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More from AchromaticStallion
World of Darkness © of White Wolf, but characters © by their original creators. This drawing is original, do not steal.
No AI was used in the creation of this pic.
It was cold and dark in the cave. She was not permitted in the temple on high, of course, not until the day they could be sure of her lineage, not until the day they would sacrifice her. She was not sure where her tribe was, she was just a cub when they took her from the messengers sent to deliver her. And now here she was, getting new marks every day only for them to heal up, fed only the bare minimum to survive through her muzzle. The rope, woven with a single lion's hair, should not have been enough to bind her, not with the unnatural strength of a Bastet, and the crude leather muzzle should not have rendered her so weak so easily, but such was the price of her breed's power. The ropes could not be broken by her, and those who sealed a lion's roar sealed their very soul and thus she could not change into her mighty true wereform or even, begrudgingly, into her non-birth shape, a human woman, to wriggle free.
She barely heard the noise upstairs as she groggily awoke. Some feud or another, surely; vampires are always infighting over something, even those who form supposed brotherhoods like the Settites. But firearms, screams so vicious and afraid, that smouldering hiss of the Final Death, that was rare in her ears, and yet she heard it very frequently that day. She saw one of her captors, the high priest sans an arm, hurrying down in panic, hoping for a taste of blood, just one last taste, enough to replenish his power. He made it close, close enough that she worried his filthy fingers would once more stain her immaculate white fur, before the silvered knife plunged into his skull and left him crumbling to dust.
Her rescuer was an odd man, an Indian fellow she reckoned from the brief dealings she had seen with a travelling Settite from the region. His eyes were golden as any lion's though he did not smell like a werebeast, with silver hair and a beard like someone well-aged and yet his face and his stocky muscular body was young and healthy aside from the seeping bloody wounds. He was clad in a tattered green coat full of both gravel from exploding sandstone and splinters, no doubt from one of several stakes he had on his person until he ran out. Setting down his shotgun and his jacket overtop it, the hint of silver inside glinting ever so faintly even in the unnatural eerie glowing dimness of the cavern, he comes to her slowly, gently shushing her.
She huffs into the muzzle, expecting a swift end from the Hunter. It would almost be a mercy; every day since she was a baby, new bites from their venomous teeth, new cuts from their razor-sharp forked tongues, new bargains and threats to soften her resolve and make her submit. They did not even know or care if she was the spawn or reincarnation of their cult's enemy or even if she just had a strange birthmark; they were cruel for cruelty's sake and their dogma just gave them an excuse to torment a rare prey.
The ropes slacken for the first time in two years. The man kneels gently eases her up to her feet, letting her rest her head on his knee and against his armoured torso. His calloused fingers offset by his smooth skin felt heavenly as he caresses the soft pale fur of her head. She had been patted down before, roughly and mockingly by the Settites, but this man was the first to truly pet her. His voice was soft like theirs as he unclasped her muzzle, letting her catch the first decent breaths even of the damp stuffy cavern air she's had in too long. She did not expect his accent to sounded so different; not a local to these parts, no, he spoke like a Westerner. She did know a little English, but it was more the intent that mattered to her, the tenderness, the lack of any hint of cruelty.
"There we go. Come on, girl. I'll get you some water soon... Ah... there's that mark. No wonder they thought you were a queen... well, guess that'd be a pharaoh, now, wouldn't it? Yeah... easy, kid. Easy... I'm taking you home, okay? Somewhere they'll never find you again. And then we can find your tribe together, alright?"
It would be a mere three minutes later she would have the strength to be able to walk, the recuperative abilities of a werebeast doing their magic even on one so frail. It took ten minutes more until, when the Hunter led her shakily from fell temple hidden beneath the basement lair of an abandoned house-turned-brothel in the sands of Egypt, she could see the light of the sun for the first time since she was a kitten. It was a week after that they departed to the West and she had memorized the man's name, Crowley, and taken the one he had given her as her own; Pharaoh. He told her she was special, like the Settites did, like the messengers she barely remembered did, but he meant it truly. He told her he was sent to find her and that with her help, he could ensure what happened to her would never happen again. He would help her, raise her... train her. "The UA needs you, Pharaoh," he would say. But she knew what it meant and reciprocated in kind.
She needed him too.
A commission for my friend
KitoTheManedLigress set in my ongoing World of Darkness campaigns~ I can't believe it only took me a day and a half to complete~
Want to see and support our project? Perhaps see if you can get perks like influencing or even commissioning art and animations? Join our Patreon now https://www.patreon.com/unknownanimationstudios, or buy us a Ko-fi~ https://ko-fi.com/unknownanimations72443
No AI was used in the creation of this pic.
It was cold and dark in the cave. She was not permitted in the temple on high, of course, not until the day they could be sure of her lineage, not until the day they would sacrifice her. She was not sure where her tribe was, she was just a cub when they took her from the messengers sent to deliver her. And now here she was, getting new marks every day only for them to heal up, fed only the bare minimum to survive through her muzzle. The rope, woven with a single lion's hair, should not have been enough to bind her, not with the unnatural strength of a Bastet, and the crude leather muzzle should not have rendered her so weak so easily, but such was the price of her breed's power. The ropes could not be broken by her, and those who sealed a lion's roar sealed their very soul and thus she could not change into her mighty true wereform or even, begrudgingly, into her non-birth shape, a human woman, to wriggle free.
She barely heard the noise upstairs as she groggily awoke. Some feud or another, surely; vampires are always infighting over something, even those who form supposed brotherhoods like the Settites. But firearms, screams so vicious and afraid, that smouldering hiss of the Final Death, that was rare in her ears, and yet she heard it very frequently that day. She saw one of her captors, the high priest sans an arm, hurrying down in panic, hoping for a taste of blood, just one last taste, enough to replenish his power. He made it close, close enough that she worried his filthy fingers would once more stain her immaculate white fur, before the silvered knife plunged into his skull and left him crumbling to dust.
Her rescuer was an odd man, an Indian fellow she reckoned from the brief dealings she had seen with a travelling Settite from the region. His eyes were golden as any lion's though he did not smell like a werebeast, with silver hair and a beard like someone well-aged and yet his face and his stocky muscular body was young and healthy aside from the seeping bloody wounds. He was clad in a tattered green coat full of both gravel from exploding sandstone and splinters, no doubt from one of several stakes he had on his person until he ran out. Setting down his shotgun and his jacket overtop it, the hint of silver inside glinting ever so faintly even in the unnatural eerie glowing dimness of the cavern, he comes to her slowly, gently shushing her.
She huffs into the muzzle, expecting a swift end from the Hunter. It would almost be a mercy; every day since she was a baby, new bites from their venomous teeth, new cuts from their razor-sharp forked tongues, new bargains and threats to soften her resolve and make her submit. They did not even know or care if she was the spawn or reincarnation of their cult's enemy or even if she just had a strange birthmark; they were cruel for cruelty's sake and their dogma just gave them an excuse to torment a rare prey.
The ropes slacken for the first time in two years. The man kneels gently eases her up to her feet, letting her rest her head on his knee and against his armoured torso. His calloused fingers offset by his smooth skin felt heavenly as he caresses the soft pale fur of her head. She had been patted down before, roughly and mockingly by the Settites, but this man was the first to truly pet her. His voice was soft like theirs as he unclasped her muzzle, letting her catch the first decent breaths even of the damp stuffy cavern air she's had in too long. She did not expect his accent to sounded so different; not a local to these parts, no, he spoke like a Westerner. She did know a little English, but it was more the intent that mattered to her, the tenderness, the lack of any hint of cruelty.
"There we go. Come on, girl. I'll get you some water soon... Ah... there's that mark. No wonder they thought you were a queen... well, guess that'd be a pharaoh, now, wouldn't it? Yeah... easy, kid. Easy... I'm taking you home, okay? Somewhere they'll never find you again. And then we can find your tribe together, alright?"
It would be a mere three minutes later she would have the strength to be able to walk, the recuperative abilities of a werebeast doing their magic even on one so frail. It took ten minutes more until, when the Hunter led her shakily from fell temple hidden beneath the basement lair of an abandoned house-turned-brothel in the sands of Egypt, she could see the light of the sun for the first time since she was a kitten. It was a week after that they departed to the West and she had memorized the man's name, Crowley, and taken the one he had given her as her own; Pharaoh. He told her she was special, like the Settites did, like the messengers she barely remembered did, but he meant it truly. He told her he was sent to find her and that with her help, he could ensure what happened to her would never happen again. He would help her, raise her... train her. "The UA needs you, Pharaoh," he would say. But she knew what it meant and reciprocated in kind.
She needed him too.
A commission for my friend
KitoTheManedLigress set in my ongoing World of Darkness campaigns~ I can't believe it only took me a day and a half to complete~Want to see and support our project? Perhaps see if you can get perks like influencing or even commissioning art and animations? Join our Patreon now https://www.patreon.com/unknownanimationstudios, or buy us a Ko-fi~ https://ko-fi.com/unknownanimations72443
Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 850 x 650px
File Size 875.6 kB
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