls or struggling old businesses ...  Here's a chance to PEEK in at one of my BEST story arcs... all about crazy, convoluted LOVE in a crooked, hard scrabble walk-in bingo hall. Serves as a novel-like treatment for upcoming screenplay. People seem to LIKE it. I hope you will too. If you want to READ THE WHOLE THING, scroll down til you see 'NEWER POST'and click on it. THANKS and the ANCIENT ROMAN story line will pick up again tomorrow.

I APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT.....

Billy

if you want to look through my whole canon, click on ~>HERE'S THE WHOLE CANON ...and wander through it all. join me on TWITTER at @wilkravitz ... thanks. your COMMENTS are always welcome. 

SEA LAMPREYS OF IMPERIAL ROME...a loathsome way to die... 7/16/13

The master gave me my first commission. I was to kill a certain corrupt (well... more corrupt) upstart noble by the name of Claudius Nesso. Why the master hated him is immaterial, since it always comes down to the same two things, either a social slight, or something about money. Romans have been known to destroy complete strangers for accidentally splashing piss on them in a public latrine. You know they wear those voluminous togas.  Powerful individuals keep cadres of bully-boys. And the bully-boys have specialties. Some are  throat slashers. Others are skull smashers, or disembowellers. Penis and scrotum removing is quite popular too. But blood drainers are the best... and I am honored to be one. 

The Nesso family had a huge villa up in the hills. The current wife, a mostly Celtic thing (as am I) from Cisalpine Gaul, never took to the 'southern' feel of the place and the cooler, less crowded uplands seemed more lugubrious and healthful. The place is festooned with fountains and pools. It looks like a distillation of Hadrian's villa scaled down (ever so slightly) for those who are merely insanely rich as opposed to actual Olympian offspring with almost as much money as their divine progenitors. 

So I found myself a shadowy glade right behind the statue of Bacchus and I waited. He swims there, in a nearby pool, with likely young slaves. The site's far enough from the main structure to salve the current wife's dignity. Plus he occasionally chokes one to death (the slave.. not the wife, I mean) and bare, little, servile bodies strewn about the central apartments would just be a needless distraction.

I saw him lead a choice, little morsel down to the tiled edge. He unfastened the leash and collar (made from the finest Anatolian silver) and kicked him in. I assumed it was a 'him.' couldn't get a good look in the dark. Wasn't used to the vampiric vision yet. Then the fat bastard jumped in after. Not that he was obese or anything. Just sloppy. You know, these Romans ape the Greeks so much, but when it comes to basic body maintenance, they're just plain lazy. 

I let him play around a bit. The slave didn't seem too upset. Then I silently slipped into the water and grabbed him by the legs. Had my teeth locked into his ass before he knew what hit him. Oh, he never surfaced, not even for an instant. And maybe ten score heartbeats later he was dead. The slave, a rather androgynous female, or perhaps a completely castrated male (very popular these days, I'm told), screamed and ran when the pool lit up with a flickering blue light.... for the fiery immolation occurs, even under water. I must admit, the hot blood contrasted against the chilly, pool water was absolutely delicious. And the master was so pleased with my professionalism he immediately put his people to work on a cozy, little addendum to his palace just for me.... My peculum (money/treasure earned by certain high ranking slaves) was beginning to grow.

Though I forgot one thing... When a slave kills his master... and the grieving daughters and sons-in-law of Nesso blamed the wet, quivering pool buddy for his 'murder.'... the offending piece of property is summarily thrown to the eels. Every wealthy Roman has an eel pond. Actually, they use the word 'eel,' but the creatures in question are really primitive lampreys..... like giant, aquatic earthworms who just think they're fish. No jaws, just a large, tooth-lined sucker where a mouth should be (maybe a sharp, bony tongue too). And this pond had hundreds. 

The young slave sobbed like a baby, as they kissed his skin and began to devour his flesh. I watched from the shadows, far beyond the yellow torch lights and felt guilty... or as guilty as anyone in our convoluted society ever gets...

But not to worry... for two days hence they had a new slave....
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JANUS IN THE ESTEEMED CITY OF NEAPOLIS ... the vampire adjusts ...7/15/13

Neapolis is a special place. I know you hear me from far away. They tell me it is the future and that may be true. But I find that hard to believe, for even a vampire recognizes the limits of necromancy. Yet a part of me knows that it's so. And if I lapse from present to past tense, please know that it is only an indication of my confusion, coupled with the fact that Latin is not my mother tongue, for I originally spoke a Celtic dialect and often think in that language to this day.

I'm also told you see my words in a mongrel jargon, called Angle-ish, made up of Germanic phraseology leavened with basic Latin. Is that a hint of days to come in these parts? For primitives from the north press us even now.

Now let me tell you more about this city. Neapolis is among the most Hellenistic of all Roman municipalities. Indeed, the place goes back to heroic times. You know... Agamemnon and Homer... those Minoan snake priestesses and all that. Most of the better families still speak Greek. And the subtle beauty of that ancient land infuses everything with a simple elegance unseen in other parts of our world. Emperors come here to relax. Wealthy young, scions acquire polish at our academies. Neapolitan brides are welcomed into the finest and most influential clans in Rome. I like this place. I can't deny it. I do. 

They dress me in the finest linen. I wear scant, somewhat revealing, one shouldered tunics and under garments are hard to come by. But nights are warm and the freedom suits me. I wander the streets on my own. Those familiar with the practice see my torque and immediately recognize me for what I am. But they bow with a deference shown only to those of high rank. If this is slavery, it is bondage of a strange sort. 

Last night I dined alfresco... up on the rooftop terrace. Circassian women are quite expensive. I had two... young and plump and juicy. The master and his consort, my benefactors, invited some of their nearest and dearest to watch me drink. I didn't mind. For as you know, I am quite the showman and soothed the terrified maidens with kisses, strokes and tickles before finishing them off. The second one required a bit more tickling, since she knew what was coming and those in attendance clapped at my technique. I bowed by the light of the cool blue flames, as the smooth, fleshy girls were consumed and disappeared. Then I kissed each lady present and made them giggle. The master was very pleased. 

At the close of the occasion, as everyone prepared to leave, he called me over and told me who to kill. Not there. Not then. Not that night, but tomorrow.

And please know that I do not impart a cruel death. Indeed, by the morals of the times, I am quite benign. We had no 'feed the hungry... love thy neighbor... clothe the naked.'... Well, most of us anyway.

The fates are capricious and I but a tool.
(more tomorrow...)
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A ROMAN VAMPIRE TAKES THE 'LEAD TORQUE... 7/14/13

They examined me from all angles. I could smell the heavy essence of garlic and fish sauce on their breath. The man was a landowner. His wife had political aspirations. Not for her, naturally, but for her son. He (the man) grew olives in the uplands near Neo-Polis, which Latin speakers more often shortened into Nepoleeze and owned, or leased sixteen hundred slaves.  Most places bordering Mare Nostrum (our sea) know the brand, Golden Sunrise pure olive oil, in the rustic, white, pottery flagon with the wax sealed corks are sold everywhere. He's a big contributor to various political factions in the capitol too. 

They asked my name. I told them I was called Janus. The wife said she liked that... so fitting for a lamia-sanguine (vampire), since the divine Janus lived in two places... the world of now and the world of then... perfect for an immortal being, such as I. They wanted to feel my teeth... my eye teeth, I mean, so I opened my mouth and let them run their fingers over the sharp, white tips....Such salty skin they had.... I like that in a human. 

Money changed hands and that was it. I'm not even sure just how much I cost. It's considered decidedly declasse for gentlefolk to refer to such things. But the son told me they paid plenty. She, the wife, wanted a pleasure barge for summers on Capri, but he, the husband, needed an enforcer... a strong man... a knife-man...someone who could kill 'friends' and influence people.

Two slave girls, laundresses, I believe, led me into a washroom and proceeded to scrub the shiny, gold coloration off my skin... a most laborious task, for it was everywhere. Then they marched me back to the olive oil king for a final inspection. He was very pleased. The wife was very pleased too. No one asked her, but I could tell. There was a short ceremony... references to Hellenistic gods... prayers of everlasting fidelity (on my part) and hymns sung by Libyan song-girls raised expressly for that purpose. I liked the way they trilled. It was all so new to me. Documents were signed. They brought out a torque, dark, cold and made of lead and bent it 'round my neck. You know what a torque is.... like a large, rounded horseshoe... The open end went in front. Vampire slaves always wear them... It's that 'lead thing.' But I'll tell more about that next time. 

Look, I can go on for hours, but they tell me this is being transcribed by a vampire 'familiar' named wilkravitz... and wilkravitz is tired. He also has to empty out a mechanical cloth-drying machine before he goes to bed. I don't know what that is. I'm just repeating what I 'hear.'

So let him finish his chores. Let him sleep... and I'll talk to you tomorrow...
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BAIAE, BAIAE BIRDY..... A VAMPIRES ADVENTURES IN ANCIENT ROME'S PREMIERE BEACH TOWN... 7/13/13

The place covered more than thirty thousand square feet. I'd never seen anything even remotely like it in Iberia. Rose marble floors. 'Greek' stuccoed walls. Minoan style murals. Furniture by Fratelli Aeilli (the best in Rome). Fine, Egyptian cotton draperies billowed out across the terrace. Specially rendered candles bathed each room in a pale pink ivory glow. But they were hidden in little recessed channels up near the crown molding, thus the illumination seemed to emanate from the very ether. Oh, and the best part was the cooling system. Cold, fresh water from deep underground springs ran through little pipes embedded under the floors. Imagine, the Romans banished sweat. And I was to be enslaved by these people. 

They dressed me as Hermes. I suppose the gold dust (more like a chalky paste) would have killed a mere mortal, but I seemed immune. Vampires are quite beyond most Earthly poisons. The Dalmation was some sort of sea creature. I don't know how they got the iridescent green color. And the Ethiopian sailor was an Egyptian king. 

We marched out after dinner. If I had a sesterce for every honeyed dormouse those bastards swallowed, I'd be one very wealthy life-eater, indeed. Well... wealthier than I am. Vampire slave bodyguards occupy an unusual position. We are not free to change allegiance. Once 'claimed' by a clan, we stay with that clan. And if the line peters out a special imperial office oversees our transfer to another family. Yet we are treated like 
valued relations and spoiled with costly gifts. Many have villas in their own right, usually hard by the digs of their benefactors, but sumptuous villas just the same. I originally expected rougher treatment, but I was wrong. The gossip of the slave pens and all that.

Now the bidding was done silently.... a gesture here... a nod there. The Dalmatian went first. Some wealthy matron wanted to see him 'in action,' so they dragged in an understandably reluctant kitchen drudge (mustn't waste the good stuff) and he downed her in twelve seconds. One bite... clean and neat. The matron was impressed and he was gone. They clapped when the kitchen drudge ignited into the cold, blue flame and disappeared. Romans love special effects like that.

The Ethiopian sailor went to a client king from somewhere in Anatolia, apparently very well off from a state monopoly of the wool trade. Gets it from the shores of The Black Sea. Very good stuff. Where the Golden Fleece came from.

And then it was my turn. Yet I watched it all unfold with cold dispatch. They made me feed too. I had three, one junior footman and two I don't know what they were.  Man, did they 'ooh' and 'aah' over me. I'm a very theatrical feeder, don't you know. Some say I could be on the stage.

But that is all I can share with you now, for I am bored. So farewell til next time. The dice tables of Herculaneum await...Well, a rebuild simulation of the original. Vesuvius took care of that. And I plan to 'take care' of a juicy, quay-side strumpet. 

Maybe two.....
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