Post by atlanta on Dec 15, 2011 9:58:42 GMT
It's in our blood to watch each day go by; it's on our minds to put our hands to throats.
ATLANTA ITZANA DZUL
atlanta. looks 18 years. is 1,334 years. female. pansexual. vampire. darkness. lacey.
B E F O R E . C R E A T I O N
I am a Mayan chieftain’s daughter. Yuknoom Yich’aak K’ak’, or as we would say today, Jaguar Paw, was my father. I was, of course, one of many daughters, and my mother was one of many wives. She was unimportant; I was raised under my father, taking his name as half my own, as was customary all those years ago. The result was Ix-Itzananohk'utxihal Dzul Yich’aak K’ak, one I have modified and shortened significantly in the years past my birth. We inhabited Ox Te’ Tuun, a major Mayan city that we now refer to as Calakmul. In 686, my father Yuknoom was crowned king of Calakmul, and I was introduced to the niceties of a pampered childhood.
My life was easy, even then. I can hardly remember everything now, but I recall the palace itself—stone masonry, with a network of rooms within. As a child, I was free to wander the surrounding area, but naturally, under supervision. My father paid me no heed, but that was to be expected. I always had fine clothes and good food, and that was all that mattered to a young child. At fifteen, I was beginning to fill out into a typical Mayan woman, all long, dark curls and tanned skin with the traditional dark eyes. Seeking out a husband was foremost as I aged, but my half-sisters—who, by Mayan standards were ‘healthier’ with fuller frames and larger hips than my own slimmer build, were far more fit to bear children—were superior candidates. For two years I struggled with my worth—but again, these are vague memories that time has mostly erased. They are faint. I cannot even remember the face of my father.
But I do remember the battle, because it was when I was born. Not my body, but my true self. Tik’al, our rivals with whom we constantly butted heads, once again provoked us to war, and so my father set out with fine warriors, as well as myself, in the hopes that an agreement could be reached. No such treaty was made. Instead, our warriors were slaughtered by the Tik’als, and my father taken captive. One of the most vivid images in my head is one I will, regrettably, never forget. Blood seeping across the smooth stone pathway to Tik’al, the scarlet liquid running across the cracks and staining the moss with dark color. My father chained and bound, his pride and later, life, taken. And I? I ran from the gruesome battle with four arrows digging into my spine and blood marking my feet, back home. I could not deliver the news of our defeat; the kingdom was ruined, and Tik’als would come soon to finish the remainder of the royal Calakmuls off.
And so I hid. I hid deep in the shadows of the mouth of our largest temple, a pyramid home to three of our greatest shrines. I followed the staircase of the first, into the depths of the pyramid, where Ah Tabai—our god of death—awaited me.
A H . T A B A I
All my years, and I cannot recall his dark face, so I simply call him by the name of our most vicious god. I could hear the screams from the city around me as Tik’al invaded, but I heard his breath and voice over it all. My own heartbeat, too. I felt the arrows tugged from my back, but I felt numb. I fell to my knees before the dark shadow as the arrows clattered to the stone floor of the shrine. Surely he would kill me and send with to Xibalba, the underworld.
But his fingers grasped my arms, pulling me up to my feet. His hands wandered to my neck, pulling back the tangled raven hair. I felt surprisingly cold breath billow across the skin, sending goosebumps rippling across my entire body. My imagination then was not powerful enough to project what was to come. One hand dropped to my waist, pulling me closer, and I didn’t resist. I was intoxicated by what I construed to be my savior, the one who would keep the Tik’als at bay and repair the wounds to my back. Piercing pain shot through my neck. I remember crumpling like a rag into his arms, and him easing me to the stone, cold floor. His footsteps receding. Dark, delicious agony.
A F T E R . C R E A T I O N
There was pain, but he’d been shockingly restrained—perhaps because endless meals awaited him beyond the shrine. Perhaps I was too pretty to kill. Perhaps he mistook me for another. If I am being honest, I could not care less. Had he not turned me, I would be dead. Instead, I am alive, with a thousand years of experience and life and blood behind me. And oh, how I reveled in the ease of killing and draining the weakened Tik’al soldiers. It was satisfaction mixed with horrendous glee.
I am not like normal humans. A normal human would have been horrified to find themselves bathed in the life-blood of other humans. I considered myself gifted, and although my people were broken, they treated me like the god I had become. The goddess of death, Ah Tabai’s counterpart, and I took hold of the city. There are no records of my rule—I disallowed any, because the day would come when others would find it, and who knew where I would be at that point in time? I never thought immortality came with this new state. But they fed me willingly, through sacrifice. It was tradition to rip a sacrifice’s chest open and remove his beating heart as an offering to the gods—but instead of watching and praying I would not be the next sacrifice, I was a goddess feeding off those sacrifices. I was Utxihal, or so I called myself. And those pathetic creatures accepted my every word without question. Fear, or intelligence, saved some of their lives. I fed well every day, and in turn protected them from Tik’als bent on vengeance.
For seven years I ruled, but I grew restless. There was no challenge in this place; everything was offered to me, and my actions remained unquestioned. I left, putting one of my father’s few remaining sons in my place—Yuknoom Took’ K’awiil. He ruled for years in my stead, and I went North, following the shoreline of the ocean and feeding from various Mayan cities as I went.
T H E . J O U R N E Y
Prey was easy to find, and now I held naught but contempt for the frail, powerless creatures we know as humans. The years passed like minutes to me; I was invincible, it seemed, and none knew how to fight me. None knew who I was, and I made no attempts to hide it. In fact, I played with my human prey, giving them chances to live and die. If a mother offered me her children to feed on, I would allow her and her husband to live. If not, I would orphan those children. In other cases, such as in villages or small communities, I would demand their leaders or strongest men to fight me. I accumulated scars, but the use of wood to kill such a powerful being was a ridiculous thought, one they never considered.
Those that fought me and lost, I consumed.
I was like a black cloud, sweeping through what we know now as the United States like a plague of death, harbinger of bloodshed. Word of me spread to my next location, on the eastern coast of this country, before I even arrived, and they were prepared when I came. It was 1497, then, and I was just over eight-hundred years old. Time was not of the essence, however.
F I R S T . C R E A T I O N
A man fought me and nearly won. His name was James. One of many who had landed, attempting to claim the land as their own. I was too exotic to capture, dark-skinned and –haired as I was. My eyes were nearly black, and my nose too flat. Only my body appealed to these pale ones, but they were more focused on destroying what lay within. James fought me with wood, as they had apparently successfully destroyed an English vampire using the same method. It was fierce; scratches and splinters burned my skin and a wooden spike buried itself in my stomach, but it was not enough to kill me. I overpowered and pinned the Englishman. I nearly drained him, too. Nearly. I do not know what possessed me to leave him alive, but I chose that path. Perhaps because the wounds he left on me were beautifully painful, and he made a fire burn within me. Perhaps because I was curious to see what I could do to these pitiful humans. My malice had only grown as I got away with murder and everything between life and death for my prey.
I was attached, I admit—something I do not easily do. He was handsome, brave, and a vicious human, growing to become as addicted to creating death as I was. We were together for some time, intimate and romantic, until he outlived his purpose. Our final battle was difficult to win, but I was ultimately victorious. Although I regret to admit it, he allowed me to win, hoping my affection would give me sympathy, and knowing he couldn’t kill me. I was his creator, his merciful creator, or so he thought. I proved him wrong, killing him as I would have killed another vampire, for in my eyes, he was about as close to equal as a human could become to a vampire.
T O . M A N U K A
I continued my journey, unremorseful. There was a force drawing me to a new city, a new place to call home. Kindred spirits—or those who lacked them—were located here, and so I settled in and waited. They filtered in at first, then arrived in hordes, but I kept to myself. I was willing to see other vampires, but there were others, ones that left a bad taste in my mouth. Wolf-demons, or as I came to know them later, werewolves. Shifters. Faeries. Unnatural creatures, unfit to rule alongside me. But I needed their support to kill out the filthiest race of them all—humans. Those who were inferior—and oblivious—to the existence of their future rulers.
I have always been on the dark side, but now I am classified as being a part of it. I needed money, though, to get through life, and I could only think of one way to accomplish it. I wasted eight years in school to become a historian and archeologist, eventually returning to the dead, eroded ruins of my home.
R E T U R N . H O M E
As per my request, there were no records of me—the ruler between the war and Yuknoom K’awiil’s dominance was unknown and unrecorded. The satisfaction was immense, even so many years later in 1958. And the humans I worked with believed I unearthed our ancient treasures by chance, although it disgusted me to hand my precious Mayan gold and jade to them. I was recognized, paid exorbitant amounts of money. And I promptly killed and drained the team I worked with, destroyed records of my work with them and my discovery, killed my employers and safely vanished for fifty years more.
A N D . N O W
Ruthless. Cold-blooded. Manipulative. Evil. Incisive. You are welcome to call me any of these things. I embrace who I am, the feeder of life and ancient vampire. A deadly beauty, since I never age, and while ancient Mayans may have found me unattractive, men these days certainly do not. And any advantage I have over the nauseating characters who affiliate themselves with humans is a welcome one.
Atlanta Itzana Dzul gives little reference to my past. It is unusual, but not too unusual. I am more intelligent now, biding my time and making clean kills. I need to leave some good blood for the others of my kind, although I have tended to avoid them. I find far more entertainment among the humans, disgusting as they are. To all appearances, I’m a human girl, freshly seventeen and naïve. I work hard to maintain my appearance-- age makes some lazy, but not me. And sometimes I play up that act—it isn’t hard to trick them. The hunters, however… they are dangerous. And for that reason, I stay concealed as often as necessary to avoid conflict that could end in my death. Preservation is a priority, even above destroying those vermin.
I dress to blend in, usually donning sheer silk or other pricey fabrics that I can afford, thanks to my wealth. I still have Mayan jewelry left over, and often will wear it, although most wouldn't be able to tell its value. But appearances are deceiving, and I am most certainly proof of that. I can be warm, yes, but only to my own race. I have only had the opportunity to be friendly a few times, and have been remarkably restrained as to not kill those that bore me terribly. Perhaps a little bit of a vicious standpoint, but what use are they if not entertainment? Food, on the other hand...My hatred for humans is unabated, simply because all they exist for are meals—but they are the best food, the kind that fights back.
I have never loved, not truly, and while some affection for James once existed, he got too close. If I were ever to love, it would be to a vampire who knew better than to trust me—or better, one who wouldn’t be afraid to destroy me if I turned on them, as I did James. He was weak, and I would need someone strong.
I chose Atlanta as my new alias. Ix-Itzananohk'utxihal is far too long to be a true, modern name, but in my studious years I stumbled upon the curious legend of Greek Atlanta, who had many suitors. She killed them all—aside from one. But I prefer the happier ending I have come up with, in which she killed that one, too.
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comments ; this went really quickly. mayans fascinate me! as far as the battle and cities go, i think the mayan history is accurate.
lyrics ; by horse feathers
app ; by kel <3
