RSSCategory: 2011

Day15- Jimmy “Buckwheat” Franconie

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

Buckwheat Franconie was a Mob boss in the early 30’s that controlled a large portion of the upper east side. In the five family feud of ’37 Buckwheat was taken hostage by the Cascaronie family. Before the families could come to an agreement, he was murdered in a way intended to prolong agony and death. It later became know as “The Buckwheat.” The Cascaronie family and this technique inspired Christopher Walken’s character in “Things to do in Denver When You’re Dead.”

Day #16 James Zombie

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks, Melissa Lackman, for the pic of your son that I used for this zombie design.

Day 16: Hosc Atylo

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

Character #16, Hosc Atylo. Taking a break from the moe girls *coughcatherinearielmirandamirakaetc* and making a monster. Last name is pronounced “Ah-tai-low”, made to sound like it’s short for what he is exactly, “A tylosaurus”. This guy has a role in my Venomamillia series.

Hosc is one of many “fossil freaks”, a derogatory term used to describe old species like dinosaurs and what-not that are still thriving. He once served as a waiter and guard at a restaurant run by a few other fossil freaks. After an incident, everyone abandoned it, and now Hosc just lives in the run down joint, fixing it where he can. He is very strong, and can lift a car if needed. If he charges at something, he has to hit his mark or else he just stumbles over from lack of planning. Hosc can be quite clumsy and hard-headed.

Day #15 Melissa Zombie

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks, Melissa Lackman, for your childhood pic that I used for this zombie design.

Day 14-Stanley the Snobby Mortician

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

This is Stanley. He is a man of rather short stature. He works as a mortician, and feels that because he makes everyone look so magnificent for their funeral, he is the bees knees.

Day #14 Victor Gutierrez

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Victor Gutierrez

  • Hispanic who is far removed from his culture (bigotry still exists in this future society)
  • Can’t roll his ‘R’s in his last name “Gutierrez”
  • Has worked hard to earn his place in society, even if it meant stepping on others in the process
  • Ambitious
  • Looks down on the poor and uneducated
  • Makes things happen
  • Worked his way out of lower class and thinks that there is no reason why anyone else couldn’t do the same
  • On the outside, Victor is an upstanding citizen
  • However, in a tight situation, i.e., zombie outbreak, he cannot be trusted
  • People have a bad feeling about him, though they may not be able to give a rational explanation
  • Victor talks down to Willie, ordering him to “Fix this”, or “Clean up that”
  • Victory resents Willie for earning his way to live on Titan and would do anything to tarnish Willie’s reputation (Thomas may kill Victor since he befriends Willie)

17 Lindy the Giant Handler

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

17 Lindy the Giant Handler
Lindy is still a child, but she is able to outwit the frost giant that happens to molest her town. Everyone but Lindy fears the frost giant and she’s taken it upon herself to take care of him.

#17: Axel

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

Look, puppies! Well, one puppy in particular, actually. This is Axel, a fun little guy who is energetic, playful, and sweet, all wrapped up in his spotted fur. And don’t forget his big mouth, designed especially for yapping and eating, some of his favoritest activities–besides making new friends, that is!

 

 

 

#17 – Charon – Boatman of the Afterlife of Last Resort

| November 17, 2011 | 0 Comments

Charon ©2010-2011 ~fo3the13th (JOEL AMAT GÜELL)

A Cappuccino with Charon

I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, dodging my workplace, when I saw Him come in. I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeing at first, because, well, this is San Francisco, and you are liable to see almost anything here. He was wearing the equivalent of a long ragged cloak, stained with age and reeking of an unspeakable odor.

It was the scent of a recently opened grave, and while I had not been near one in a while, I had put a dead raccoon in my garbage can once and left it there for a week in the hot sun. Worst thing I have ever smelled. I was only too happy when the garbage man came. It was worse than that. No one else seemed to notice.

His cloak hid is face, but it was safe to assume I didn’t really want to look too deep in there, anyway. He was carrying a pole with a strange watermark on it and two runnels near the top. His hands were strong looking, like a weightlifter’s, with veins running through them. I could not see much else of him, but he was big, much bigger than I had imagined him to be.

See, I figured this had to be the Boatman of the River Styx.

“Cappuccino,” he said in a scary baritone.

“Four seventy-five, please.”

“Surely you jest?” was his response.

“Uh. Yes.”

He reached into his pocket and put pennies on the counter. Lots of pennies.

“Sir, we can’t take those.”

“They’re still currency, aren’t they?”

“Sir, they’re pennies.”

“I get paid in pennies.”

“Excuse me, miss, I will take care of this.” I found myself reaching into my pocket and paying with a five. “Keep the change.” The crowd was getting kind of hostile, and I wasn’t sure what might happen if he got pissed off. He looked at her, reached across the counter with his large, ham-like hand, and touched her chin.

“Rebecca Montez, angry boyfriend, six years from now, lamp. Unfortunate.” She looked at him as if he were crazy, but did not move. Almost as if she were under a spell.

He turned to me and said, “Thank you, Daniel Simmons.”

“How do you know my name?” I already knew the answer.

“I know all of your names.” That voice was really starting to work me. The rhythm of the shop resumed and people went back to typing.

“What are they seeing? How is it only I can see you?”

“Cappuccino, up.”

“Uh, that’s you.”

“Let’s sit and talk, Daniel Simmons.”

“Okaaaaay.” Didn’t like where this was going.

I sat down at the table and tried to hide my face behind the screen of my laptop so I could resist the temptation to look into his cowl. He reached across the table and closed my laptop, gently.

“So, Charon, can I call you Charon? What brings you up for coffee? And why is it no one else can see you?”
“Mmmmm. Good cappuccino. Very nice.” The cup disappeared into his cowl and did not come back out. “People deny their mortality. Part of my gift, people simply refuse to see Death for what it is, a part of Life. No one can see me because to them, I am some unfortunate hobo having coffee with an overdressed preppy. That would be you. As to why I am here? I need a guide, and since you can see me, you are volunteered.”

“And I can see you because?”

“Embolism, three weeks from now.”

Sobering. What could I know about that he would need a guide for?

“I am looking to franchise my infernal service.”

“Excuse me?”

“Earth is very busy these days, lots of dying, and humans keep making new ways to kill each other off. I can’t keep up. Look at this bicep.” He pulled back his sleeve and showed me this massive arm that would not have looked out of place on the Incredible Hulk. “Go on, touch it.”

“Um, no thanks.”

“I used to be scraps of bone and flesh; now I have biceps from pushing that thing.” He points outside the window.
For a moment I saw the flash of a large gondola-like boat, about the size of an eighteen wheeler. Off in the distance, I could see people, thousands of them, tens of thousands, standing patiently, wearing clothing from what looked like medieval times. When I looked harder, I could see dozens of different eras standing and waiting patiently for their turn to cross into the Afterlife. Then the street returned to its mundane appearance.

“Yes, I just cleared the backlog from the Black Plague last week. Do you know how long it takes to move seventy five million people by gondola? But I still have the Civil War, the Spanish Flu, World Wars I and II, Korea and every other little bush conflict modern governments feel justified in creating.” He was starting to sound a little hysterical and maybe pissed off.

“Uh, what about other death-oriented entities like yourself? Aren’t there others out there harvesting the dead?”

“Valkyries are still working, but they only want the valiant dead, so they swoop in and pluck one guy out of thousands, put him on their flying horse and they’re gone. I’ve tried shouting out, ‘Hey, you could grab a few more,’ but they keep mentioning something about Valhalla having a quality assurance clause, and then they’re gone.

When I complained to the Niflheim Residency Committee, they indicated they aren’t responsible for all of these people. They closed their doors when the last of the Vikings bought the farm. Something about Niflheim having a purity standard.”

“There are certainly other death agents, yes?”

“Heaven only takes devout Christians. Let’s just say that number isn’t going up. Same with the other sects. People don’t seem to have a desire for really rigid religious structures anymore, so most of those places are closing their doors, or waiting for a management decision from on high. Hell, well, it’s just overflowing. They even changed the sign. Used to say ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here.’ Now it says, ‘Abandon hope all ye who thought to enter here. Entry denied due to overcrowding.’ So, I keep going, moving the Dead into their afterlife of Last Resort. But I am starting to fall behind, so I hoped someone here might have some idea how to franchise this operation.”

“So you’re hoping to find people willing to help you ferry the Dead, for a fee. What kind of benefits would you be offering? You need a good benefits package if you are trying to recruit these days.”

“I am not trying to enter into management. I do not want to take responsibility for their work. I want to hand off a section of the workload to other interested parties.”

“That’s the problem. Who’s going to be interested in buying into a business where your job is to move the Dead across the River Styx into the Afterlife of Last Resort? What do they get out of the deal?”

“As long as they work for the Company, they can avoid dying of anything, as long as they manage their company effectively. If I have to pick up their slack, I will carry them across the Threshold myself. I am not interested in who they hire, as long as they get the job done.”

“Effectively immortal, long term job security, open hours, free hand in hiring, no micromanaging. I think I am going to quit my job. Okay, what’s the cost to buy into this program?”

“Two pennies.”

This guy has no money sense. How can you run a business on two pennies a soul? “Okay, first things first. We’re going to get you a suit and a bath. After that we are going to work together is to increase the cost of dying. What we need to do is get a cut of the funeral home business…”

First Appearance: A Cappuccino with Charon appears in my debut series of short stories called Hayward’s Reach available from Amazon.

About the Art: Charon is a very popular guy on the internet. I found many pictures of him but nothing that quite did him justice the way I wanted. I decided on this one by fo3the13th because he showed him as a muscular man rather than a skeleton pushing a boat. I liked the somber tones and clean lines. Joel Amat Guell is a professional artist and retains all copyrights to his art.

#16 Clive

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

So this is why it’s called a CHALLENGE!!!

I have fallen behind big time. About a week’s worth. But here we go, let me try to catch up…

In adding to the 99% theme that I started on with the first post, here is Clive.

Clive is a genius MIT engineering graduate who cannot find a job in his field as most of the jobs in his industry have gone overseas. So he’s had to settle for a job paying minimum wages to try to keep from going into default on his student loan. The reality for the 99%…

Day 13-Greg the Grumpy Hipster

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

This is Greg the Grumpy Hipster. He works at the one local bookstore that wasn’t forced out of business by the big box stores. They are in trouble though, Greg’s impatient, and grumpy attitude is turning away customers. His horrendous body odor adds to his offensiveness.

Day 16: The Hyena

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

The identity or identities of the assasin known as The Hyena is shrouded in mystery.  Stories of the trail of blood and murder of this almost urban legend character go back to the early 40’s in Ethiopia.  Where villages that had been attacked by invading Italian facist forces and sacked were said to have been visited by what was described as an almost ghost like figure who would massacre entire groups of up to 50 men single handedly in a ritualistically bloody manner.  This persisted on until the end of the war.  From there things were quiet for a few years .  Then other tales began around the beginings of the cold war of an assasin who also fit the physical description of the Hyena, who was contracted by everyone from The CIA, The FBI, The KGB, various organized crime groups, corporate intrest, MI5 and anyone who could afford his price.  No known photos were known to exist.  Then in 1972, for reasons yet unknown, but again unsubstantiated claims point to an organization known as ICE contracted him to take out several masked crimefighters.  He is said to have killed the original Juryman, and to have perminently crippled the silver age Jack of Hades along with up to 5 other heroes, before disapearing again into shadow and hushed murmurs.  Some said he was involved in everything from the Iranian Revolution to several high profile assasinations.  It is not even known that if he is the same man who has operated the same 70 years, or a series of killers? Recently he has been seen in several hotzones accross the globe again under the contract of ICE (International Covert Espionage).  He lives in shadows and few have ever lived to tell the tale.  Fewer still are bold enough to tell it!..

#16- Weaven Binchley

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments


This one is veryyyy lazy because I had to do a lot of homework, and that toke up a lot of my time urhhhhggggg

This is Binchly!  Once again, another space pilot, wow!!!!  She doesn’t come up until later in this space story however.

She’s lives on the moon, and she’s a very MEAN LADY!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!

11# Courageous Cluck

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Hello everybody out there. Yo, this character is inspired from a cartoon show call Super Chicken. This fowl was crazy but I thought about I’ll be off my rocker if I drank too. Every time I  watch that cartoon show that bird was drinking and going psycho, good times man, lol. Well My version of Super Chicken would be call Courageous Cluck. I’ll have him  drink a magic potion to get his super strength but he want be an alcoholic,lol. enjoy everybody. One…

Day 16: Chicken Feathers

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Chicken Feathers, Ken for short, is Shing’s brother. The first human they met called him Chicken Feathers, in reference to the hair under his ears. Like his sister, he has been forced into elementary school, however, he makes no effort to hide his antennae, preferring to just tell people they are a birth defect, a claim that few actually believe. Ken wears brightly colored clothing, usually on the formal side like his sister, as the planet they are from wore formal attire nearly all the time. Unlike his sister, Ken is happy nearly all the time, and although most of the people in his fourth grade think he is weird, he has made a few good friends.

 

Day 16: House Mice

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

 When the humans are away the mice will….eat all their food 😛 Cotton …a cotton rat and Millie …a common house mouse live their lives in a country home where they have to keep an eye out for the resident cat and avoid traps. Otherwise it is a good life.

#16 – Voxx

| November 16, 2011 | 4 Comments

#16 Post-Apocalypse Tiger Warrior

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments
Post-Apocalypse Tiger Warrior

Post-Apocalypse Tiger Warrior

#10 Little One

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

#16 – Mumpkins

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Agh sorry for the lack of awesome today. I am majorly burnt out 🙁

These are mumpkins, the little spirits that follow my character Amy around. Thought I would give some context to her characters ^_^

 

#12 Weevil

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Another character that’s part of my Garlic Pal universe.  He’s a weevil and he’s the scheming, dirty landlord of GarlicPal and Acorn Ed.

#15 Dorothea Graves

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Ethnologist. Widow. Investigating a murder.

Continue Reading

#16 Christopher Moros

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments
> Enter

You’re dreaming, Chris tells himself, but it’s a lie and a bad one at that. Dream or not, he’s still rooted to the ground, too scared to even shiver as the tentacles don’t belong there thing destroys building after building. The world is falling around him, and he can’t run. His legs won’t obey him. It’s like they’ve declared autonomy from the rest of his body, and that means doing absolutely nothing.

A long appendage covered in too many suckers and eyes swings out above him and becomes embedded in the brick building above him.

Chris wishes he could have thought of something clever for his last thoughts, or maybe even something mundane like I hope someone remembers to feed the cat but his mind is stuck on oh shit oh shit oh shit

The first pieces of rubble break loose, followed by the rest when the Thing frees itself, and–

> Return

“So you do this for a living or something?” asks Chris, much later, and his hands are shaking too much to light the cigarette he needs to make his hands stop shaking but he’s nothing if not persistent. How he managed to roll it is better left unmentioned.

Ananke – which is his name, but Chris isn’t entirely sure on that entire statement, the name and the his part, but whatever – frowns at the cigarette but doesn’t comment on it. “It’s more like volunteering,” he says, still dressed in the same double-breasted suit that he was wearing a few hours ago when that Thing was around and causing trouble.

Finally, after a good five minutes of constant attempts, the cigarette is finally lit. Chris takes a long drag on it, filling his lungs with acrid, earthy smoke. “That’s pretty shitty,” he says.

> Return

Ananke starts sleeping on Chris’s couch. When that arrangement started, Chris doesn’t remember. Some time after the second time Ananke saved everyone’s asses. It might have to do with how Chris is the only person who was at both scenes besides Ananke, or it might have to do with how Chris offered to buy him dinner for the second save and Ananke followed him home and never left.

Guy saves your life twice. It’d just be rude to not offer something in return, even if it is a shitty meal and a shittier couch.

> Return

Oh god help someone help please help me help us help him

> Enter

“I didn’t know there were two of us,” says Ananke, without any recognition in his eyes.

Chris’s chest tightens briefly before destroying the Thing-With-Tentacles-Where-There-Should-Never-Be-Tentacles. “Me neither,” he lies.

> Return

“–and then suddenly, I can make energy bolts come out of my hands,” finishes Ananke, complete with the necessary hand gestures and sound effects. “How did you get your powers?”

“I made a wish.” He wants a cigarette badly, but that would mean having to leave the apartment and he can’t go now.

“Like with a genie? Does that mean you get two more wishes?”

He shakes his head. F***, really need that cigarette. “Used them all up,” he admits. Damn stupid idea, too, but genies are tricky bastards. They’ll twist your words around and make anything a wish (should have remembered what Mom said, but Mom doesn’t talk to you any more, not after you stepped out of Narnia).

“On what?” he asks, and that’s it, you need a smoke now.

> Return

This was wrong, all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to die here, not now and not like this. But he is. He’s dead and the blood is still seeping out of him but that will stop soon and he’s looking at you with his brown eyes that still look alive but he’s not he’s not he’s not

> Enter

“Go home,” says Chris, before trapping that Thing in a Bubble. One rotation, and it ages instantly and turns to dust.

“No way,” replies Ananke. His eyes are so bright and wide, looking at Chris as if he’s the most amazing thing in the world.

“Don’t expect me to save your ass again,” he bites back. What a liar.

> Return

He stopped smoking, but the urge is still present. He figured out how to use his powers to speed up through getting past the physical withdrawal but right now, he really wants a smoke.

“Wanna go get dinner?” asks Ananke, like fighting monsters from the Eighth Ring is considered to be an appropriate segway to a date.

Whatever.

> Return

“How did you wind up here?” asks Ananke, a few weeks later. He is still sleeping on the couch, but it’s large and comfy enough that even Chris, all six feet two inches and one hundred and sixty-eight pounds of him, could sleep on it and not wake up regretting it. Ananke is much smaller, and is using Chris as a pillow. “In this city, I mean?”

How is a great question but not one that he likes to think about. “I had a fight with my parents,” he replies, summarizing a six hour long yelling match that resulted in him storming out with nothing but his wallet, his laptop, and the clothes on his back. He never got the rest of his belongings back – Mom always went overboard and burnt the whole lot – but Dad at least helped cover the cost of replacing some of it. Behind her back, of course. “I left, got the first bus I could get out of town, and wound up here.”

“How serendipitous,” and it’s so earnest that Chris can’t help but laugh despite everything.

> Return

Third time unlucky, and this time Chris is the one bleeding out, or was, but he can’t stop time forever. His concentration will lapse and suddenly it will be all over.

“F***,” swears Ananke, for the first time ever since they met. He didn’t even swear when Chris caught him stark naked one time, curling up upon himself like what was between his legs mattered to who he thought he was. It’s different now, though, because Ananke’s hands are covered in blood when he first tried to apply pressure to the large laceration.

“It’s okay,” Chris tries to tell him, but the words get caught in his throat and blood comes out instead. He chokes, and suddenly there’s no more time now. The Bubble bursts and his life starts to flow away from him again. It’s now or never (again).

“I’ll see you soon,” he can’t say. Spins the wheel backwards and

> Enter

2011 Day 16 “Ranor A’tai Denala” of Upper City from my Novel, “Mentor”

| November 16, 2011 | 1 Comment

2011 Day 16 “Ranor A’tai Denala” of Upper City from my Novel, “Mentor”
Ranor A’tai Denala, the world’s foremost Synthetic DNA Designer

Money was no object to a family whose ancestors made planetfall here, and they agreed in secret to hire the world’s most foremost Synthetic DNA Designer, Ranor A’tai Denala. He was a most difficult man to work with, slightly mad most people said.  And what would you expect from a man who got top money for creating designer pets and designer people for the dependent, declining society of the Upper City on the planet T’rest.

 

Day #7: Dolores

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Sometimes Dolores feels like she’s made of bad news.

Day #16 – Bartan Virmak Coelsce

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

 Bartan Virmak Coelsce or Coel as she is known as to friends is a Ratnak, one of a sentient race of six legged scavengers. Despite their sharp teeth they are not preadators. They are however fast and smart. each of their six eyes work independantly to ensure that nothing bigger and badder can sneak up on them, although there isn’t much bigger badder out there. Ratnak are huge weighing up to 4 000 lbs. Coel herself is a fairly large specimen weight approximately 3 952. Ratnak are fond of war and are often on hand to clear the battlefield of bodies. Their land is unforgiving and harsh so they take advantage of other species disputes. Ratnak rarely keep their own company espcially since they are always trying to outsmart each other, and they aren’t keen on sharing. Being one of the oldest Ratnak Coel usually gets first dibs on battlefields. Though unlike most she avoids the fatty generals prefering the lean meat of the more muscular dead.

2011 Day 15 “a’tannattal” of Upper City from my novel “Mentor”

| November 16, 2011 | 1 Comment

2011 Day 15 "a'tannattal" of Upper City from my novel "Mentor"
a’tannattal

a’tannattal is the name on the certificate of ownership. the young lady whom he is destined to serve, calls him “Natti” though such informality is frowned upon. He is of the Non Class known as Synth Droids, his designation being U-AM7 z3t48L 426000. That is the alphanumeric code found on all documents pertaining to a’tannattal right back to the original synthetic DNA design sheets.

At the BioSynth Technologies Corporation he is simply known as U-AM7 z3t48L 426000. The M in a’tannattal’s number tells us that he is a mentor droid. The A that he is A-class, or that is he checks out as near as perfect as one could hope for from what is both an art and a science that tinkers with the basics of life itself. And the U? Well that is really important. The U means that the design of his synthetic DNA is unique. One of a kind. Which of course means that the DNA from that design can not be used for another Synth Droid of any type unless the present U-AM7 z3t48L 426000 has been destroyed. The original Synth DNA is kept locked away at the Bio Synth Technologies Corporation labs.

a’tannattal knows this. He made it his business to know, since, well, it is his business to know. He has the sole responsibility in this household for the tutelage of the daughter of the Governor of the Lakes District of T’rest. And a thirsty for knowledge young lady she is. He knows, but what he thinks about it no one has ever asked him, with the exception of his precocious pupil. And to her he gives no answer. They both know it is improper for her to ask him personal questions. And this meets with a’tannattal’s approval, since there are things that he thinks of which he would rather not speak to the humans.

He was brought to her the very hour she was born. He remembered that day as well as if he’d borne her himself. That day he fell deeply in love with the child. He couldn’t help it. It never occured to him to help it. It was the way his DNA was designed, and that was that. He was bonded to the child for life. Both hers and his. And though she often tried his patience to the limit. He loved her now no less and no more than he loved her when he first held her in his arms, smelled the fresh baby smell of her, imbibing the natural pherimones that were uniquely hers, cementing the bond that been designed into every fibre of his existence.

He had been told how he came into existence. The Lady Renala and her sister’s husband, the child’s father,  had wanted  to give the child’s mother, Deira, a perfect birthing gift. An older wiser companion who would be all things a growing child would need: A second mother, a protector, a teacher, a playmate, and more.

Money was no object to a family whose ancestors made planetfall here, and they agreed in secret to hire the world’s most foremost Synthetic DNA Designer, Ranor A’tai Denala. He was a most difficult man to work with, slightly mad most people said. Of course they would never say that to a Synth Droid, but rumours got around.

a’tannattal still marvelled that a full grown synthdroid could be grown in a vat in less than a month, while a human child took over nine months to get to a point where growing outside their mother’s womb would commence. Most of his learning had taken place in the holotubes where he was drilled incessantly about social protocols, natural history, social history, planetary and galactic history, basic mathematics and up and up  beyond quantum mechanics so that he would have everything on tap that his young protege might require.

And yet… How could one being be all that another could require, designed or not? He knew to his great sorrow he had failed her. Some flaw in his design? Or in hers? Perhaps if her mother had not died when she was still a babe. Perhaps there were no real answers to those kinds of questions. Or perhaps, when he found her… perhaps then he would know.

2011 Day 14 a scut, creature from UnderCity in my novel “Mentor”

| November 16, 2011 | 1 Comment

2011 Day 14 a scut, creature from UnderCity in my novel "Mentor"

A scut

Scut:  an arachnoid creature with ten to twelve legs holding suspended a fleshy flattened ovoid cylinder of a body. Bulbous glossy black eyes on short stalks on top of the body draw the attention away from the  cutting  jaws and sucking mandibles underneath.

The body itself is fairly soft but the legs are hard chitin and can be pulled up and over the soft body to protect its self. Scuts will not attack a moving target. They are scavengers really but they have been know to attack the wounded, basically to feed on them.

They prefer to nest in the higher reaches of Under City laying their trap webs to catch the unwary Flitbirds that also nest up there. In turn the Flitbirds often feast on the flesh and ichor of  the scuts. Turn about being fair play in the war to survive.

Often one of the multitudinous scuts will fall off their high nests to the ground very very far below. If they can get their legs into the defensive mode they may even survive the fall.

The scut pictured has been attacked by a predator and has lost some of its limbs, which are now regenerating. Often an injured scut will not survive, especially if it is immobilised, as its brethren will make short work of it.

Nothing goes to waste in the UnderCity.

#16 Thad Ignacio – Murderer

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

#16 Thad Ignacio - Murderer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murderer.

#16 The Last Crusader

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Its 2012 and God has chosen his disciple, young Tomas Miller. Thomas was never a man to shirk from a hard fight. His task to eliminate all the non-believers, If he can do this before December 12th 2o12, him and all other faithful peoples will go to heaven. Is this the challenge of a life time or a cruel trick?

15 Anton Provic

| November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

What to say about Anton Provic, he was born in Poland in 1982 and moved to Russia at the age of 15. He is the only Russian to become a member of secret service. He holds the uncanny ability to move people just like marionettes.