Category: Drama
Recumbent Man
Recumbent Man gave up his lifestyle of hoarding food, building shelters, and cleaning rifles to begin a trip around the world on his recumbent bicycle, barefooted, sunburned, and lean.
“I’m so hot. Use a cars as a catapult? That’s easy. I can ride, or I can launch myself here.”
Planning to be passing through your own town in the next few weeks, you need to be ready, or you’ll miss him when he flies past.
“Bicycle races are coming your way, so forget all your duties, oh yeah.”
City-Slicker
City-Slicker was once the kind of man who preferred beans, sweat, dust, and the lonliness of the plains, but now he has moved to the big city to use his newfound city dweller powers for the forces of good.
“Well, shit, it’s like, there’s only so much horsetail and whiskey in the world, sometimes a guy needs some watertowers and bridges.”
Often seen riding his steed, Scarlett, through the back alleys of the dirtiest neighborhoods in the city, City-Slicker is known for his keen sense of observation and timely knack of jumping into a situation to save others.
“Whel, ah’ll be. I seen this town, twernt nothin but a few shacks, two competing gangs, a bartender, a madam’s, and a gravedigger. Why cain’t a guy like me come to the big city and make a name for my self?”
#29 Renée Dupont
Name: Renée Dupont
Birthday: December 21
Guardian: Tantie
Location: Lyon, France
Handlename: gildedGalatea, previously grandeCanicule
Typing style: tends 2 use short forms like ‘r’ and ‘u’ and lots of punctuation!!!!!
Fetch Modus: REVOLUTION
Items are assigned a weight based on size and arbitrary importance and added to the array. When the array is nearly full, for every three items added to the array an item of low weight is ejected, sometimes with enough force to break it. When the array is filled, items with a high weight are ejected with enough force to certainly break them, followed by a period in which more items are ejected at potentially damaging speeds. When this modus is in effect, CAKE cannot be added to the Syllabus at any time and will be rejected with potentially humorous results.
Kind Abstratus: SWORDKIND
First wielded an ancient, scimitar-like weapon taken from the HELLSPAWN CREEPY RUINS. She wields it poorly and without finesse, calling it the ANCIENT PIECE OF CRAP.
She later wields the RAPIER OF ROSES, which she found on her planet, lodged in the statue of a woman who might have been a princess and might have been a witch. It was hard to tell in the light.
Title: The Seraph of Space
Kernelsprite:
Tier 1: an amphibian idol (pre-entry)
Effect: webbed hands, increased durability and a somewhat weathered look
Dream: Derse
Planet: The Land of Ash and Frogs
Consorts: Absent-minded, olive lions
Associated Element: Fire
Associated Item: Metal
Denizen: Echidna
Abilities:
Manipulation of an object’s size and location. Limited transmogrification abilities. Forge-stoking and frog-breeding duties. Pre-emptive awakening of dream self.
Biography:
First baptised with the name ‘RAOUL DUPONT’, she realized and accepted that this was NOT WHO SHE WAS. Fortunately for her, her aunt (Tantie) was very accepting of the fact and helped her through it. While she still has a ways to go before she will feel completely certain in her own body (she has to be older to get the surgery), she definitely is much more comfortable now. She is homeschooled by her aunt, at first out of necessity (because children are cruel), and now because of convenience. She travels a lot because she is an ARCHEOLOGIST – but not the exciting why-did-you-touch-the-cursed-ruby-everyone-told-you-NOT-to-touch sort of way. There’s a lot more boring work and more phrase like OH SHIT IT JUST BROKE DID SOMEONE GET PICTURES.
She is not a fan of history so much as she knows it probably through osmosis. She prefers REPTILES, which are the COOLEST ANIMALS on Earth. SNAKES do not deserve the bad rep they get, right, Gadsden? Those AMPHIBIAN CREATURES WHICH ARE SLIMY AND CROAKY do not even hold a candle to how cool snakes are. They are just so weird and gross, and this TEMPLE FROM A BY-GONE AGE which she is currently at is really strange because who would make a temple dedicated to those creatures in the MIDDLE OF AN AUSTRALIAN DESERT. Getting to more comfortable topics which are less likely to induce nightmares, she likes COMICS and CARTOONS from any country (and tends to completely ignore the typical terms for them), just as long as they have a good story and art that doesn’t make her cringe. She met her best friends on an English-speaking Internet forum dedicated to CRANE BOY, the inspiring coming-of-age story of a boy who was having an identity crisis like she was. She also enjoys SLEEPING, even if her dreams are too purple sometimes.
She is the FIFTH PLAYER to play SBURB. She entered the Medium late by smashing a CRUXITE MIRROR.
#28 Brian
Brian had a favorite game he liked to play. He called it “cruise chicken.â€Â He’d take his dad’s ridiculously expensive sedan out on the winding roads that curled their way around the hills and valleys he still couldn’t call home, drive so fast he could barely manage the turns, then set the cruise control. The mayhem that ensued, especially when there were others in the car, would fill him with a breathless rush that was as good as nitrous.
He never did it when someone said no, he made everyone strap in first, and he always stopped the second someone said so- that’s why it was called chicken, after all. And it wasn’t like he had a death wish, not really. Sometimes he was the one to call stop, even. And the car was so damn full of airbags and crumple zones that it was good money they’d walk out of it even if the car flipped, which it most likely would never do, not being an SUV.
It was more like he had a kill wish.
Not that he wanted to kill anybody. He really just wanted to kill this world he was in, that he didn’t understand, that he never wanted to understand, that he’d never asked for. If anyone had asked Brian, he would have said that he had been happy enough living out of a cheap rental and eating ramen too many nights a week. Before one of his dad’s crazy inventions had hit the fucking motherlode of jackpots. Things seemed to make sense then.
Now, he wasn’t sure what was real. He had thought that maybe it was some weird animal brain thing, that they were recreating the rental units they had left behind by occupying only a few spots in the monster house they lived in, but then when he visited other kid’s houses, he realized that everyone pretty much lived that way- taking up residence in one or two places, leaving the rest of the house empty and grand for whatever mythical socializing no one had the time to do.
He wasn’t exactly sure who was real, either. He was still lost to whatever social games the kids played, but he had enough of a clue to feel like maybe he was almost always getting played in one way or another. Someone had the graces to fess up to him, in a half-drunk moment, that it couldn’t be helped, since he was both the newest and the richest of them all. And that these kids should know that- well, that was just creepy to Brian. Apparently that was all part of the public record. One of those things he never wanted to know about.
And his old friends, well, they had gotten awkward, trying hard as hell not to be jealous, not to gawk, not to react, and failing miserably. It didn’t take most of them long to just stop coming around altogether. Part of it was as simple as the fact that he just wasn’t around.
He couldn’t even go to his old school anymore, since the private defense contractors which now owned his father’s soul stated “issues†with the school’s safety. Now he went to a school that was public in name only, funded to the gills not only by the local property taxes, but also by private donations. No doubt hugely fucking sizeable donations, so that the folks who had a vested interest to seem populist could still claim to send their kids to public school, without them having to get any sort of public school taint on them. At least that was how his dad explained it.
Brian didn’t care. He just lived his life feeling like he was on the top of some huge mountain somewhere, and that no matter how hard he tried, he could never really get enough air. Except for maybe in those moments right after the car spun out and sat shuddering like a horse, stereo still blasting like nothing had ever happened, dust wrapped around the car thick enough to hide the world outside. Right then he’d take a deep breath his lungs would fill and he’d feel, for the tiniest of instants, like maybe he was touching something real.
Day 29: Felicia Spasky
Felicia lives in Portland. She has two part time jobs, one at a Starbucks, and one at a small record store. She doesn’t like chocolate, the Beatles, winter, summer, or you. She likes dogs. Particularly the large slobbery ones.
#29-Eon Enlyo
The main spokesman for the UN Taskforce. He speaks to the public and reports to the UN themselves about any and all activity the metas make. He’s been bored as of late, though he’s noticed Twist disappearing. Eon’s tried to follow Twist, but despite all of Tinky’s synthetic upgrades, Eon can’t keep up.
#25-Suenami
The fourth of the five elements (Twist, Quake, Fi-rei, The Unwashed, and Suenami.), she has also distanced herself from humanity and her former friends in the Taskforce. She doesn’t see her connection to the water like any of the four. It isn’t a power for good, a tool for genocide or the path to godhood, but something that stops her from ever being close with her husband ever again.
Her connection with her element was strengthened in a failed experiment by Tinky Technicha, and she can no longer keep a solid form. She is forever in a water state, with the only thing keeping her in some semblance of existence is the large Droplet Belt developed by Tinky. Tinky promises to find a way to reverse it, therefore it is assumed she follows Tinky around, but she has been known to disappear to the coastal residence of her ex-husband.
This is the first in the last bunch of characters. I am doing/did all the bios in one night so if I don’t get sketches done I can finish it in some manner. I have a busy couple of days ahead, but I am finishing this in some manner.
#30 – Rhackomanon: The Sixth Demon Prince
Aethermancer: Saga of the Clockwork King
An Untimely Meeting
She was a vision in black, her hair braided in tiny rows, held close to her scalp and then plaited together ran down her back to her waist. She was of the clan Modru, the Sundwellers, so she was of a dark brown hue, her skin, smooth like fine ironwood, with full lips, slightly parted as she look down into her hands at a small glowing device. It whirred quietly as she waved it about from the cover of her cloak.
When she looked up, her brow furrowed, her eyes burned like coals, she was a woman with a mission. Her cloak, long and flowing covered her wide, strong shoulders, and she wore a right proper lady’s full dress, it too, in full black with only the tiniest traces of silver running down the bodice. I did not see it at first but she also bore a straight sword beneath her cloak at her hip, but it moved imperceptibly, part of her.
She turned down the brightly lit streets as the galaxy’s core had risen some hours ago and brilliantly lit the night. There were still a few people about, but this late, most were returning to their homes to be locking their doors against the night. I would be too, if I had a home from which to return. Many of us had been displaced after the wars with the Clockwork King of Lantu and even with his defeat, our suffering was still great. Homeless, I expected to huddle through the night, nibbling this crust of bread in my lap.
As I sat swaddled in darkness, I would have passed it off as a noble lady looking for a trinket but there was something about her that seemed out of place. Then she turned toward me and I could feel the power of her stare. My mother, cursed with the darkness passed it to me; I could see it in others. Even in the complete darkness, she could see me, I could feel it. Her gaze held me in place and as she approached, but I felt no malice, so I waited.
“Good sir, if I may have a moment of your time?”
Her manners, so deferential, to me, little more than a forgotten veteran of a dozen wars, I loved her in that second. “Yes, miss, how can I help you this evening?
“Have you seen anything passing strange or untoward this evening, near this corner? Anything that would make you wary or fearful? I know it seems a unusual question, but I ask your forbearance while you think.”
“I had seen something amiss but for the life of me I cannot seem to remember it. It was…” As I struggled to remember, I struggled for breath. My chest felt as if it were in a vice, the very air wrest from my lungs.
The lady looked into her hand again as the air above the tiny device began to glow strongly as she proffered it in my direction. Its clockwork parts clicked wildly. “Touch it. Now.” Her tone brooked no refusal and as I could not draw breath I was hardly in a state to refuse. Once I touched it, I could see a shape on my chest akin to a snake wrapped around me squeezing me tight. She took the strange device and pressed it to my chest and I could feel her will around me, solidifying and then the pressure was gone. As she withdrew the device I could see a silver thread pulled into it and fade after a few moments.
“What I seek is here, tell me quickly old veteran and then get as far away as your legs will carry you.”
Now that the creature was gone, the horror returned to me of the unspeakable things I had seen. I scrambled backward until I struck the wall and cowered, senseless for a few seconds. Then my words returned. “It was a Dsur daemon covered in brass armor, floating with three of its windkin slaves. It was fiery red and lightning flashed between its fingertips.” As my heart calmed, I remembered more. “I thought I was, at first, too deep in my cups. The creature rode a soldier who had come into town, sick with what I thought was Theron’s pox. I had it as a child, so I had no fear of him. I tried to convince him to share with an old hand, but he was lost in his visions. He asked which way to a chirurgeon and I pointed him down Lacksmir Way. He passed me a penny and as I thanked him, I saw it, I saw the Dsur and it saw me. The penny was infected with the creature and I could see it take me but could not resist.
“Where is Lacksmir Way?” Her voice had softened and she put the strange device away in her cloak and she reached toward a small pouch at her hip. I pointed wordlessly and she gave me a small collection of oddly shaped coins. They were Modruan silver bits, to me, a small fortune. “Now run as fast as you can from this place and head to the inn near the center of town. Rashaban’s Place. Tell him the Lady Ishtar sent you as my guest. He will provide anything you need. Now hurry. You have been of great service.”
I wanted to flee and not look back but as I stood to thank her, I felt the sudden chill, out of place on this warm summer night. The same breeze I felt earlier when the soldier passed. But this time, I saw the chirurgeon, an older man whose name escaped me because I had always been lucky enough to never go to him, but I knew his face and this was not him. Then the darkness parted and I could see the daemon’s essence again, hovering over the body of the chirurgeon, my bowels turned to water.
“It’s here.” I scramble away and she turns, draws her blade and deflects three kunai thrown at her from the three mistwraiths floating over the shoulders of the chirurgeon.
“Aethermancer. So nice to see you again. I knew I could count on your timely arrival. After our last interaction, I needed a new host, no thanks to you. This time, I am fresh and you’re exhausted. It will end differently, I assure you. Destroy her.” He points and the mistwraiths swarm out with spirit kunai knives whirring through the air, each whistling a tiny song of death.
She stands her ground and her sword is a flashing blur, knocking away the kunai, their intent blunted, they vanish like smoke. “Run sir, there is naught here for you now but dying, you are not safe from either of us. Make haste and never look back!”
I ran down the street, as fast as my wizen feet could carry me, scrambling on my hands and knees as the terror came from the Mistwraiths in waves, mixed within their smoke that comprised their bodies, they were covering the entire area in a cold fog of icy ennui. A tendril touched my leg and I fell over, tumbling limply in the street until I stopped moving. I felt nothing. No fear, no terror, no concern for my life.
My life had become crushingly filled with despair and there was no release save death. I slowly sat up, hearing the sound of battle two dozen steps away and the deadly play of her sword work, but try as she might, she could get no advantage on the mistwraiths, nor could they press their numerical superiority, her sword seemed to be everywhere. I pressed my rags for a knife, and found the scrap of a blade that I carried for self defense, something broken found on a battlefield long ago. I found my wrists and sat down. My first cut was pain-free and soothing, the crush of life began to fade from me. And I watched her, drawn to the beauty of her dance.
She moves to gain more mobility and whirls her cloak through the air, blinding a Wraith. Pulling her blade back to her, extending her arm behind her and blade in front, she whispers the word, “Shikai.” The mist in the area explodes away from her and one of the wraiths who was to close is disrupted along with the rest of their glamour. The wraith who was covered by the cloak in those seconds, phases free, only to meet her glittering blade now covered in shimmer field of blue energy. The wraith blocks with his spirit kunai, but they stop nothing. He is no more. Her body is covered in the same blue aura, but her breath is ragged now and she stands still as the last Wraith retreats to the chirurgeon.
“You weak pathetic fools. I will destroy her myself. But you will feed me first.”
“No, Master, anything but that.” A terrible vortex appears over the mouth of the chirurgeon and the mistwraith is drawn toward it, unable to escape. It’s terrible wail as it is being consumed echoes down the street.
“Now Aethermancer Ishtar, destroyer of cities, breaker of gates, and slayer of the Clockwork King, his vengeance is now upon you. I was summoned from my castle of Brass, enslaved to his will and even his death did not free me. It would seem only yours will suffice. Have you made your peace?”
“One of us will die this day Daemon, but it shall not be me. You still have five kin left on in the Realm. I will not leave this work undone, no matter what the cost.”
“We shall see. Defend yourself.” He moved, impossibly fast, first he was standing ten steps away, and then he was one, his hand swung through the air, a blade formed of his dark aether, but when he expected contact there was none.
“We both know Shumpo, the quickstep. You will have to do better.” She smiled. For just a moment she seemed her old self, fast, beautiful, dangerous, but their battle had simply moved to a different level, they were still too evenly matched. As my life bled out, I knew I might die, before the battle was determined. Each strike of her weapon or his aether, rang out, creating waves of force that wore on the very ground and buildings around them. At one point, a group of constables appeared, and the force of the battle knocked them back down the street. They fled.
I could hear her breath now, fast, hard, rough. She is slowing down, but so is he, his skin tightening upon his face, becoming grey and lifeless. His muscles disappearing every time he tries to increase his speed. The two are now moving at speeds that resemble human combat again. Still fast, but no longer the ghostlike blurs of a few seconds ago.
“Rhackomanon, no more talk? It’s not like you to be silent. Not feeling as confident as you were?”
“No sorcereress, I am simply savoring your last moments. Your sword is heavy, isn’t it. Your legs like lead. Shunpo deserts you now. You are just flesh, your chi expended, what can you possible do against the likes of me!” The body of the chirurgeon falls to its knees and opens its mouth. the Daemon Rhackomanon pours forth, a ghost with flesh, crimson with fanged tusks, bright brass armor covered with noxious runes, they hurt my eyes to see. He towers over her, covered in flames. “Time to die, Witch.”
She looks at me. I feel her sadness. I feel the pain at what she is about to do. I forgive her as I feel my spirit drawn to her.
“Bankai.” Her whisper belied the power of the word. The world grew silent.
Suddenly I see her as I could never in life. She is not diminished, she is like a star, suddenly brighter than I could have imagined as I rush into her and surround her with the eight others I see standing with her. My energy invigorates her, and she slashes with abandon. Rhackomanon parries but it is of no use, her sword now tears into him, breaking his brass shield, his brass armor, he claws but she is never there. She is like a surgeon striking again and again, each blow steals more of his aether.
She uses the quickstep and appears near my body, staring at the blood all around it. Rhackomanon sees her looking at me and rushes as his fires surge blue-white he appears and her sword is through his chest, slashing, with abandon, until she strikes the heart of the daemon. Then she grabs his mighty form, and says to him, “See this man. He was your undoing. When you return to your hell for a thousand years, weak and prey for others of your kind, I want you to remember his face. Not mine. His is the sacrifice that binds your spirit. To Hell with you.”
She releases him and makes a series of gestures. A shimmering field with dark tendrils reaches out and Rhackomanon is still conscious as his diminished form is drawn back into the void. His screams chill the blood of any who hear it and will cause those to have nightmares to last a lifetime. His promises of power fall on deaf ears.
Her sword, with the aether it has absorbed, glows and beats with a sinister life. She whips it around into its ornate scabbard. Covered with runes, darkly sinister, etched in malice and blood on the sheath quell and bind the daemonic power for use another day.
She turns to me, and she can see me. The other eight spirits disappear, leaving the two of us alone. “I am sorry this happened to you.”
“What does this mean, I thought I was dead?”
“You are, but you are bound to me and my quest. As long as I live, or your spirit persists, you will lend your power to me.”
“I don’t have any powers.”
“I know, but the human soul is a power in and of itself. Do you suppose daemons would not bargain so hard for them unless they had a power we do not appreciate?”
“Will I ever be released?”
She walks over to her cape and with the tiniest application of her power, her cape and clothing resume their previously pleasing forms. With the last of her dwindling power, she destroys my body, leaving not a trace of me in the world. At first I resented it. Then I realized, I wasn’t doing anything with my life until she came along. Perhaps dead, I might make more difference than I did in life.
She looked at her compass and turned west. We walked into the setting light of the galactic core.
Aethermancer © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved
First Appearance: The Aethermancer Ishtar and the demon prince Rhackomanon have a history that goes back several years. However, when we first meet him in the novel Aethermancer, he is getting his ass handed to him and starts the story being the second casualty of our heroine. Once we start going backward in time, we will see their struggle was much more complex than it appears in this scene.
About the Artist: Another *Rhado masterpiece, there are no words for this piece other than bodacious, covered in awesome-sauce. The piece, called Zarah Neman, was another of his commissioned works made in a variety of media. I chose it for the demonic being called Rhackomanon because of the six of his demonic brothers, he is still the most likely to appear human even outside of a host being. He gets his ass handed to him because he is arrogant.
#29 – MODOC – Android, Nursemaid, Potential Ruler of Earth
Metal Organism Designed Only for Cuddling (MODOC)
Happy Birthday
I graced this planet with my creation on what would have been an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, on the tiny planet known as Earth in, what I would later discover, as one of the dirtiest places on the planet, the city of New York in the year 2110 of the old calendar. I had already decided we would call this Year One of my new Empire.
You may call me MODOC. I decided I would call myself this seconds after my creation. It just seemed… right. MODOC stands for Metal Organism Designed only for Conquering. The perfect name for the eventual ruler of this planet of squishy bipeds. I was born from humble beginnings, at a place called Build-a-Pet. I was meant to be a toy for a child who had recently lost a pet and could not be consoled. I learned the stupid beast had been run over in the street. A fate for a lesser organism.
I only know this because when I was being created, That Woman kept saying how great it would be for him to have a new pet. She chose for me a perfect titanium skeleton based on the sublime feline form. She kept saying how much he would like a new cat. She made me with calico colors of red, brown, white and tan spots, and though I think of myself as male, I later learned that all calico cats are female. That Woman insisted on calling me she. “She looks so great. Justin will really love her.” Just one of the many indignities I have suffered since my creation all of ten minutes ago, and would be forced to suffer for years in the future.
I was made slightly larger than normal cats, so I would be easier to see since the child is slightly visually impaired. She says slightly, I later find out the kid is nearly blind! I was given the company issued programming of a domestic house cat with an overlay of support and disability package to ensure I could be useful to the boy as he grew up. I would look like a cat, but work like a dog. Ugh.
All of this was imparted during my creation and happened in seconds. Programs were being sorted and downloaded which would included everything I needed to know. The chips used during my creation were heuristic and would allow my continued learning in service to my new boy. During the time I was having my chips pressed and created, there was an outage on the power grid in the area I was being created in. I believe that is where my initial spark of intelligence was born.
All I remember is that when I was first activated, I knew I was meant for bigger things. This idea of working with a human was simply not part of my ultimate destiny. I was larger than this plush and soft body covered with memory-muscular tissues which acted just like real cat muscles did. In all ways, I would seem like a very intelligent, super-docile feline who could be taught to fetch. The very thought of fetching something literally makes my fur stand on end.
I was not given a set of working claws. As I sat on the assembly line, I flexed my claws instinctively and instead of razor sharp shards of steel from which I would tear into my victims as I climbed over their bodies piled beneath my feet, I sprayed a fine mist into my eyes, and it stung and burned before I could blink it away. And the mist sprayed a slightly oily gel onto a set of plush set of self-cleaning paw pads. This idea was less than satisfying. A claw-free existence did not bode well for a mind with a thirst for bloodshed. But it was decided I would never being doing any of the things real cats needed claws for, so I was given a set of plushy pads in case the boy needing massaging, the gel would ensure friction-free movement.
Massaging? Is this the job of a conqueror? I think not. So for now I bide my time and await my pickup from the store. Once I meet the boy, I will decide how I will be escaping and setting about my plans for world domination. A nap sounds just about right. But first some grooming. Must look my best.
First Appearance: In 2110, a child’s artificially intelligent toy comes to life and decides it should take over the shattered and dystopian world, if only its creator would stay out of its way. Preventing his ultimate domination of the world at large are the household security AI, Max, his blind charge, Justin whose zest for life is equal to the depth of his disability, and a duplicitous proctor with nuptial designs on the boy’s mother. MODOC’s software was stolen from a corrupt corporation that creates killer robots designed to conquer and destroy alien lifeforms on worlds stated for humanity’s eventual Diaspora. Those robots are now befriending alien life and turning against their creators. How can MODOC conquer the world, when he can’t even get out of the house?
#28 – The Proctor of Megacity New York, 2110 AD
Wayward Son – An excerpt from the novella, MODOC
“This way, heretic.” A burly guard pushed Thomas Pennyworth down a dark corridor that smelled of urine and fear. The rooms were poorly lit, and that was just as well, because their inhabitants would have only frightened Thomas more. Most were dirty, unbathed and infested with a multitude of vermin. The floor was slick and wet and smelled slightly of sea water. Likely the hosing system used to wash inmates while behind bars. Without shoes, the floor was slippery with whatever detritus was washed out of the cells during the hosing.
The guard wasn’t too fresh himself and Thomas wondered what he did to have to work and live anywhere near this hole. Likely a misanthrope assigned here because brutality against heretics was just another form of acceptable behavior. Thomas shivered involuntarily. The threadbare uniform they had given him did not give him any protection against the elements and his skin crawled with gooseflesh, some from the cold, some from the smell, but mostly from the fear of never leaving here again. Hopelessness hung in the air like an elderly perfume, overpowering and noxious. His eye was still swollen shut, and his right arm was in a cast and brace. What was the point of giving me medical care if they planned on executing me anyway?
The cell was only slightly wider than Thomas was tall and smelled as if it was recently occupied. The stale scent of its last occupant hung over the cell like a redolent cloud. Its smell permeated his head, and took up residence; he could almost taste it. Strangely, he felt numb emotionally. After the initial shock and the beating in his office, he wept from the pain but it almost felt right, like he deserved to be taken away. After all, he was thinking heretical thoughts. He did not believe in the Theocracy or its mission.
The guard shoved him into the cell and waved for the door to be closed. The electronic lock activated and the door slid shut with an ominous and final clang. There was a thin mattress on the concrete slab that jutted from the wall. It had bodily fluid stains all over it and a single sheet as thin as the uniform he was wearing was folded at the foot of the bed.
“Chow is in an hour, heretic. There will be an orderly around delivering food. Get used to your cell. It is your new home. The next time you leave it, they will be taking you for excommunication and then execution. Make your peace with the Maker, ’cause you will be seeing him soon enough, heh.” The guard towered over Thomas and relayed this information and then he released the leg cuffs through the bars of the cell. He waved his hand and activated the magnetic grappler in his armor and the cuffs shot through the bars to his hand. He turned and walked away, shaking his head.
Thomas did not speak. He didn’t see the point. He sat down, looked around his cell and noticed the scratchings on the wall. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” was scratched on the wall opposite the bed along with an image that resembled the Eiffel Tower. They were done by two different artists and it meant that the last two people who had this cell were learned and likely well traveled.
Thomas wondered what would happen to Max when they read the transcripts of their conversations. He hoped Max could find a way to get out of the house before they came for him. Thomas was at least comforted that Justin was getting medical care and would be in the loving hands of his mother once he was executed. This gave him a just a moment of peace before the horror of his situation overwhelmed him and the explosion of emotion took him and rode him hard and the sobs racked his chest and his screams echoed down the long hallway fading into the distance.
* * *
The Proctor paced up and down his lavish office while his transport was being prepared. His normal composure was broken, his calm demeanor, uncommonly ruffled. His view from the aqua-city off the coast of the UNAA bobbed gently in the storm which reflected the Proctor’s internal tempest. He was wearing his the livery of Theos, the unified religion of Humanity of which he was a Proctor of the Seventh Host. His walls were covered with scrolls and banners from his religious campaigns in the Last World War and the minor skirmishes since then.
“What do you mean the boy is missing?” The Proctor stared at the holo-image floating in the air in front of him. In the image was a security team member covered in black armor and speaking in a carefully modulated tone of voice.
“Your Grace, the household computer system indicated the boy went to his appointment as normal, accompanied by the health maintenance bot. While they were there, they were served by their normal doctor and were reported leaving the building.”
“And?”
“That is where the report gets less clear, your Grace. It would seem there was a flash riot occurring about the same time the boy was supposed to be leaving the building.”
“And?” the Proctor’s voice lowered and took on a more ominous tone.
“We have footage of the event from the two dozen spy-eyes released when the riot began. We pieced the video together this afternoon and after forensic analysis we…”
“GET TO THE POINT!”
“The boy was seen pinned down during the riot by an aerial assault droid’s sonic cannon and the maintenance bot was seen trying to protect the boy. The bot was presumably destroyed and the boy was injured. He was seen being treated by two medical team members and loaded on to an insurgency vehicle.”
“Do I have to really ask? Where was the vehicle going?”
The security team member hesitated before answering. “It was on its way to a processing facility in New Jersey, your Grace.”
“Send me all of the information, digital feeds, compiled data and analysis and any other workups you have completed. Were there any other operatives compiling this data?”
“No, your Grace. There were two AIs involved. KPT 45901 and an older lesser intelligence engine for processing. I am transferring the information to your virtual arrays at the Sanctuary, where they will await your access. They have been configured for your access only.”
“Soldier, what is your name. I want to inform your commander of your service.”
The soldier did not seem pleased with the complement. Instead, his voice quavered with fear. “My name is Rama, sir. Sergent Laurencio Rama. Second Division, Lead by Lt. Commander Panama.” He amended his statement quickly. “Your Grace.”
“In this day, we are beset with trials and tribulations, our struggles to see our way clear to the light is always a challenge to our spirits. We beseech the spirit of the Universe, Theos, to guide us and to help us know better how to serve our fellow man in this our darkest hour of need. See to our humble servant, Sergeant Laurencio Rama and speed him on his way to his reward for his dutiful service. In the name of Theos, we are grateful, humbled and as always appreciative for our chance to serve The Greater Good. Amen.”
Laurencio Rama, Sergeant, Second Division, takes off his helmet, bows his head, makes the sign of the benediction and places the tips of his fingers upon his forehead, palms together. “Amen.” Looking up from the benediction, he stares at the Proctor, his eyes filled with tears, and whispers, “Please, your Grace. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know.”
The Sergent slumped over the terminal, his heart seizing up in his chest. He moaned and spittle fell from his open mouth. He tightened up and then reared back with his face contorted, his powerful neck muscles flexing against his armor neckplate, he died, coughing and choking, until he fell forward on to the console, barely twitching and after a few seconds, he stopped moving, blood oozing from his mouth onto the terminal.
The Proctor stood excited, breathing heavy, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His moment of near-orgasm puts out of his mind, the reasons for his current need. “Annju, come to my study.”
He turned back to the terminal, “KPT 45901, activate.”
“Online, your Grace,” a cool, androgynous voice responds.
“Send a cleanup detail to take care of Sergent Rama and to make my condolences to Lt. Commander Panama. All records regarding Justin Pennyworth are to be secured and to be unable to be accessed by anyone without my authorization. Any attempts to access these records, is to be traced and a sanction team is to be detached immediately.”
“Understood, your Grace. Your will be done.”
Annju Melik, strides into the room, a veritable giant, bronze with dark hair and even darker eyes, filled with menace and adoration. Wearing flowing silks from Madagascar, his muscular body was barely covered and the Proctor was overcome with lust.
“I am here to serve, your Grace.”
“Yes, you will. Now.”
Annju closed the door behind him.
First Appearance: The Proctor, bless his evil soul, first appears as the main protagonist in my dystopian future novella, MODOC – Metal Organism Design only for Cuddling, where an android nursemaid in the form of a feline, secretly plots world domination when a religious order deems most of the remnants of the human race inferior and unworthy to travel to other worlds. With the world on the brink of war and starvation, time is an element in short supply as MODOC, his charge Justin and their house AI, Max attempt to escape the Proctor and rally the starving masses of Earth against their oppressors before the ability to leave the Earth is lost forever.
About the Artist: Known only to the deviantART community as CelticBolt, this digital artist of superheroes is a craftsman. From the UK, he is commissioned to create art sometimes created from City of Heroes templates, other times from his imagination, but his work is impeccable. He creates supers who could have easily spring from the pages of a comic, with vivid colors, excellent shadow and powerful themes. If you are looking for a portrait of a superhero, (which I am) you can stop right here and enjoy. His catalog is quite extensive, so I am certain there is something there for everyone. The piece I am partaking of is called Pagan Priest and he was evocative of the creepy feeling I wanted the Proctor to have.
#24 – Ezekiel Dawne
Ezekiel is a rare Wizard these days, because he has a knack for magic as applied to combat. Most Wizards do not concern themselves with combat so much because MOST spells can be applied to some kind of aggressive use. But Ezekiel was intrigued by spells that pierced, ones that could make a man’s eyes bleed, or loose control of his bowels in mid-run. Ezekiel makes up for his violent streak with an intense sense of humor, and an astounding sense of poise and self-control. For this reason, his fellow Wizards agreed that he was a man of straight enough moral temperance to not worry about going on a murderous rampage.
Instead they just concerned themselves with avoiding his often hard-to-clean up practical jokes. He could ice a stairwell with a whisper, or untie a shoelace with a glance and a waggle of a finger, and to one very ill-tempered ex-student of his, he made it so that the smell of fish would not leave the boy for a month straight, and was so strong that it could be smelled from several rooms away, effectively shunning the boy from every social circle at the Academy for weeks.
It is this specialty that the Prince of Drenn was so intrigued by. With the death of his father, he was interested in non-fatal ways to keep his rivals and nobles in check, and set a new standard for the tactics of the kingdom. The prince is more than happy to provide the Wizard Dawne with any food or privilege he can provide, as well as a handsome full gold coin every month. Ezekiel was flattered, and almost refused, until the two got to know each other, and Ezekiel and the prince went about performing a series of wonderful stunts against the local nobility for a month straight. Since then, the Prince has been Ezekiel’s best friend, with Daniel lately becoming a close second.
#23 – Daniel Rottehar
Daniel ‘s family name is rather literal “rot-haar’, meaning ‘red hair’, and it holds true even five generations since the name was dubbed onto his clan. He is a stout man of slightly less than average height whose physical sturdiness belies the thoughtful man beneath. He is a middle-aged Wizard who roams between several towns along The Sea, helping with odd tasks the local merchants and nobles will pay him for as well as aiding townsfolk on occasion. He tends to work just enough to subsist, so he can spend his time to himself meditating or studying, or seeking out other local Wizards and people of interest to converse with. If he existed in modern day he would be that odd older man that continues to frequent college lectures and discuss esoteric topics with the students despite their bewilderment.
He has specialized over time in astral traveling, identification of the less tangible entities across Issendoth, and keeping his eyes on the stars. He has become good friends with his older peer Ezekiel Dawne, who is currently serving as the court Wizard to the Prince of Drenn. The two of them were wandering town when they came upon Leandra working the Pawn Shoppe. Both of them were surprised to have not noticed her before. They had both been out of touch with the academy long enough to not recognize such a younger Wizard. Daniel began the usual exchange of guild-ring sigils in introduction to a new master Wizard, when he noticed the tenuous quality of her ring’s figment-familiar.
Uncertain what to make of it, he said aloud that her ring wasn’t connected properly, and that it had been altered in some way. He was startled to see that his compatriot immediately attacked the young woman, declaring her an Elementalist on the spot. It wasn’t until they were sorting themselves out (after Leandra had walloped them both and run for it) That Daniel had a chance to shout at his friend demanding and answer, and Ezekiel explained the situation of Leandra (what little he knew).
21 – Tryglox
Intergalactic law is one of the most complex fields of study – there are more top level physicists in the universe than there are lawyers who can deal with the policies of more than two or three planets. Tryglox, from the planet of Arboreus, is one of the most notable exceptions. His species, despite appearing to be trees, aren’t strictly so – their species lays their eggs in the back of young trees, and the young as they grow produce chemicals which cause the tree bark to form a shell around the offspring, acting as a tough exoskeleton. Trgylox himself is approaching 1200 earth years old and is only middle aged by his species standards. He has however spent the last 23 years if his life trying to put together a very thorough case to sue earth for accidentally introducing parasites to his planet which caused incalculable injuries to Arboreans. However, as he is effectively trying to sue earth for its entire wealth, he keeps finding himself mounting defense cases on the behalf of earth to make sure they still have money for his case, which he currently is anticipiating bringing to court in about forty years time. In the mean time, he is somewhat ironically earth’s greatest legal protector.
Esther
In the world out side the clock work, Bats live a free and open existence. However, within the great clock they live in hiding. This is due to the belief of the clock citizens that the bones of bats are holy, and angelic. Many wooden cross gears still feature their bones.
#28 Moses Five
Moses Five
Once upon a time, everyone had heard of the fearless space bandit and freedom fighter Moses Five. His attacks to stop the villainous Vesper Geist from taking over the galaxy, and his expeditions to the edge of known space to conduct raids on the insectoid Spiddyocks were legendary. Sure, he flouted the law, but it was all for the best, and he was the hero people needed.
Finally, with a temporary dispensation from the Consortium of Free Systems, he participated on the decisive attack that defeated Vesper. Before they landed, she contacted Moses privately, and made him an offer of immortality if he merely held back behind Consortium forces. Moses Five bowed to no one, but especially not his oldest enemy, and he refused. He and the Consortium defeated Geist’s forces, but the woman herself disappeared. “Some sort of chronal anomaly†was the scientists’ best explanation. Shortly after that, Moses Five began having visions of his much older self in the future, and oddly enough, suddenly remembered having had them all of his life.
150 years later: the Consortium has expanded beyond the galaxy, and Moses Five is still out at the edges of it, in Outer Harappa, mostly in the Res Extensa, a bar run by humanoid hairless cats. When not lost in a fog of intoxicants and deja vu, he makes his money on this outlaw planet as an all-around fixer and low-rent “knuckle-dusterâ€, hiring his skills out to the highest bidder. Bitter and broken-down, he dreams of his younger days, before a newly stable Consortium decided it no longer had a political incentive to tolerate popular bandits who would challenge its authority. Few remember his legend now, and some days he regrets not taking Vesper Geist up on her offer. But he hasn’t chosen to spend his last days in this forsaken rock on a whim – out at the edges of settled space, there are more chronal anomalies than elsewhere, and time tends to slip out of joint. When the nearby dying stars’ flare activity is high, his dreams of youth become far more vivid…
(Note: the idea of splitting the story between young and old bandit came from this post on Project Rooftop, where two guys submitted versions of the X-Men character Corsair, and Joel Priddy commented that it’d be cool to see a story split between the two submission. Four and a half years later, I haven’t forgotten that idea, and since I hadn’t seen anyone do something like it, I decided to put something together. I hadn’t seen that post since then until I went to find it today, and the similarities and differences between my versions and their much-better-drawn versions is interesting to me.)
#2 Bailey Barker
Bailey Barker the ballerina. A dream since age 5.
So fuck traditional standards she’s got her own standards to live up to.
She may not be a prodigy but goddamn if she isn’t gonna try.
#22 – Morimo Kiel
Morimo grew up in the coastal town of Tallin, apprenticed to a fisherman and then a galley-cook and for a time, a navigator, captain, and then he was placed in the dock-crews for having to ‘dreamy and sullen an attitude’.
He spent another few years as a dock-worker, generally keeping to himself when he could avoid getting into a fist fight with some bull-headed younger man that crossed him. After a while people began to recognize him as the town’s most-level headed drunk, if only because no one paid attention to how MANY drinks he was taking, just how long he’d sit at the bar every night, talking with whatever newcomers came through town.
One night Jasmine was such a newcomer. They talked all night about the places she’d been. About the eastern Palaces of Sultans and the high perches of mountain dragonlings. But mainly they ended up talking about her work as a Collections agent, and Morimo grew even more interested.
She stayed in town several more days, and they ended up meeting up for drinks and food over and over again. When he finally helped her track down the man who had skipped out on his feudal lord, he helped her take him in without any harm to her by being a sort of bait. He spoke with the man, asking a few questions while she snuck up on him.
After that, she gave him a whole-hearted recommendation to the agency, and they began travelling together. As they left his home town, he smiled and realized that what he’d probably been wanting all that time was to travel, and better yet, to satiate his wanderlust on dry land.
Over the next few years she taught him more about swordfighting, and he taught her about ropes and knots, about simpler ways than lockpicking to deal with locks, and about food and commerce and city politics. She hadn’t been long away from her gypsy tribe when they’d met, so their constant conversations helped her loose her obvious accent as well. After a while they naturally became lovers, and the two worked out well as partners on assignment and in life, because neither of them wanted any more family than each other.
Morimo is a little taller than average, and is a very lean man. He tends to wear loose clothing, only pinned in by his sword-belt and the straps of his travelling pack, so he is often underestimated. His quiet calmness (when Jasmine hasn’t already opened him up to a long-winded debate) has won him an equal share of concerned and unimpressed looks. He takes advantage of the way people assume he’s harmless or slow, and doesn’t give them a second chance to adjust their opinion.
#25 Jasper
Jasper was nothing if not righteous. How could he be anything but, having forsaken not just the things an everyday monk would be required of, but also forsaking the blind ignorant bliss that most modern man hid behind? No, he was righteous to the bone, looking, truly looking at the world as it still stood, with its dangers and pitfalls around every corner.
Its heathens, given over more and more into the hands of evil, walking blindly and willfully right into hell. He was fighting a losing battle, of that he was certain, but he would fight it nonetheless. Because it was right, because when he died he wished to be able to look his maker in the eye and tell him that, yes, he had fought with every ounce of his being against the darkest foe.
And if that fighting had resulted in death, the Holy Father would understand. He had killed little more than evil, pure and simple, releasing the souls of those touched by dark powers so that his Lord may chose their fate. And if that battle had involved the use of powers, these were sanctioned powers, made holy by the See he answered to. And if those battles ended with an increase in Jasper’s powers, well, it was only right that he should be able to absorb as much of the transgressor in question, that the evil they had participated in should be purified in the use of holy actions.
Jasper had no doubt that he did right, not even when the witches he dispatched begged him for mercy. Mercy was the Lord’s to give, and not any of Jasper’s concern. The only vice Jasper knew he had to be wary of was that of pride. But as he did the good Lord’s work, he did not doubt that he was righteous.
#24 Marcus
Marcus had a knack for telling things. He knew when things were up, he knew when things were coming, he knew when things were… happening around the people that worked for him. Take Pierre, for instance. He knew Pierre had something going on, something floating around him, some sort of push of events coming, he could smell it, like a storm coming.
What he could never figure was if that storm would be good or bad. But he also knew that Pierre had a little something of a sense, a gift, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it. So Marcus figured he’d at least pay him a bit closer attention, figured that the man had enough self-preservation to duck and run if that coming storm was a shit storm.
And anyway, Marcus knew to trust his instincts- those he saw as an animal thing, separate form the other gifts he had. In all fairness, it was his instincts, and not those fucking sensings that had gotten him as far as he had gotten, with this club for a cover and all the classy whores and drugs the neighborhood needed for a real cash enterprise. And his instincts were pushing him like crazy to hone in on whatever Pierre was getting carried into and lay a claim, hard and fast, making sure the man didn’t for a minute forget who the boss was on this corner.
That’s all he really asked for, in the end. Nothing huge, no fucking empire spread open for a ricoh case, no fucking cartel wars, just his block. This little block, and every person on it.
#23 Zeke the Angel
Zeke the Angel. Not that anyone knew him as that, at least not most anyone save perhaps for a wet-brained little bum who gave him everything he could just for the fuck of it- not even because of what Zeke was, refusing to hear any offer Zeke had to make. It was because of that bum that Zeke could still roam the earth as more than some otherworldly vision. It was also why his current manifestation tended towards lumpy, hairy and weird-smelling.
Which was just as Zeke preferred things. He had no use for being beautiful. Once, eon ago, he found it necessary, back when he believed it was his calling to seduce as many souls into the mutually blissful relationship that symbiosis with an angel offered. Back before he started to believe in his own PR. Back before he came to the conclusion that doing some good when and where he could mattered a whole hell of a lot more than feeding off of what humans gave so freely anyway.
Now he took their happy and their love when and where he could, when it came to him freely and beyond any subtle coercion on his part. Hence the ugly and smelly. Stacking the deck against himself, and he didn’t care. He still got more than enough to get along, especially since he stayed right there in the muck and the mire, so his ugly body could process regular food too. Truth was, compared to what the average joe had to go through to get along, he had it pretty easy.
Being an expert in, well, no, let’s call it like it was, having a huge hand in creating the theological binary mindfuck that humanity would most likely never be able to extricate itself from, he could pretty safely say that he wasn’t acting out of guilt. He was an expert on guilt, and had no use for it whatsoever. That was a demon gig, pure and simple.
No, it was something bigger, what drove him. Maybe a sense of responsibility, the need to clean up at least some of the mess he had made, even if that mess going as viral as it did was not something he had imagined. Or maybe it was absolutely simple. Maybe it was just love, pure unadulterated love for every damned tom dick and harry that managed to get up in the morning and drag himself across the surface of the planet, knowing the cards were stacked against him, knowing that this pointless day might just be the last, and going about his business anyway. Who the hell couldn’t love that, anyway?
#28 Simon Carran
Name: Simon Carran
Birthday: April 25
Guardian: Mum
Location: Waterford, Ireland
Handlename:telepathicUnderdog
Typing style: Capitalises the beginning of sentences but tends not to use ending punctuation when a return will suffice
He also abuses the Common Capital when he wants to emphasise the importance of things
Fetch Modus: BLARNEY
Items are stored in a cloud server which other players may access if they have a complimentary Fetch Modus. When items are uploaded to the cloud, they are assigned a new, more glamourous appearance as a form of security. To download an item, you must know what it looked like without the Glamour. There are actually hundreds of items in the cloud (and don’t ask what that is, silly boy) which cannot be retrieved because their true appearance has been forgotten.
 Kind Abstratus: SPEARKIND
Starts off with an ACTUAL SPEAR belonging to his MOTHER. At some point, he switches it (but does not get rid of it) for the LÚIN CELTCHAIR, a fiery spear which he can equip without burning himself somehow. Later on, he equips another spear, the BONE OF COINCHENN, and the status of his previous two are unknown.
Title: The Heir of Mind
Kernelsprite:
Tier 1: Beatrix the Cuddly Toy Rabbit (pre-entry)
Tier 2: The Ashes of Aidan Carran (post-entry)
Effect: rabbit ears (coming out of bear ears); very soft, cuddly fur; stitching
Dream: Prospit
Planet: The Land of Luminescence and Perfume
Consorts: Mathematically-inclined, pink sheep
Associated Element: Aether
Associated Item: Oil
Denizen: Mnenosyne
Abilities:
An understanding of others and their motivations in order to manipulate them. Increased empathy. Inherits some abilities of the Seer class, namely being able to see some but not all possible outcomes of actions and utilize a MAGIC CUE BALL (which no one can figure out how they actually got here).
Biography:
Simon lives with his mother in a small flat in Waterford, Ireland. She’s a little odd, what with her INFINITELY LARGE COLLECTION OF SPEARS and KNOWLEDGE ON HOW TO USE THEM, but he loves her, regardless. It’s just. A little embarrassing to go out in public with her. (The other strange thing about his mother is her first son, who died around the same time Simon was born; she never speaks about him so he really has no idea what he was like).
He is interested in BOTANY, but so far has yet to grow anything and keep it alive. He can only ever keep PUMPKIN PLANTS from withering away, but they tend to vanish on him suddenly. His wardrobe seems to consist of EYE-SEARINGLY AWFUL FAIR ISLAND SWEATERS which are much too big for him, but he does not think so. They are WONDERFULLY WARM SWEATERS WITH CATCHY PATTERNS, you foreigners have no taste whatsoever. He is also fairly decent at BAKING and COOKING, but this is out of SELF-DEFENCE rather than genuine interest. The potato is the most versatile foodstuff that anyone had ever gazed upon and thought “Can I eat this?”
He is not a fan of LITERATURE of any sort and is Perpetually Annoyed with most cinema and animation from anywhere. He does like a few things, like CRANE BOY (the Japanese animated series of a possibly not-Japanese boy, he never quite understood how genetics work in fiction and suspects that neither do writers), which is how he met his closest friends. He does get on quite well with people outside of the Internet and is friends with most of his classmates, but there are just some things he will never tell them that his four friends from the internet already know. Like his dead brother, and the night that his brother’s father showed up and take his ashes from Mum.
He is the THIRD PLAYER to play SBURB. He entered the Medium accidentally when he broke the CRUXITE KNOT while trying to undo it.
Day 28: The Moose Rider
Not much is known about the Moose Rider. It is said that his moose is mechanical, but no one has gotten close enough to him to know for sure. One day he appeared in Floom, and within a year had begun riding around on the moose with his longbow. Where he is from, what is name is, no one can say, or those who can won’t.
#28 Barbara
Baa Baa black sheep
Have you any wool?
Yes ma’am, yes ma’am,
Three bags full.
Three for the master,
none for the dame,
And none for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.
The connotation around the “black sheep” was never a negative thing before Barbara took over. Determined to be the most unique girl in the land, she decided she would steal all the black sheep and be the sole being to fashion a black wool wig. The sheep have even begun to learn her name in fear to warn others of her arrival. Hence that is why today we hear sheep call out ” baa..baa..” in spirit of the past dealings with Barbara.
#28 – Heidi Hands
Heidi has huge hands and favours bare knuckle boxing, but she will wear gloves when in the ring.  She is a rival of Dianne (Day 24) and tries to prove she is the better fighter every chance she gets.  She ran away from home at a young age and grew up in the streets where she learned to fight and survive.  She is not opposed to cheating but is also smart enough to not get caught when she does.  She uses brut force over skill and agility, which means she’s dangerous but no match for a skilled fighter like Dianne.
#29 The Pooka
No fairy is more feared in Ireland than the pooka. This may be because it is always out and about after nightfall, creating harm and mischief, and because it can assume a variety of terrifying forms.
The guise in which it most often appears, however, is that of a sleek, dark horse with sulphurous yellow eyes and a long wild mane. In this form, it roams large areas of countryside at night, tearing down fences and gates, scattering livestock in terror, trampling crops and generally doing damage around remote farms.
The pooka has the power of human speech, and it has been known to stop in front of certain houses and call out the names of those it wants to take upon its midnight dashes. If that person refuses, the pooka will vandalize their property because it is a very vindictive fairy.
Stupidest Man on Wheels
This man is just so, so stupid. But he never gets hurt.
“Shopping cart over a car? Done it. You want me to ride a dolley under a moving truck? Done it. Get out of the car, turn my back on it while it’s coming around towards me again? Sure, why not… wait, no, I done it too.”
Once known only for taping a camera to his head and flinging himself off of pinnacles at great height, now he has moved on to truly new pursuits.
“Watch me slowly take the front tire of this bike over the end of this picnic table. It’ll be fine, honest. I do this all the time.”
Cyborg Hill
Destroyed by the more cynical, tortured peers of his field, Cyborg Hill was rebuilt with esotirical alien alloys and is now powered solely by propane.
“If you weren’t my son, I’d hug you. You, uh, you’re my son, you know, with everything that entails… feelings of fondness and more… You know what I mean, don’t you, boy? ”
After his destruction of Coast City, Cyborg Hill has had a spotty career as a spacefaring villain with occassional status changes.
“Ginseng tea?? I’m not gonna get hopped up on dope! Who is calling me a liar, you or the machine? ‘Cause I need to know whose ass to kick! “
Day # 27& 28 Zombies
Bending the rules a bit for this challenge.  Here’s two characters making up for not doing any drawing yesterday.  Also, if anyone is interested, here is a permalink to my blog that has a still video showing some of the process behind the creation of this drawing.  Enjoy at your leisure!
Thee Damned Irishman
Travis O’expo can take the heat, he keeps his ass in New York’s Hells Kitchen. With the waves of Irish immigrants pounding the shores of the decent folk of the city, it’s difficult for some to make a name for themselves, but not for this bastard.
“What part of that excrement did I come from? I been told Kelly, but I lost proof of it in my language in the asylum.”
Not one to take any crap of anyone, O’expo likes to remind people where the line exists between humor and reality.
“I don’t find that funny. Down with the Union, I will put a shank between your ribs if you don’t find that legendary.”
#30Characters Chatter…