RSSCategory: Drama

#15 Bricher

| November 15, 2011 | 0 Comments

BricherDudley “Brick” Bricher was born in Bloodstained Corner in Junction Point.

That’s what the locals call it anyway, the actual name is Bludstaint Corner, named after McAllroy Bludstaint, the most famous baseball player to ever come from the city. “The Great Mac” hit 700 home runs and is a hall-of-famer.. Nowadays, Bludstaint Corner is a district overrun with mob crime and many bloody conflicts among the three houses.

Thus it’s colorful nickname, Bloodstained Corner.

Nobody dares to go there between the hours of 12:01 AM and 12 Midnight, at least not on purpose. The police are just as bad, if not worse, than the mobs. Those who aren’t connected to the three Houses (not to mention the unofficial “Fourth House” known as the Junction Point Police Department) are stuck in the middle.

Dudley Bricher is one of those perpetually stuck. He’s a good guy by nature. A trained cook, he owns and operates a local restaurant, one of the few not controlled by one of the houses. At times, they let him be and don’t consider the massive guy a threat.

Unfortunately, a series of events in Dudley’s life has turned his life upside down. A murder involving his brother and sister-in-law has made his entire family a target by the families, and instead of sitting back in fear, the former Marine takes back not only the streets but his life.

At 55, he’s not as young as he used to be, but he’s more than willing to fight for what he believes in. And he knows it’s not going to end pretty.

Bricher: TM & (C) Jeff Harris dba Studio Lightcount.

Day 15 –

| November 15, 2011 | 1 Comment

Kilara

 

#15-Cranion the Merciless

| November 15, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

All our hats are belong to him…

 

 

Gibbi of UnderCity from my Novel, “Mentor”

| November 14, 2011 | 2 Comments

2011 Day 13 Gibbi of UnderCity from my Novel "Mentor"
Gibbi

Her full name Gibbil’ananat means ‘left by the gods’, as Gibbi was found as a newborn along with her dead “Lost One” mother. It was  a miracle the child was alive, for there are many things in the shadows of the Under City that would relish the taste of such a morsel, and had many times in the history of the people. It was thought that the mother died form wounds received protecting her babe. The miracle child was still strapped to the mother’s breast and able to keep itself alive on it’s mother’s milk for days. The proof of this was the amount the child had defecated by the time she was found. The people often teased her about her origins in the tribe by calling her Nissi, which is short for a’lini’sanis. Which means born from the shit of the gods.

This Gibbi took with humour and equanimity like most things. But it was felt that she was marked somehow, and that the reason for this would show itself someday. And “Nissi” became even more apt when she began to play with muds and ichor from the beasts of UnderCity to make pictures on the stone walls around them. Strange pictures and sometimes portraits of the people. But by then she had been Gibbi for so long that no one insisted she change her name.

After she turned eight she was brought before the Seer, who  blessed her arts. And though the Seer said naught, she kept her eye on the girl and learned much from her picture making.

#12 – The Hood

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Adolescence sucks.

Anyone who is either going through it or is already, thankfully, done with it can confirm this for you if for some reason you weren’t aware of this.

Your body changes and contorts in ways that make you feel like you’re wearing someone else’s skin. Everything you know about the World becomes either a lie or a joke as authority loses complete grasp of you and your basic instinct becomes lashing out at everything and everyone.

And nothing proves the real seriousness of everything that we go through than the fact that many people don’t even manage to survive their adolescent years. They either give up, becoming completely stagnant, never making into adulthood or they are so irreparably damaged by the experience that it’s like their old self died and from it someone completely new was born.

And then there are those that do literally die.

Adolescence sucks.

And this only worth repeating because, for the most part, Graham Ellis could not give a fuck about adolescence. He is way too worried about everything else going on in his life right now to ever acknowledge the million existential crises, social rituals and high school drama he’s got in the back burner right now.

So, if we take into account everything we’ve previously discussed about adolescence so far, the only logical assumption is that Graham Ellis must be deep into some serious shit.

Graham is barely 15 and lives in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. He lives with his mother ever since the divorce but he sees his father almost every day on account of his being a teacher at his school.

He’s not “cool” enough or whatever to ever be acknowledged by his school’s it crowd, yet he’s safely above band geek/math freak level. Some girls even find him “cute” or whatever. He’s not an honor student but his grades are nothing to be ashamed of either and he used to have no real prospects about his future or what he wanted to do with his life.

This all very rapidly changed on his first day of school, when Graham accidentally got caught in the way of an oncoming train and got himself run over. Miraculously enough thought, at the moment of impact, Graham was somehow able to derail the train with his bare hands. He got both arms pulverized in the process, but it saved his life. It also got about fifteen people killed in the process. He also managed to save around fifty people too. This with the help of the arms that healed themselves minutes after being turned to mush.

In just those fast and brutal fifteen minutes, Graham Ellis became many things.

A hero. A killer. A menace. A freak.

But it all boiled down to two things: He was now a super-human and a wanted man. The statements from the crash survivors managed to slowly climb all the way through the bureaucratic ladder until they reached the desk of the offices of P.E.A.C.E.’s homeland security division director, Victor Grieco. Upon hearing the news Grieco became obsessed with this new super-human popping out. He has taken a team of P.E.A.C.E. analysts and operatives and is searching day and night for this “kid in the hoodie”, every new sighting putting him a step closer from catching poor Graham, who is yet to be even aware of his presence.

No, Graham already has enough dealing with his guilt over the deaths he caused when he first manifested his powers, the fact that the entire county has an APB on him, that his mother, his father, his friends and neighbors all talk about him as if he was a monster and a danger to his face, without any care of how confused he is. And most of all, Graham is now deeply afraid of himself. Afraid of what his body can do. He knows he’s strong. He knows he can heal really fast. But, what else can he do? How does he do it? Is it something hereditary or just happenstance? Are his parents hiding something from him?

The more Graham Ellis thinks about all this things, the more he simply looks for ways to just lose himself, get away from his head, and forget the life he is living even for a moment.

Because adolescence may suck, but being an out of control super-human is even worst.

Here’s hoping poor Graham can make it out of this alive.

#14 – Tal

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

My brother is writing an epic story and sent some character descriptions my way so I thought I would give them a shot 🙂

Here is the first one he sent me:

Name: Talvaren’das’ren (A.k.a) Tal

Race: Othep

The Othep draw a likeness to Native American cultures in skin tone and profile. Their key trait is that they can change the alchemical property of any object. For example a piece of iron can be turned into a sword, sort of like full metal alchemist. They also carry tattoos that symbolize the tribe they are from.

Description:

  • Dark skin(Native American descent)
  • muscular build
  • tattoos covering most of body, with a unique symbol on his chest symbolizing the God of Death.
  • Black hair, about chin length enter
  • heavy chains wrapped around both his forearms
  • wears loose black pants
  • leather boots
  • long black cloak

History:

  • was once a member of the infamous death squads(ruthless mercenary assassins feared throughout the land)
  • tried to leave the death squad and now his partners are hunting him down.
  • protects a young mage by the name of Palnar
  • has a strong sense of honor and protecting others yet there is no fury greater than his

 

Hope he likes it 🙂 Tumblr: littlebunbun.tumblr.com

#9 Niko

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

This is the 2nd character in a story I’m tossing around about an oppressively matriarchal culture.  Because unlike many feminists would like to believe, men aren’t the only ones capable of despotism, oppression, delusions of grandeur, and warmongering.

 

Niko was no fool.  Although it was an honor to be chosen as house guard for the Bear family, he knew that he hadn’t been chosen out of merit.  And the old men could damn well stop reminding him of this.  Not that it injured his pride- he was simply to young to have been tested in any remarkable way, had never seen action, had never done more than patrol the city nights.

He knew himself capable, had earned his scant titles, if not dramatically then at least fairly, having worked his way through more than his fair share of drunken disputes.  It was no mystery why so many of those problems landed on him.  Not since he had overheard the sector chief tell his pit-boss, “Send in the pretty one.  The only thing more powerful than a drunk sister’s pride is her lust.  He’ll be able to make them see reason.”

It didn’t smart half as much as it might have.  Niko knew the chief was a sensible and crafty woman, more willing than most to bring justice down on a Lady.  Even a Lady of a House.   And as far as he was concerned, he learned a lot in dealing with these situations with an equal measure of severity and tact.  He could never understand how these perfectly civilized women could become such petty beasts, then wake the next day contrite and shamefaced.  It made him glad that drinking was forbidden for men.  If creatures as adept at self-control as women were reduced to screaming and groping beasts, he could not imagine what he or his kin would be like with one too many under his belt.  Some of his brethren had tried it, once or twice.  It was not a trespass of the first order.  But for himself, he would never.

But he doubted that even this type of experience got him the post.  He suspected that it was another case of “send in the pretty one.”  Suspected, hell, it didn’t take a woman’s brain to tie a few facts together; the first being that he did not rightfully qualify for a post of this magnitude in a House as prominent as Bear was, the second being the much touted coming of age for a Lady who was rumored to be Elder Nameh’s favorite grandchild, the third being that Elder Nameh had not ever been known to make fickle or senseless choices, and the fourth and final fact– that he and the four other guard chosen were young, inexperienced, and good looking.

No mistake, his coming here was a test.  Not of himself, he would never be so arrogant as to think such a thing, but of the young Lady in question.  His Brethren had confirmed his suspicions.  There was little doubt but that one of them was to be that pretty thing that she must see daily but must not touch.  It was a test that he and his brethren were well familiar with.  These sorts of tests were given to every boy long before puberty so that he may learn self-control before his urges began to impose their heavy toll on mind and soul.  But this was not the sort of thing a woman was usually subjected to.  Not even a spirited potential heir.

Then again, this was house Bear, and Elder Nameh was renowned for her ruthless dealings, not only with the men her House claimed, but with every living soul under her care.  Niko was not so proud a fool not to admit that this particular confluence of events was filling him with an unexpectedly heavy level of dread.

Lathanar, Advisor of Upper City

| November 14, 2011 | 2 Comments

2011 Day 12 --Lathanar, Advisor of Upper City from my novel "Mentor"
Lathanar

Even in a supposed utopia there are those who thirst for power and undeserved recognition, though telling them they were undeserving would fall on deaf ears. Those who suffer from the fatal flaw of believing themselves to be the entitled ones  in a world of serfs, rarely can be told much of anything resembling the truth.

 Lathanar is secretly covetous of the position currently held by the current governor of the Lakes District of Upper City by right of heredity and appointment of the Council of T’rest, which is the governing body for the planet. At least that is what they have believed for centuries.

Lathanar truly believed he could do a better job than the current governor, and that would probably be so if all there was to governing was devising policy and signing papers and accounting for incomes and expenditures. Lathanar is extremely good at those things, which is why he was appointed chief advisor in the first place. But this stroke of good fortune based on his very real and excessively helpful talents has only served to make him bitter, for why give him the whole pie, but not the filling, too? Being so close to the governorship and yet  not being the governor chafed him badly. So badly that he tended to unsconsciously grit his teeth a lot of the time. So much so that he developed the muscles in his jaw into small hard round knots at his jaw line.

He had the austere face of a saint, yet none of a saint’s better qualities. He was good at his job. He knew the rules and he followed them to the letter, made sure everyone knew it, and urged others –to their vast annoyance– to do the same. Nitpicking exactitude has never made one popular. Quite the opposite. But Lathanar believed that people were simply jealous of his high position, and never wondered why they all loved the governor whose position was even higher. They say there are none so blind as those who simply will not see.

“But Your Grace…”, Lathanar leaned forward eager to get his point across, “these papers must be signed today or the council will not be able to ratify the decision until another two weeks have passed. I have it on good authority that…”

“Yes, yes! Good authority,The Governore waved a hand interrupting his advisor. “Still, I have not made up my own mind about it and this case is one that requires cool assessment and a certain levening amount of compassion,” the Governor said.

Er… exuse me, my lord,” squeaked Lathanar, ” Compassion?”

“Lathanar, everyone makes mistakes.” The Governor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, tired and exasperated.

“But my lord… ”

“Oh, not you of course, Lathanar,” the Governor said. “But most mortals have pressures in their lives that they sometimes cannot cope with that will engender the making of bad decisions.”

He turned from the vast window that let him view the courtyard with it’s beautiful fountain and gazed wearily upon his aide, “Those of us upon whom fortune has smiled could do no better than to consider those upon whom fortune has not smiled.” And without seeing the irony in it he smiled briefly at his advisor and noting that his words had simply glanced off the severe man, shook his head sadly.

#14: Tabitha

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Once upon a time, there was a girl who didn’t believe in herself. She loved to dance but did not think she was any good at it, if you were able to get past the sham confidence she wore like armour. The only time she believed it was when she got the role she wanted. However, that did not happen a lot, because as good as she was at dancing – and it is worth saying that she was very good at it – there was another girl who was equally good at dancing and believed she was good at it too. There is a lot to be said about making others think you believe in yourself and actually believing it.

It’s not a healthy way to think about oneself, and it showed in the way she treated others and herself. Most people only saw the overly proud, angry girl who moved like a predator: light-footed and quick, stalking until the right moment, taking advantage of weakness. No one ever saw the girl who practiced until long past midnight, dancing alone in the woods because no one could see when she failed. Maybe if they had, they might have pitied her more than they did, because they knew how she compared herself to the other dancer.

It was for the best they didn’t, because she saw pity as a weakness and would have punched them in the face before berating herself even more.

The girl’s life continued like this and would inevitably end how it did. You don’t grow up full of jealousy and hatred and not turn out bad when you’re trapped in another’s story.

And so, two lives came to an end, one during the day and one during the night, and both at the hands of each other. Neither girl could be blamed, not entirely, because one loved as strongly as the other hated. If anything, it’s surprising how long it took to get there.

Then the girl died again, this time at the hands of the other, fingers plucking teeth out of mouths like pulling petals from a flower.

When you embark on a journey of revenge, either dig two graves or climb out of yours and save yourself the trouble.

Now, the story doesn’t end there. That would be boring and unexpected for a tale such as this.

Just as one girl came back, so did this one. It’s so easy to move your lifeless bones when you are filled with hate and little else. Dying was merely a transition in state instead of the grand finale. So this girl was buried in a criminal’s grave, which is to say her body was thrown on the pyre because that was what her town did with their remains. Not to mention that they were scared of their dead now. And rightly so.

As her flesh melts and her bones cracked, the girl woke up. She sat up on her bed of flames, or at least thought she did. Most of her remained lifeless, so she made herself a new body of heat and ash, which suited her better because her old one had been worthless anyway. What use did she have for a body that couldn’t dance even when she had been alive?  This one was beautiful and strong, its light searing the hearts of those who dared to watch her fall. She stood up and dressed herself in orange and yellow, burning brightly. As she walked towards the nearest spectator the cobblestones melted beneath her feet.

What happened after that is merely speculation. Anyone who survived that night – and few did, to be honest – refused to speak of it. Or couldn’t, in the case of one poor person (which was the operative term for someone who no longer had identifying features of any sort). But everyone knows to stay out of the woods when dusk falls.

Don’t go in the woods, parents tell their children, barmen tell travellers, bards tell their audience, not in the hushed tones of a wonderful and bloody story but in the quaking whispers of those who know too much. If you must, turn out your light and stumble in the darkness. Stumbling is best, because anything else makes her jealous, seeing another move with the grace of a night-time predator. She looks like a girl wearing a dress made of sunlight, but she moves like a cat, all smooth movements and inhuman litheness. Then she takes you as her partner and makes you dance. Flames appear with every step of her feet but do not burn the foliage, licking at your feet instead. When it’s done with your feet, it moves up to your legs, your waist, your breast, your arms, yours heads until all of you is consumed by fire and the last thing you see is the bitter toothless smile.

And how do you know that, asks one member of the audience to the bard.

Then the bard smiles what would have been a toothy smile and asks for a dance.

Day 12: Jamal and Ric

| November 14, 2011 | 1 Comment

 

Jamal and Ric had plans. Raised on the streets together, they decided that they wouldn’t grow up like the greedy slum lords that controlled the streets.

No, they would dream bigger.

From a very young age they’ve trained to become the greatest crime lords the world would ever know. They started small, acts of larceny, petty fights, but their aim climbs higher all of the time.

They were perfectly on track to realize their malicious dreams.

And then Jamal had to go and get superpowers.

He and his flight and superstrength are drifting toward more moral goals. The same passion that Jamal had for crimefighting is now enveloped with the long strides of a superhero. Jamal always just wanted to be a catalyst for change in his neighborhood. He thought he had to do that by being the worst of them. Now? He controls his destiny.

But for Ric, being a great criminal was more than a passing diversion. It is his whole life. He will doggedly pursue his goals without pause.

Time and again the former brothers in arms will find themselves as opposing forces. There’s no way to say who will come out on top.

#10 – Iron Smasher

| November 14, 2011 | 1 Comment

Here’s One For All The Ladies!

#14 – Death: Greater Aspect, Legendary Power

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Excerpt from The Aspect War

He woke.

The first thing he noticed was the chill. It was a pervasive thing, it felt as if it froze the very marrow of his bones. Not normally affected by weather, he found the sensation unpleasant, but not unbearable. Standing up, he began to take in his surroundings. There was no light — no that is not right, there was no normal source of light. No lantern, no torch, no lamp, no light bulb; yet the room gave off a subtle luminescence, centered on where he sat. Driving his vision further past the illumination, he noticed that there was a radius to the field of unlight and the area he was sitting in was larger than he was able to initially perceive.

“Curious.” The sound of his voice, flew free. Encoded with his desire, it fled into the darkness and did not return. The very nature of its failure told him everything he needed to know. This subtle use of his power told him he was not in the world as he knew it. He realized he must be in a nearby Shard or worse, lost in the Void. As he considered this, his apprehension began to take shape.

Almost casually, he inspected himself and found everything seemed to be normal. He was still wearing the grey and black suit and vest common to his attire and the last thing he remembered wearing to work. His shirt was still the silken, Italian blouse he favored for formal meetings. He was wearing his favorite leather shoes, with an added non-slip surface beneath them. Not that he ever feared slipping, but it was a habit from a bygone era when one’s footing might cost one’s life. And until now, He had been very careful.

He looked down at his hands. They were still the strong hands of a Roman soldier, a bit more weathered, a bit less callused, but still capable of relieving a man of his life with a variety of tools. But the thing he was looking for was gone. His ring was missing. The sigil of his power was missing. This did not mean he was powerless, it meant that for his duty to continue, the ring moved to his successor. That meant he could not leave this prison. And that his power was in the hand of a mortal, for the first time in two millennia. A mortal He truly loved but had poorly prepared for this day.

He could only hope that his impressions all those decades ago were right.

* * *
The Director tried to wake from a dream that seemed overwhelming real and quite visceral. It was not his normal condition to dream, having not done so for many years since coming to work at Death, Incorporated. Having not dreamed in decades, left him open to the strange, surreal nature of this dream. He was standing in the middle of a field surrounded by monstrous creatures of all shapes and sizes, wielding a sword of ice and shield comprised of a field of force laying waste to everything around him.

In the distance, he could see demons and angels flashing swords of flame and lightning, illuminating the battlefield. This seemed to last days and nights and then with a final flash of lighting, the battle ended. He was the only thing standing unscathed on the field. Taking in the horrible vista, he wept, openly.

Time passed.

Sensing moving in the corner of his eye, he turned and dropped his terrible, ice-sword, which froze the very air near it and the blade shattered as it struck the ground. It was an Angel still moving slowly, feebly trying to remove the corpse of some horror draped across it. The Director found himself striding toward the Angel with a strange ambivalence in his core. Grabbing the nearest limb of the giant white gorilla, he flung it from the Angel, who sat up.

“Did we win?” the Angel croaked, his voice dry and likely burned from angrily flung cocoastrum during the battle. “I can’t see you, please come closer.”

“No, I do not think your side won,” the Director intoned gravely, “we are the last things alive here, so I can safely assume, my side did not win either. Do you have a name?”

“I was once called Malik, the Guardian, and I guarded the doors to Hell,” the Angel glowed visibly upon the recitation of his former station and for a moment seemed more majestic than his current condition, covered in the blood and offal of other creatures would allow.

“You may call me, Aurelius,” the Director said. “I think I was once the general of this army but now I am not so sure.”

“Well met, former general of a once mighty army. You must have been formidable to have defeated this mighty Host…” Malik began. “I cannot remember why we were fighting, though General. Do you have any memory of the conflict?” The Director seemed surprised by the Angel’s confession and had to think deeply himself.

“To be honest, I have no memory of why or how this battle took place. I am willing to forswear any further conflict if you are Malik, of the Angelic Host,” the Director’s feeling in this regard seemed sincere, even as this very real dream transpired.

“General Aurelius, as much as I appreciate you taking the time to free me from confinement, I am not able to forswear violence toward your person. There is still the matter of the Heavenly Host who even now, tell me to rend thee, limb from limb,” Malik seemed pained to admit this and sat back on his haunches and spread his wings. While he was sitting, he appeared to slowly get cleaner and his injuries began to shimmer and heal themselves. “Perhaps we could simply sit a bit longer and see if we can untangle this since there is no one here but you and I. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

General Aurelius – the Director took in the scene and for a moment was surprised by the carnage – there seemed to be a variety of warriors from a variety of ages, lost in time and space, vast incredible armies with amazing technologies all lay about the battlefield. The General’s senses transcended the five and with his extended awareness could see ripples in time and space where these armies were snatched and conscripted. He could also sense the ruptures that the enemy used to reach this battlefield between Time and Space. Until he used those senses, his awareness was limited to this place, this space, this time, suddenly he was aware of a thousand times, a thousand places, where He reigned and suddenly realized where and who He was.

“Malik, Angel of the Host, I declare this conflict completed. And as an act of Mercy, I shall allow you, the final survivor, to return to your Host. Remind them, this is our final conflict. The next time we meet, I shall destroy you and yours utterly. Know this and never return,” the pronouncement was clearly delivered and chilled the very air around the both of them. There was a weaving of force, of malice, of murderous intent in those words. The General was sure his words were relayed to the Host, even as he said them.

Malik, clearly shaken by the tone, and the message, stood and suddenly his twelve foot stature, seemed to overshadow the tiny General before him. “General, looking around the battlefield, it is clear that you and I are at the locus of something terrible, but I do not believe that you are in any position to make demands, or to cast threats. From where I stand, it is you, who should be looking at surrender. I am Malik, the Guardian, the warder to Hell, the hand of God and Sealer of Doors. You are in no position to make demands.” Malik suddenly burst into white flames and a blue flaming sword appeared in each of his hands.

The General looked at the Angel and was momentarily in awe. “Beautiful.” With a momentary pause, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” The General raised his hand and suddenly the Angel appeared to be in a fearful wind, his flames flickered and were blown backward, wisps blasted back as the wind increased. Malik roared and leapt forward, blades flashing forward, blue fire glowing like the sun. The General Aurelius, the Director, watched in horror as his outstretched fist clenched and some unknown force exploded forward and simply erased the Angel Malik, Guardian and Warder to Hell, Hand of God and Sealer of Doors, from existence.

The Director screamed, a long wail that caused fear in all who heard it, and then he woke, his right hand burning. On his hand was the ring from his dream, bearing the Aspect Skull of Death backed with a nuclear plume, the symbol of the destroyer of Worlds.

Description: One of the Legendary Powers born of Gaia once the planet Earth had cooled and before all life existed on the planet. Aspects are universal concepts scattered throughout the Universe which spring up whenever the forces of the Universe allow for Life to exist. Know Legendary Aspects include: Life, Death, Infinity, Eternity, Destruction, Chaos, Order, Love, and Conflict. There are likely many others which exist around other worlds other than our own. These Aspects were the primal forces which led to the creation of lesser pantheons of gods, religions and other anthropomorphic deities. Death being the Eldest after Life is believed to be the only one of the Aspects who cannot die or be permanently destroyed. During the Aspect Wars, he is sought after as an ally or avoided as an indestructible foe. During most Aspect Wars, he does not participate and the other Powers are grateful for that.

Appearances: The Aspect of Death appears in my novel: The Aspect War. You can read his story here.

About the Artist: Singapore artist, Sandara has an excellent eye for the fantastic and fantasy artwork. Her collection on deviantART is one of the best of the genre there. Her depiction of Judgement Day was just what the doctor order when I was trying to highlight one of the Greater Aspects in my book, the Aspect War. She retains all rights to her work.

#6 Deadeye Huitzilo the Vaquero

| November 14, 2011 | 2 Comments

In the late nineteenth century, a group of gringo treasure hunters popped south of the border hoping to find some fabled Aztec gold. Instead, they left emptyhanded, only leaving about two dozen or so disintered Aztec burial grounds in their greedy wake. One of those tombs was that of the emperor. Shortly thereafter, his sworn protector, Huitzilo felt himself dragged back to the mortal coil only to walk the Earth again, seeking to punish the defilers, even if it takes eternity.
The weapons might be different these days, but brutality never changes.
—-

Sorry it’s not colored & like the others I did. I’m opting to spend the time catching up. If I’ve the extra time, I’ll go back & add them.

On the list of jumping off points I had for characters “cowboy mummy” was a joke but was something I kept going back to trying to rationalize. It suddenly clicked when I figured there was a better chance of an Aztec mummy than your garden variety Egyptian bandaged number wandering the old west; so I went that route. His name is based on Huitzilopochtli, who wikipedia tells me was the Aztec god of war. The word has something to do with hummingbirds, which I thought would also have a cool connotation as to how quick a shot he is, despite rigor & the frailty of a corpse.

#14 Sam Pendowski

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Seventeen-year-old. Aspiring hockey player. Best friend…of a ghost.

Image from blog.photoshelter.com

Continue Reading

#14: Cutlass

| November 14, 2011 | 1 Comment

Real Name: Maria Munoz

Age: 27

Height: 5’7″

Weight: 132 lbs.

Character info: I’m not a pirate fan by any means. My past interest in pirates pretty much began and ended with “The Goonies” and “The Pirates of Darkwater”. But several years ago, I had this pirate/superhero storyline festering in my head. Some of the storylines I had for this odd mash-up were/are being used in other ways, and some of the villains I created will also be used elsewhere. But the idea of a really tough, female pirate stuck with me, and she had the name Cutlass. I never drew her until I did this sketch, but I knew that I didn’t want her to look like the typical female we see in pirate stories and movies. She wouldn’t be wearing the frilly, lacey outfit with her cleavage popping out. She would be athletic and tough-as-nails, yet still attractive. She’d dress sensibly, not over-the-top. And she’d have gloves (it always confused me why we never saw pirates wearing gloves…I’m no sailor, but wouldn’t you want to wear them if you’re pulling on and swinging from those ropes on the ships constantly??). The name, of course, is a play on words…for her weapon as well as she’s a “lass”. I’m not sure how I’ll use her…maybe I’ll salvage some of that old pirate story and do something with it. But after sketching Cutlass, it’s obvious (to me, at least) that she’s got the potential to be a very cool character in a story.

Day 13 Slug

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

PlexHop.com

 

Day 13 Slug for the 30 Characters Challenge!

Thanks for Checkin in!

God Bless,
-Marshall aka Calmplex

Also Find me on Twitter, Facebook,YouTube, and DeviantArt. You can also email me here

#11 Porcelina

| November 14, 2011 | 4 Comments

 

Atlantean Noble.

#13=Mrs. Alaina Stride

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Alaina is/was one of the Stride foundation’s chief engineers and biochemists. With their first child on the way, Sam the M and her decided it was best she get out of the labs, not knowing what the fumes from the chemicals they could do to regular people, let alone a pregnant woman. Because of this, she spends most of her days bored, roaming the upstairs of the Stride facilities building, handling clients and disappearing into the small residential facility when she feels tired. She’s ready to have her child and take care of it, not just sitting around all the time. Good thing she’s a little over eight months along then.

11_Wyatt, 12_Sadie, and 13_Eleanor

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

So I hit some major artist block last night trying to do some A Jagged Road characters so I decided to pull a 180 tonight. Details are sparse on these kids since I just kind of started with shapes and then expanded from there. I’m gonna be kind of stream-of-consciousness writing this so bear with me.

Eleanor

Ellie (I might look for a more creative nickname further divorced from her given name – ‘Eleanor’ is pretty white-bread and it may be cliche for her not to like it, but it’s cliche for a reason) is a big bear of a girl. She’s ‘overweight’ but the cause isn’t particularly clear, be it glandular or genetic or just plain old overeating. It’s not really important to the character so much as it is that she’s bullied a bit for it. In fact, all three characters are bullied for different things, and is one of the factors that’s brought them together to become friends. All three are students at the same junior high school.

Ellie also doesn’t clearly identify as a ‘girl’ although she is completely ignorant about gender identity and the like, just another way that she feels alienated from other students. She has a plethora of body image issues, although in that regard she’s consciously aware of them (although being aware of the way society judges her doesn’t help her self-esteem). She’s also an artist, although she’s too self-conscious to show most people her art or writing and so keeps it secret.

Wyatt

Wyatt can be summed up as ‘he hates people.’ He’s generally rude, offensive, obnoxious and loud, but mostly this is just his coping mechanism for the shitty hand life dealt him (however much of it is true and however much of it he’s convinced himself it has). It takes a very unique person to be able to tolerate Wyatt’s presence, fortunately he’s found two (and even they have to regulate their exposure to him).

Wyatt isn’t athletic, art oriented, good at math, or really anything. He’s not even very good at video games and has a stack of them at home that lay unfinished despite pouring through internet guides. He has abysmal scores in online competitive games, but he doesn’t play to ‘win’ those anymore so much as find ways to grief and troll other players. In fact, the one thing Wyatt is really good at is trolling people. He’s done it so long and so well that he’s made an art of it.

His swagger as an anonymous internet rabble-rouser doesn’t translate into real-life as he’s bullied not for being a hermetic basement nerd as much as rumors that started circulating long ago that he was gay. The rumors weren’t based on anything real, but as much as he tries to deny, as puberty peaks the rumors are turning out to be true.

Sadie

I have Sadie in mind as this confident, smart, athletic type, mostly track and field, although that makes her difficult to place with the other two. An obvious choice would be to have her be bullied for her race, but I honestly have no clue how common or severe that would be in this day and age, especially since modern schools will be more on the lookout for racial-oriented bullying than homophobic or body image bullying. The other thing is I don’t want her to be the Token black girl at the school, which means that if there are plenty of other colored kids then racial discrimination is going to be even less useful as a narrative device.

Then again a sad reality is how schools are districted, and paid for solely by tax dollars in that district. That means that a low income black neighborhood has an abysmal school system compared to the middle income white neighborhood down the street. Sadie’s parents pulled some strings and jumped through a few hoops to get her into the better, safer junior high. Sadie wouldn’t exactly be appreciative of the uproot, even if they have her best interests at heart. I’m sure the vast majority of the kids at the new school will have no problem with her, but it only takes a couple of persistent assholes to poison the well.

Day 14 – Crolack the Moon King

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Crolack the Moon King

Day #13 Zombie Half

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every zombie story has to have half a zombie crawling around, right?

#14 Canis the Mighty

| November 14, 2011 | 0 Comments

Canis The Mighty700 years ago, the kingdom of Kryzania knew nothing but war. Peace was an illusion, and those who wouldn’t serve under the merciless king Kryzan would quickly know death. An ancient talisman transformed a young male into a mighty warrior whose sole purpose was to destroy  the evil and bring peace in his world once again.

His name was Canis.

He eventually defeated Kryzan and took over the kingdom, now known as Arziana and brought in a new era of change.

A generation has passed and King Canis, weathered by the sands of time, still reigns supreme. A group of soldiers, lead by the ancestors of Kryzan, is preparing to take back the kingdom and kill the king. They have no idea the old Dog King still has a lot of bite behind his bark and is more than prepared to unleash hell on his opponents.

Canis: (c) & TM Jeff Harris dba Studio Lightcount.

#11 Cona

| November 13, 2011 | 1 Comment

Cona the Crisperian-Savior of all ice-cream lovers and protects them from soggy/chewy cones.

Day 12 Mass Appeal

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

PlexHop.com

 

Day 12 Mass Appeal for the 30 Characters Challenge!

Thanks for Checkin in!

God Bless,
-Marshall aka Calmplex

Also Find me on Twitter, Facebook,YouTube, and DeviantArt. You can also email me here

Day 13: James Yang

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

James is Sam’s boyfriend. He Lived in Chicago until the age of 16, when he and his mother moved to Ridgeville, Iowa. For over a year, he bought cheese at the farmer’s market from Sam before finally asking her out. Three years later, they’re still together. About a year before the story starts, James got a job at the elementary school teaching art.

 

#13 Ashley Rupert

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

You’re ten years old and your life sucks. Your mother is dead, your father – who had to be bullied into even admitting your his daughter – has taken you in begrudgingly, because as bad as an illegitimate daughter is for your reputation it looks even worse to abandon her. He doesn’t love you like Mom did, never did love you at all, and probably never will love you either. It’s a month after Mom’s funeral, after she left you in your dad’s care and swallowed a handful of bills and a bottle of Grey Goose because in today’s economic state a mother with terminal cancer is worth more to her daughter dead than alive. Technically, your life has never been better: the roof doesn’t howl and cry during thunderstorms; the Gap sweater you’re wearing now probably costs more than your entire wardrobe combined; and you never have meticulously calculate what you are going to eat again. But Mom is dead, Dad doesn’t love you and his wife.

Let’s not talk about his wife or his other daughter. The real daughter.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re thirteen, and life just got worse.

Three years of learning to carefully balance passive-aggressive rage and hatred between yourself and your father’s wife (she insists, at every turn, that you should call her mother, and you make a point of not calling her that) has just gone to waste because she’s won.

She has won and the only reason why you don’t just go and curl up in a ball and die is because it’s what she would want. She wants you dead just as much as she wants her husband alive. Somehow, it’s your fault he’s dead, even though you weren’t the drunk one, weren’t the one behind the wheel of the car, weren’t even in the same damned city because the bus you were riding back after the choral competition was late. None of that matters because to her, because she’s a widow now and can hate you openly. Has reason to hate you, because of the two reminders he left in  this world, the daughter she can’t stand is the one who inherited everything she loved about him.

Her grief doesn’t make you feel pity for her. It just makes your own hatred stronger, because you know now that you’re in for the fight of your life.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re sixteen and can’t go to university.

Oh, you definitely thought about it. You’ve got a shoebox full of pamphlets of universities and colleges. But no matter what you do there’s no way you can make this break even. You’ve calculated how much it will cost and you can’t afford it. No university will take you if you can’t prove that you can pay it, and there’s no way that you can ever do that. You’re working every day after school just so that you can eat. Most of it goes to food and your father’s widow’s shit-strange ideas, like making you pay rent even though you don’t have anywhere else to go. Anything that is left goes towards your “Get the F*** Out of Dodge” fund. You can’t remember when you last slept for more than six hours, balancing work and school because sleep is for those who don’t routinely have plates thrown at their heads which they not only have to clean up afterwards but also pay for the replacement. You’re wearing the same clothes you wore when you were thirteen (and thank God you’ve only grown thinner since then). You’ve slept at the women’s shelter so often that they recognize you now (but don’t know your name because you use a new one each time). Your life is so similar to when Mom was alive that you cry yourself to sleep most nights because she isn’t here.

If your life was a fairytale, you’d have been visited by your mother’s ghost by now, or a fairy godmother. Or even a f***ing talking fish. But this is real life. You don’t have an ugly step-sister – your half-sister is probably the only reason why you and her mother haven’t managed to kill each other yet – and don’t even have a regular godmother.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re eighteen and a handsome prince doesn’t whisk you away. You leave behind whatever you can’t carry and take the first bus out of town after you get your high school diploma. Sometime around midnight you cross the state line, but you don’t worry about the Greyhound disappearing or shit like that. There’s no magic in this – just blood and sweat and tears and gasoline carrying you out of this hellhole life.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re twenty-two and spinning on a sparkly pole while wearing a rhinestone-embellished bikini. You don’t yourself, though, or the men who dress like your father did and shove five dollar bills at you. They’re pigs, but you don’t have to go back to the widow and sell her your soul in exchange for a roof over your head. There’s no way you’ll ever go back to that, you think, dancing in four-inch, plastic heels.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re twenty-six and life is not perfect, but definitely better. The first dress you’ve ever designed has finally sold and the shop has asked for more dresses, more designs. Something has gone right for you. A lucky break, if you believed in luck. Luck is demeaning, though. Luck implies that the long nights and early mornings and every wound, old or still festering, was all for naught. That you didn’t get here under your own power but because some benevolent person took pity on your existence and helped you and took all the glory. You’re damn sure that if anyone tried to help you now that you’d punch them in the face.

——————————————————————————————————————-

You’re twenty-nine and the half-sister you haven’t seen in over ten years appears in your shop. Your partner, a girl with raven black hair and wicked temper and the most beautiful smile, doesn’t recognize her, and you nearly don’t either, not with her heavy with child and lined face.

Her mother is dying, she says. She wants to see you, make amends.

You almost do, you almost go back to the town you swore you’d never return to until you realize that she only wants to see you because she has forgiven you. She has forgiven your for something that was never your fault, and wants you to forgive her for everything she did to you.

If you were a better person, you might have. You’re the girl who had to whisk herself away from the evil step-mother and save herself. A better person than you might have been able to forgive her, or at least fake it for a dying woman, but then you wouldn’t be you.

The night she dies, you don’t know it. Your half-sister doesn’t call you, angry at you for not coming to her mother’s deathbed, and you only find out a week later when someone foolishly sends you condolences for your step-mother’s death. You throw out the bouquet and design a lily-white dress that you wear to the funeral with your four-inch heels.

You wind up in your partner’s arms, shoes dangling in her hands, because you can’t walk in four-inch heels any more.

#13 Water Phoenix

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

#12 Lord Walrus

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

#10 Sanu

| November 13, 2011 | 2 Comments

Born on the big island of Hawaii, Sanu simply thought he was getting tribal tats put on his body – adding a belly design and paying tribute to his gang, when something went horribly wrong. as the last dot of ink was added to his belly design, more tattoos grew up his neck and over his face and head, and finally over his back. Something took him over. Something otherworldly, and now he is inhabitted by a spirit of unimaginable power. Sanu was placed on the team after leveling a small village on Molokai, killing everyone. He is used by the team primarily as a “nuke” – being brought into impossible situations where there is no other hope.

#13 – Anansi – Trickster God of Africa, Weaver of Lies

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

Excerpt: The two had been walking and talking for some time away from Memphis and Ptah had been manipulating their path until they had come to what appeared to be a great forest along the edge of the Desert. “That is the Great Forest. A manifestation of all of the World’s greatest forested regions, jungles, rainforests, and other planted regions. We are expected there. As they approached the Great Forest, the smell of immense age wafted from the Forest. The air of the Desert was dry, crisp with a light metallic taste, the forest’s scent was cooler, mustier, like an old closet filled with woolen sweaters, still but not unpleasant.

As they grew closer, the size of the immense trees became more apparent, from a distance they appeared to be the size of a strong man, but when they were closer, it was clear they were much, much larger. It would take twenty men, arm to arm to encircle even the smallest of these trees. The trees vanished into the sky and covered the sun allowing only the tiniest spots of light to reach the ground. Great eagles were also seen flying in the canopy, each, incredibly large, some the size of a small airplane.

As they left the Desert behind and moved deeper into the forest, the sense of age only increased and they walked until they had come to an area that seemed older, the trees more bent, great spider webs were woven through the canopy, whispering their secrets, waving in an unfelt breeze.

“Welcome, weary travelers to my land,” said a great voice from apparently nowhere. Lumumba looked around but could see no one speaking, and the voice seemed to come from everywhere.

“Look up, my son,” Ptah had already found an immense stump to sit on and was pointing skyward.

Lumumba looked up and was surprised to see the largest spider he had ever seen dangling just a few feet from his head. It was the size of truck and its eight eyes, burned with intelligence. Lumumba could feel its will pressing down upon him, a physical presence, making the air thick and his movement slow. He wanted to move his hand to invoke his Ka, but he simply could not move his fingers at all.

“So this is the savior, the protector of mankind, the one we have been waiting for nearly a thousand years? He certainly does not look like much to me. As a matter of fact, I think he is an arachnophobe to boot.” The great spider moved with an alarming agility for something so large, and swung itself down to land in front of Lumumba. Its eight eyes never lost their intensity, as the spider made its way around him, viewing him from all sides. “I thought he would be taller.”

“You say that about all the heroes, Anansi. I am a respectable four feet tall and it has not held me back any,” Ptah responds with a jocular tint to his tone. This eases Lumumba’s fear of the giant spider plucking his clothing and his new staff with its glistening razor sharp pedipalps.

“Yes, boy, that glistening substance is venom; enough in each bite to slay a thousand men. A single touch from me and you would be dead before you knew it. No, I am not a spider. I resemble one, but a spider my size could not exist where you come from. Consider me the iconic representation of what all spiders imagine themselves to be, awe-inspiring, powerful, killing machines. And no, I am not reading your mind, your face says everything.”

“And let’s not forget humble and full of grace.”

“You scare the boy in your way and I scare him in mine, Ptah.”
“Did your master tell you about me, Horus-ka?” hissed Anansi as it waved its forelegs around Lumumba.

It was hard for Lumumba to listen to Anansi’s voice, it caused him to want to run away and never stop, so filled with menace, its very presence confounded his concentration. Lumumba watched as he began to sense the weaving of the threads of magic. “Yes, sir, he did mention you in passing when he talked about well known deities of the African continent. He said, you were a known liar and scoundrel. And that if I were to meet you in person, to not trust a single thing you said to me unless you swore on your ancestors first.”

“He said what?” roared Anansi, his huge forelegs waving faster around Lumumba, his body tense and hair all over his form stood erect and crackled with what appeared to be electrical energy. “A liar, and a scoundrel, not to be trusted, eh? Did he tell you that I stole the moon and the stars for man, did he tell you that I liberated all of the stories of the world for humanity, so that you would have something to do around your fires for the last fifteen thousand years? Did he tell you that without me, you would not have fire, since the gods wanted to keep it for themselves?”

The air in the clearing was still as Lumumba considered his answer. Lying to deities was almost always the wrong thing to do, since most could tell when you were. But Ptah did mention that diplomacy when discussing them was always the best choice since gods were known to be a bit thin-skinned, sensitive about their exploits and capricious in the response to how they are seen by humans. Lumumba decided to go with candor. He hoped Ptah would step in before anything bad happened.

“Yes, sir, he did tell me some of those things. He said that you stole the stars but spilled them on your way out of heaven so they scattered throughout the sky. He mentioned that you borrowed the sun because you lost your way coming out of the underworld and forgot to put it back when you were done. He also mentioned that you did liberate all of the stories of the world, but you did it so that you would have people pay you to hear them. On your way to the market, it was said that the stories fell into the river from the calabash you carried them in and were lost, found by beggars and fishwives who used them to get money from people. On the matter of fire, he mentioned that you did steal fire for us, but only because you took pity on us one day when we were freezing and you did not have a warm place to stay having been kicked out of Heaven again and so you gave us fire, so you could be warm.” Lumumba had begun to regret his decision as he felt the energy of Anansi building in front of him, its claws waving closer and closer to his body. He dared not move since the claws were sweeping all around him front to back, faster and faster.

Ptah snickered and turned away from Anansi, taking a sip of water to hide his laughter.

“So he did, did he? Anansi whispered. A deep breath followed with Anansi sounding just a little bit contrite. “Well, so that the truth be known, he has not lied. Not once. All of those things are as you say. I am a selfish deity who happens to benefit others while I am trying to benefit myself. As I have done now. He is ready, Ptah.” Anansi stopped waving his claws over Lumumba and backed away.

“I call you Horus-Ka, the spirit of Horus. Your next answer will determine the fate of men and gods. When confronted by evil, do you use the force of arms or the strength of will to resolve the problem?”

Horus-Ka looked to Ptah but his face was stony and unresponsive. “Sir, –”

“I am Anansi, The Weaver of Fate, Teller of Tales, Trickster of the Gods, Defender of Man, I am no man. Call me as I am, Kwaku Anansi,” interrupted Anansi with enough force to nearly knock Horus-Ka from his feet.

“Forgive me Kwaku Anasi, Ptah, Father to the Gods, I have been taught when confronting evil that force of arms is almost never the only solution to a problem, and that truly winning the battle relies on a keen eye, a strong mind, a full heart, a ready wit and a forceful will. I will only use force of weapons when no other avenue presents itself. This I pledge to you, my masters.” As Horus-Ka completed his statement, two circles of fire formed with a bridge of flame connecting them.

The circle around Horus-Ka was filled and surrounded with a variety of cartouches each flickering in multi-colored flame, the second circle about ten meters away was much larger and opened to a vista similar to the Great Forest Horus-Ka had seen earlier in the day with one vital difference. A giant creature seeming to be comprised of earth tore through the Forest and approached the barriers that kept the Forest and the Real World separate. If the scale were to be believed, this creature stood over a thousand feet tall, towering over the redwoods of the Great Forest. Giant Eagles and tiny men sitting on those eagles seemed to be engaging the creature unsuccessfully. One tower had already fallen and when three of them were toppled, the creature would be able to cross into the world of Men.

“That is your first great task, Horus-Ka. You must protect the world of Men. It is too close to the boundary for any of us to be of any help to you. Your gifts and your training will need to be enough. Know that the people you see there are denizens of the Spirit World, when they die, they fall from the cycle of life, never to return. They need you to stop this creature. If it pierces the boundary, it will cause a massive earthquake wiping out the Atlantic coast of Africa, South America and parts of the North American continent.”

“Who could have done this, how is this even possible? Ptah, you said that the Compact prevented magic like this from even working in the world of Men?

“These creatures do not obey the Compact and have begun their assault on our world. They have begun a battle which will pit all of the Spirit Realms and the World of Men against each other, and when the White Host, the Cold Gods and Demon of Babylon have exhausted themselves, they will destroy the victors. This opening volley will liberate the Demon and you cannot allow that. If she is freed too soon, things will not be in place. Ptah, what of your brothers and sisters?”

“They are hidden in the world of Men with no memory of who they are, it is their only chance of survival and the only chance there will be some gods left when this Scourge is done. We are the last, and Horus-Ka, son of man and gods, you must be our weapon. Otherwise we have none. As a man, you may go places even gods fear to tread. Now go, we shall buy your freedom with our lives, if it comes to that.”

The clearing was suddenly lit from the distance as beams of cold white light streaked through the trees and illuminated the webbing of the clearing. Screams of agony and rage are heard in the distance.

“I do not think they like the decorating I left for them. It is so hard to find venom laced webbing these days.” Anansi turned to Ptah. Make ready my brother, my traps will not hold them long.” Anansi leapt into the trees, and skittered across a web work hidden in the canopy. “Horus-Ka, the weavings of fate upon you are strong, I wove them myself. But you were given a thread of Fate before I met you. That fate I could not change. Be strong and in your darkest hour know that Fate is your ally, even if you cannot believe it at the time. Farewell, son and spirit of Horus.”

Ptah turned to Horus-Ka and took a necklace from his bag. It held an icon of a disk with the Eye of Ra upon it. “When I am gone, you will be unable to return here without this talisman. Only Ra will remain behind to protect the Spirit World because he is safe within his chariot of fire. All of the souls here will depend on you once we are gone. Now go. Make us proud.

“Is that it? No ideas, no clues how to defeat the thousand foot tall colossus? ”

“If heroism were easy, everyone would do it.” Ptah’s armored hand snatches a spiny arrow from the air, mere inches from Horus-Ka’s face. “I am confident you will do what is necessary. Go.” And with that Ptah pushes Horus-Ka into the second circle of flame and into his destiny.

“And now I go to mine. Anansi save some for me.”

“There are plenty to go around, my brother. You know I could not undo what Fate had given him.”

“I know, but you gave him a chance to save the world first.”

The number of lights in the forest increased and the number of eyes those lights came from doubled. And doubled again; and again. Soon the forest was lit and there was no darkness. Ptah and Anansi held the portal open until Horus-Ka arrived. Then the portal closed and was sealed, unable to be opened again. After that moment, no one without the Eye of Ra would be able to enter or leave the spirit realm. This would not help Ptah, who armored with a mighty staff whose head of Anubis, slew any that it touched instantly, a magnificent flaming helm which shot forth beams of the light of Ra, incinerating all it shown upon, whose thews allowed him to strike each hexapedal creature and slay them with a single blow and mighty Anansi, whose webs, fangs, claws, and venom destroyed dozens of these creatures a second, and it was still not enough. Both of these beings were soon overwhelmed and the number of their enemy soon exceeded their ability to slay them, formidable though they both were.

But they were not trying to win. They simply needed to buy some time. This was not the real battle. The real battle was being fought in the heart of a boy they rescued twenty years ago against a monstrosity of stone and magic. Anansi projected a blast of venom and hurled a star from the sky upon a cluster of the enemy. His venom seared their stony flesh and the star destroyed then by the dozens. But after a day and a night, he had begun to tire. Standing upon a mound of the dead, he and Ptah were surrounded and exhausted.

The six legged creatures fell back for the first time in two days. A man-like creature strode forward, lit by the light of glowing sigils. He had two winged serpents flying over his shoulders. His body was gnarled and bent, but glowed with boundless power. He wore an elaborate headdress and metallic bracers on his arms and feet. His face was covered but the area of the headdress where his face might be was illuminated with a pale light which showed the face in shadow, a long aquiline nose and a cruel sharp jawline. His voice was liquid menace and if a human were listening he would have heard a language thought dead, the tongue of the Mayan Olmecs. “Never send a dog to do a man’s job.” The two serpents turned toward Ptah and Anansi and opened their mouths. A sound like the rattling of a thousand bones of the dead being ground to dust, slowly, agonizingly streamed toward the two gods.

Anansi, reached heavenward again and pulled another star from the firmament. The star streaked toward the forest. Exhausted by this final effort, Anansi fell still holding the star only with his will alone.

Ptah’s helm shown again with Ra’s Light but it weakened and guttered. Ptah moved the last few steps toward Anansi and he could hear the star’s imminent arrival. The Great Forest was lit from above as the star grew in the night sky. The remaining hexapeds turned their eyes skyward and the Olmec directed his will upon Ptah and Anansi. And then, Ptah’s light went out and a star incinerated the Forest.

Anansi, Ptah and Horus-Ka are all characters who appear in The Aspect War – Chapter 5: The Spirit Army. You can read the entire tale at the link.

The painting (which happened independently of my story, I just thought it was amazing and parallel this scene amazingly well) was created by a young polish artist who goes by the name Cinoslaw. At the link you will find other really incredible artwork as well. He retains all copyrights to his work.

#13 Sin Pueblo Narco Hunter

| November 13, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

 

The pinche night’s as hot as hell. It’s a crappy room in a crappy part of a crappy pueblo -My name is Mario. I used to be a law man. Not much use for guys like me in Mexico these days. Not since the cartels took over.

I’m looking at a rose. She says she wants me. I’m not  wasting one more second wondering how I got so lucky.  She smells like flowers ought to smell, the perfect woman… the Rose.  Rosita. She says her name is Rosita.

So, you were scared, weren’t you  Rosita? Somebody wanted to kill you and you knew it. Well, I’m gonna find that hijo de puta Narco that killed you, and I’m gonna put that fool down…hard.  I love Narcos. No matter what you do to them, you don’t feel bad.

This is an eye for an eye. It’s time I solved the Narco Cartel problem, with extreme prejudice.  I have no choice. My hand has been dealt. And I’m ready for war.

Walk down the right back alley in Sin Pueblo, and you can find anything.