Tag: Adventure
Tarou of Undercity from my Novel “Mentor”.
A rock painting of the hunter, Tarou, attributed to Gibbi the Seer painted in her youth.
Tarou: A young man of burning intensity. Wary, incredibly strong and yet still fast and agile in spite of his size and bulging muscles. Sometimes huge slabs of grey stone would fall from high above. Once, Tarou lifted one of these slabs to rescue the contents of the storage hut that had been crushed beneath it. He was very strong. The strongest in the tribe. But he was also smart. He could quickly size up any situation and then act upon his conclusions. Sometimes the conclusions were wrong, as where Marnal was concerned, but where danger threatened, or when new tactics were needed on a hunt, he was more often right. The packs that he led on hunts always returned, to a man or woman, not always whole or with all their limbs, but alive to hunt another day. And always returned with that for which they had gone out to hunt. And as he grew in stature and aged into his first manhood, there were fewer and fewer casualties. In this he had more and more of the awe and respect of the tribe.
Tarou was considered the best hunter the tribe had ever had and was therefore in line for the leadership. That was something he wasn’t sure he wanted. But the present leader was still young and had all his digits, so that decision could be put away for now. That being the case he couldn’t help being a little full of himself. A little arrogant, though always respectful to the elders. This showed mostly in his pursuit of the woman of his choice. Marnal. She was perfect for him. She matched him in every way and one day she would realise it and stop this silly holding him at bay, putting him off. Pretending that she had no interest in bedding with him. No matter. He was patience itself. Though he wasn’t adverse to pushing her a little. She always gave as good as she got. He’d love to experience that passion under the skins of their own hut someday.
He smiled inwardly at the thought. He rarely let others know his inner feelings, though his actions usually spoke louder than his expressions. Yes, he was pleased with the way things were going, with Marnal as his constant companion, even though she never sought him out. She sought the company of no man. Likely this was to reduce the jealousies that her kind could induce in a well balanced hunting team. He was aware that there was no other man in the tribe who could stand up to him in either appearance, strength, or wit. And Marnal. She was all business all the time. She was focused and quick witted and though not as strong as he (how could she be? She was a female!) But she used her wit to advantages that strength alone couldn’t match.
Then there was the rock painting that little Gibbi had made of him. She had mixed ash and ichor and had stroked it deftly onto a piece of the black rock that lay under every part of his world. It was a special honour to be chosen as subject for one of her paintings. She had done something unusual with the eyes. Not unpleasant, but strange, that made the subject look both determined and intense. Was that how he looked to others? Still it pleased him like so many things did. He was pleased and yet there were stirrings of unease in him, as if a change were coming, bringing the unknown hurtling down upon them like a falling slab of grey rock.
The Droogle, A Live SynthPet ©BioSynth, from my novel “Mentor”
The Droogle, Designer DNA SynthPet from “Mentor” my novel WIP.
This SynthPet, Droogle, ©BioSynth Corporation, was designed by Frabgo A’tal Rethgrad as a promotional gift for the wife of the Governor of the Lakes District of T’rest, Deira A’tan Re’kalanth del Re’sjahlak. Deira found the whole concept of designer pets and humans for the marketplace sickening and abhorrent, but the political gambit on the part of the BioSynth Marketing paid off for them in spades.
The pet was hairless, brightly coloured, and was grown from DNA from a surprising number of indigenous species, as you can probably tell by looking at it’s flat snout, leathery ears, and claws. It was also tweaked to be playful, obedient, and docile in the presence of humans. It had no teeth and could only take liquid nourishment due to it’s tight chitinous neck rings. To Deira A’tan Re’kalanth it was the embodiment of an abomination, a parody of a living creature, an yet it was a living creature harmless and deserving of food, shelter and love, like any other living creature.
In her position, politically she could not refuse the pet since it was already alive. On the one hand, she could not condone a practise she found painfully abhorrent and that she had secretly been trying to undermine. On the other, she couldn’t bear to have a living thing destroyed, and she knew that the media (fueled by BioSynth tainted coin) would forever hold her up as a champion of the SynthPet market. It wasn’t the pets themselves that she hated. To her, they were the victims, like all the designer dna creatures BioSynth leased in public and in private.
Her strong views on Designer DNA SynthPets were known to the media and therefore the general public who held her in great respect. This of course kept the sales of the Synth pets lower than estimated, hence the design of a gift Deira couldn’t refuse. If she refused it the pet would be returned to the BioMass vats, effectively killing it, to Deira’s way of thinking. She grew to love the little Droodle as it was named on the certificate of ownership (which was actually a lease) at the same time as she grew to hate it’s creators.
When the Droodle began to show signs of biogenetic deterioration, patchy skin colour, fading, jaundice around the eyes and mouth, she swore vengeance on those who had created a living being into a life of pain and torture. She finally formed the Society for the Abolishment of SynthPet Creation. Her husband the Governor, backed her up, risking losing everything. And just as the tension grew to a head, she contracted a rare new disease and died within days.
Upon the death of the owner, a SynthPet who was not passed on as heirloom to another member of the diseased family, was collected by BioSynth, and if healthy was re-sold. If found to be unhealthy was returned to the vats.
When Synth Corp arrived to pick up the Droodle, it could not be found. It’s disappearance was hushed up and the consequences of irresponsibility were once again cast aside by BioSnth Corp –for a time.
A Piercer Defender from my novel “Mentor”
The Piercers are a large breed of insectoids who hunt the humanoids in UnderCity in my novel “Mentor”. In turn they are hunted for their eggs and ichor, as well as the chitinous plates that cover the flexible eight- to ten- foot lengths of their bodies. Hunted during molting season and again in Laying season, these creatures are extremely dangerous, and in molting season are in particularly bad temper, having less balance due to their loss of wings. The Wings provide a little lift and balance to the two legged insect, but no flight.
Piercer Layers will lay up to six eggs in a nest secured to the damp walls with mud daubs. Once the nest is full they will patch together another nest and proceed to fill it, each Layer can fill up to 20 nests if left undisturbed. Usually only one nest will survive, this serial abandonment. The eggs are much sought after by the smaller fauna of the UnderCity.
In later days it is speculated that many of the strange creatures found in the UnderCity were the product of brutal cost-cutting by the corporate entity that held the sole rights over synthetic DNA (aka SynthDNA) operating under the name BioSynthetics (See T’rest vs BioSynthetics, sect 536, para. 43(a)&(c)).
BioSynth Corp created designer biotics (for scientific study and experimentation), domestic animals, feral animals (for freak shows and safari parks), as well as the more socially problematic designer humanoid “servants” (entertainers, caregivers, and mentors) for the very wealthy.
It was determined that some of the experimental and designer DNA biomass as well as some of the rarer creatures created escaped the Grid and were found later to have morphed and evolved in closed off areas of the city, and also to have spread to other areas of the planet. It is undetermined how much of the extant DNA is “natural” or “tainted” by SynthDNA.
The legal battles raged for centuries. BioSynth Corp. claiming that legally every plant, animal, humanoid containing any part or copy of SynthDNA belonged to them. This of course was disputed by the offspring of the original carriers of SynthDNA.
Note: All creatures sold as pets, domestic animals, feral animals. or servants were guaranteed to be biologically infertile in order for BioSynth Corp. to retain it’s favourable position in the market place.
The Piercers were originally created for the owner operator of a Fun Farm, who went bankrupt through poor decision making. At the time of their creation their size was DNA limited to three feet in length.
#1 Villers
Just playing around with ideas for more Ebb Tide militants, for possible use in later installments of Bonnie Lass. Nothing solid, but it’s fun keeping them to a non-strict uniform while still embellishing it with their own individual touches.
Of any of these Ebb Tide characters that I’ve conceptualized so far, this Villers gal seems the most “hardcore,” the kind who takes her job very seriously (which is saying a lot for any of the Ebb Tide admirals).
#1 The Crypt Kid
In a world ruled by monsters, can a monster rise up to save the world?
Read the Crypt Kid’s web-adventures at http://www.drunkduck.com/The_Crypt_Kid
and buy the mini-comic while supplies last at www.Dubisch.com
Day 01–Marnal of Undercity from my novel “Mentor”
Marnal is one of the main characters in my current Science Fantasy novel “Mentor“. Mentor has been brewing on the back burner of my imaginative processes for at least two decades, perhaps longer. This will be my sixth novel.
Imagine a small world out on the Far Rim where human dependency on computers is absolute. If you are not “connected” then you no longer exist, and without connection you cannot access anything that would sustain your life. Food, shelter, clothing. All are replicated by the Artificial Intelligence machines only at personal request over the Grid. No Grid, you soon die of exposure and/or starvation. And perhaps even die of grief over the loss. But accidents happen, though people turn a blind eye. Corruption in the code, metal fatigue in an ancient machine, great over-ruling System, MAICS, can drop a person off the Grid faster than the engineers and their trained apprentices can locate and repair any damage. And once a person is gone.. they are not even mourned. They have ceased to exist. But do some mourn regardless..?
This is the story of one person on one of the ancient Rim Worlds, who so far is surviving the terrible loss of connection, and of another who naively plots to be removed from the perceived restraints of the Grid. It is the story of those they encounter and gather around them on their disparate journies–one desperately trying to get home; the other with equal desperation trying to get away. Woven through out is the story of the plight of the artificially created servants of the ruling classes–the caregivers and the mentors. As well as the story of another lost people, Marnal’s people, who are born off the Grid with only comforting distortions about it that have been handed down through too many generations. It is an adventure story of the ever present struggle between the Haves and the Have-nots, and it is a journey of both enlightenment and redemption.
It is also the novel I’m writing for NaNoWriMo this month. Wish me luck!
Day# 30 MobU and Stats, robot symbiotes
“Days like this make me think I was manufactured under a bad sign.” ―C-3PO.
#30 MobU & Stats, Robot Symbiotes
You might be forgiven if at first glance you think there are two robots in this artist’s sketch of Stats and MobU (pronounced “Mow’bew”). And in one fairly obvious way you would be right. They look separate, though MobU can attach itself to Stats’ head piece once the antenna has been retracted. But they were created in fact as a single unit. Though if Stats‘ personality splits any further, there may be a true dichotomy.
Wheeler and Ikey assembled Stats when they were kids from parts scavenged from the local industries on their home planet of Foglio IV, many of which were experimental, some of which were top secret. That may have been the reason why Stats often had memory failures. It may account for the fact that the robot could spout statistics about things that Wheeler or Ikey had never even heard of. It also may be why he or uh.. lets just call it “he” for now, since it, uh… he has just achieved a conscious state of sentience for the first time in over a decade –Well its system combination of CPU [Central Processing Unit] and HMC [HoloMemoryCore] had. Consciousness had been hard-wired in by a series of bizarre accidents, perhaps even before Wheeler dug the logic core out of the recycle bin. Then again, with Wheeler’s luck, not to mention timing, and total lack of training, the boys might have had a little to do with the personality, or… Personalities, that emerged. But to all intents and purposes Stats had finally been delegated to a dark corner of the jet park cubby-hole the last time he had a memory failure. Wheeler wasn’t that interested in statistics anyway, though Ikey got a bit of a kick out of them. By this time he was frustrated by the breakdowns, and he and Ikey having just discovered that girls were not the icky fragjaws he used to think them, he managed over time to forget all about having tried to create the world’s first Super-Destructo Paintball Robot (Some fads never die).
Later with the rise of the family fortunes, the house and jetpark were sold off, the contents of the jetpark including the deactivated robot were sent to a Goodwill recycle plant, and the family moved literally up to the next level on Foglio IV.
The Techs at Goodwill were astounded to find the rather scuffed Robot as part of a donation delivery. They tried activating it. The lights blinked and went on blinking, but nothing happened. No response to voice input anyway. One of the techs thought he might have an old keyboard stashed away in the back, but when he looked for it, he decided it might not be worth digging through centuries of museum pieces for it. Then another truckload of donations came in and he left the Robot powered up and didn’t remember until the following day when he came in to find its lights had stopped blinking and it was turning its head this way and that as if looking for something, or maybe… scanning?
He tried voice commands again but all the tech could get out of it was a stream of archaic statistics. It did however make a fine cup of tea, and so it was installed in the tech lunch room. There it stayed for about a year, entertaining them with tea and statistics, until one day they arrived for tea and the robot was gone. No one seemed to know where or why. It hadn’t been sold. It might have been stolen, but who would steal from a charity organisation run by volunteers. Nah. The Robot was an unstable device at best. It probably had the mechanical equivalent of a brainstorm and wandered off. They would miss the tea.
And brainstorm was exactly what had happened. A kind of accidental pre-programmed brainstorm caused by conflicting commands, and timed relay synapses opening certain logic gates that weren’t meant to be opened. And so a robot child was born. And it wandered away in search of its mother, with no clue of how to interact with the world as a sentient being. But it was learning. And one thing it was learning was that that nagging voice in his head really WAS in his head. The MobU was still firmly attached, and wasn’t much liking it.
MobU is the shortened form of “Mobile Unit”, even though its base also had a more limited form of mobility. It was designed to be a completely separate Unit from the MainFrame “parent” (note: MainFrame has a whole different meaning in the 24th Century) while sharing memory and some of the parent unit’s CPU cycles. During the time Wheeler and Ikey were trying to get the darned Robot to do anything but recite outdated statistics, more and more of the MobU’s capacity was taken up with memory backups from the main. Which had the unexpected result of both units becoming sentient at the same time but growing differentiating personalities based on their differing functionality and mobility.
The MobU was a free-floating (some say flying, but it couldn’t go far from the parent unit, although no one has had a chance to determine how far that is), dish-shaped device that had one curious aspect. The material it was made from was a top secret amalgam of human biologicals and mineral-metallurgicals at the molecular level. It could not only heal itself, but its logic boards could really think. It’s only limitation to the kinds of changes it could make to itself was that it could not change its own total mass. In that, it was one singular and unique unit. And its biggest problem, as it soon learned, was that it was trapped in a relationship with a slower “thinking” and much more confused other half. But that was only the beginning of its problems. They were stuck with each other and would have to make the best of it. Unless…
Perhaps could those who had created Stats and MobU find a way to separate them? If MobU was to turn its vast and unique fledgling intelligence to work in tandem with Stats‘ longing to find his creator. More than a decade had passed since lights out. Could they do it?
~~~~~
I had a hard time stopping writing long enough to upload this one. These guys really caught my imagination. Hard to believe I sat and stared at a blank sheet of Strathmore Bristol for over an hour this morning with an equally blank mind. Later, as my panic grew, I started scribbling heads in the hope it would get the juices flowing again. This piece is the result and I’m extremely happy with the Characters, their relationship, and the many ideas for fun story arcs they have given me. I hope you enjoy my Finale piece as much as I do, and will continue to enjoy these two Characters when I incorporate them into Wheeler’s Orbits comic.
Day# 29 – Myrll (with writer, James S. Allen)
Myrll is another Character from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen. This concept sketcb took me two days to pull together this far. She is an exeptionally intelligent ‘avianoid” of the Fincali race. As you can see from the art, the Fincali evolved from bird-like creatures. In Fincali mythology it is said that upon a time, the race actually had the power of flight using their own wings.
Here is a brief excert from the author describing Stephen and Rowen, young Xenoarchaeologists, first encountering Myrll:
~~~~~
It was a Fincali.
Inside one of the glass fronted shops was an adult Fincali, pounding with both hands on the glass wall and shouting at them. Well, not exactly shouting. Fincali were not particularly equipped for shouting. It was really more like wild trilling and screeching. But for a Fincali, it was the equivalent of shouting.
As they drew near, they saw that the Fincali was wearing an envirosuit. One of the sleeves of the suit bore the emblem of Universalis University. The Fincali — she as they were now able to distinguish by the distinctive crest of plumage that very conveniently differentiated male and female Fincali to other races – flapped her arms about wildly as they approached and then slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.
“Great Goatha’s Infinite Orifices!” Stephen exclaimed. “I hope she’s not dead. Quick! Let’s get her out of there.”
~~~~~
Afternote: This one was really, really hard for me to draw. Large bird legs in perspective, how to get her looking natural, poised and balanced. Really tough! In the end I simply ran out of time. Oh, and that thing in her hand is not an alien cosmetic bag its a kind of ray emitting weapon, and she’s an expert shot.
I hope you enjoy this in spite of its flaws. ;`)
Day# 28 Sonata (with writer James S. Allen)
#28 Sonata, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
Note: As promised, here is another, and I must say–very important– character from the novel Alien Artifacts, by James S. Allen. Since at this time I don’t have the time to colour it in a way that would do it justice, I’ve presented it in black and white for your pleasure. The coloured version will come along later. Once again, James has given me a most generous excerpt form Alien Artifacts, featuring the debut of Sonata, little alien woodland creature. And smart? Ooh! Sure is!
But since I’ve been privileged to read the whole novel, I must be careful. I don’t want to hand out any spoilers. There is so much depth and fun in this novel, I wouldn’t want you to miss any of it.
So here is the excerpt, and my thanks to James for allowing me the privilege of drawing his characters.
~~~~~
In the gray, early hour before dawn, Stephen was jolted awake, this time by a cry from much closer at hand. He’d heard Rowan scream, he was sure of it! But like the cry in middle of the night, hers too was suddenly cut off. A surge of adrenaline shot through him as fear clenched at his gut. He leapt to his feet, staggering slightly with dizziness at the suddenness of his rising. Where was Rowan?
As a matter of fact, she was standing in the basket just in front of him, facing its forward end.
“Rho!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right? I heard you cry out.”
She held a finger to her lips and then whispered, “I’m fine. Sorry to alarm you. I’m afraid I’ve frightened it as well.”
“It?” he replied in a whisper, looking around. He noted that Myrll was sitting quietly in the rear of the gondola, head tilted in puzzlement. “What ‘it’ have you frightened? And why are we speaking in whispers?”
“So we don’t frighten it anymore.” she said. “It was just so startling to find it there when I awoke that I let out a scream before I could stop myself. Now I feel badly.”
Stephen looked at Rowan wonderingly. “Uh, find what where? Rho, by Goatha’s Lolling Tongue, what are you talking about?”
“Shhh!” she admonished, and inclined her head towards the front of the gondola. “That.”
A small furry head with large, liquid golden eyes, popped up from the edge of the basket. “Purdeeep…purdeeep?” it chittered. It looked over the occupants of the basket, head darting from side to side. When no one moved it apparently reached a decision, and leapt nimbly from the side of the basket to one of the ropes that held the gondola suspended. “Purdeeep?” It called again questioningly.
It was roughly the size of a large earthly squirrel, and similar in shape, with a luxuriantly furred body and a large bushy tail. Instead of four limbs, however, it had six. The hind legs were powerful and well-muscled, made for jumping and climbing. The four front limbs were like two sets of arms, each ending in a tiny articulated hand with three fingers and a thumb for grasping. Its fur was a glossy black, with splotches of gold and orange. On its face was a tiny white bandit’s mask, and just above each of it hands, there was a band of white fur that encircled its arms.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous.” Rowan breathed raptly, “And so cute! I wonder what it might like to eat?”
Stephen had to agree. It was both. Still, it was also a wild creature on an alien world. Caution would doubtless be the wisest course of action.
“Rho,” he whispered diffidently, “do you really think it’s wise to get involved with an unknown wild creature, stranded here as we are, amongst aliens of uncertain intent?”
Rowan considered briefly, and shook her head from side to side slightly. “No. Almost certainly not.”
The creature, who had been looking from one human to the other as they spoke, shook its head from side to side.
“No… neither do I.” Stephen whispered back.
“So,” Rowan repeated. “I wonder what it might like to eat?”
“I suggest some of the nuts we brought from the island.” Stephen offered hopefully. “It looks a bit like a squirrel, and they certainly like nuts.”
~~~~~
Afternote: I’m toying with the idea of Having Rowan and Stephen as my last two characters, but they may be too complex for me to create in a way that will satisfy the writer. I’m going to give it a try anyway and see what happens. If they don’t turn out, I’ll do something else. I’d really like to have an awesome finale piece (but I’m afraid I won’t be able to top this one. lol)
Enjoy!
Day# 27 A Pair of Gorths (with writer James S. Allen)
#27 A Pair of Gorths, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
(#25)Rok’sla has an excerpt that introduces the Gorths in James S. Allen’s novel Alien Artifacts. Here is another small excerpt from Alien Artifacts featuring the Gorths:
~~~~~
“Behind them, the tortured entry door finally yielded, a large mass of it slumping away to one side. Two Gorth pirates leapt through the opening, sailed over the still molten metal, and landed in a crouch, prepared to deal instant death with the blasters they waved about with disturbing eagerness.  Enragingly, however, the quarry they had pursued so relentlessly to this place refused to reveal themselves and be properly blasted. In unconscious tribute to the forces of natural selection that had shaped them from ferociously thoughtless killers to thoughtfully ferocious killers, they refrained from blasting one another. It was a near thing.”
~~~~~
Afternote: This was supposed to be #26, but I had a power failure and lost my work so I had to start over again. Also the reason the Gorths are uncoloured as yet. No biggie, though. I hope to have a third character from Alien Artifacts ready for tomorrow.
Day# 26, The Swarm From Space
They Came From Outer Space
Day #26 –The Swarm
No one knows their origin, most don’t even know they exist. The first indication of that comes when one looks up at the sky, alerted by some kind of strange vibration and a sound of wind.
At first you think they are a cloud of little pink angels, like out of one of your kid’s video games, and you drop to your knees in awe. Then as they come closer, you see the odd, almost shapeless shape of them, each apparently the size of an old water barrel, and you slowly get off your knees, unable yet to grasp the totality of the situation. The strange vibration presses against your ears, and the old, old instinct for survival rises in you. The dog is barking, tail between its legs, backing away from the oncoming swarm. You command the dog to follow, and he scampers to your side still barking. He’s shaking all over.
At long last your legs find themselves running, running. You try to direct that motion, calm the primitive panic. But if you don’t get behind closed doors very soon…
There! No, not the barn! The House! Quickly!
Over your shoulder you see the first wave land, though they never really touch the ground. There must be millions of them! You twist the door handle and it sticks. A scream in your throat, you try again, hitting your hip against the stubborn thing. It bursts open and you flail through, the dog right behind you, and slam it behind you, saying a prayer of thanks, while still wondering why you you are panicking. But still the rational part of you takes a few deep breaths and hurries around the house making sure all windows are closed and locked. You even check the fireplace flue.
You think of your wife and the kids who must be on their way home by now. You should call her, but just then you see through the picture window a scene that chills you to your heart: The verdant field and the trees in full leaf, the herds of goats and sheep have been replaced by a moving blanket of fluttering pink winged blobs. And even as you watch, every living thing is stripped from the land and grey devastation left in its wake. A shudder goes through you.
The dog has stopped barking. But now it is pressing its shaking body against your leg, uttering quiet whines. A ringing starts in your ears. You realise it’s your phone. You answer it, numbly. It’s Annya, hysterical, crying.. You cut through her sobs and yell. “Are you in the car? Annya! Answer me! Are the kids with you?”
Her answer is muffled, but affirmative. “Whatever you do –Don’t leave the car! Lock it! Have you locked it?”
Another affirmitive. “Try and drive home once they’ve passed.” Having to keep her sane and help her get home is helping to steel your own nerves.
In less than a few minutes the world has changed. Every living thing on the surface of the earth has been stripped bare. What will happen now. Will they just leave? Or will they try to pry the rest of us out of our hiding spots? That many of them could break apart a house like this in minutes. Nothing, nowhere, is safe..
And what will happen next, with no harvest, no meat animals except those that were kept inside.
You pull the curtains closed, sickened by the sight of that moving pink carpet of devastation. And you wait. And wait.
Day#25 Rok’sla (with Author, James S. Allen)
“I have been specially trained.”
Note: James S. Allen has written a delightful space adventure novel, “Alien Artifacts”, about a pair of Xenoarchaeologists from the Institute of Ancient Studies, Rowan and Stephen, embarking on their first dig on an unknown planet dubbed “Dekkar V”. They are both very excited about this, but sooner than you would expect things go wrong and they are plunged into a fascinating world of beauty, intrigue and living alien artifacts. James has kindly given me the excerpt from Alien Artifacts below as an introduction to his character, Rok’sla, of the Calurrian race:
~~~~~
They moved off to follow the well worn path that was indicated by the marker beacons. It was pleasant to stretch their legs beneath the open sky, even if it was purplish black, after several weeks shipboard. In the light gravity, they made short work of the journey. As they approached the camp, they were greeted by a brief burst of static in their suit comms, and then an unfamiliar guttural voice.
“Welcome colleagues. Please proceed to the airlock on the largest dome. I’ll be waiting there to greet you.”
They cycled through the designated airlock and emerged into a large, brightly lit room that was obviously a laboratory. The room was strewn with sealed boxes, equipment, instruments and ancient alien artifacts in many shapes and sizes. There were also three persons in the room. The smallest of these, an orange-skinned gnomish looking individual, moved forward to greet them. He waited while Stephen and Rowan removed their helmets, and then addressed them in the same guttural voice that had come across the suit comm units.
“Greetings. I am Dr. Rok’sla. I lead the UU expedition. These are my associates, Assistant Researchers Kloskan and Durnel.” He indicated the two figures that towered behind him to the left and right.
Stephen looked at them and did a double take. The seven foot tall reptilian forms were familiar to him, and he was quite taken aback to see them standing here in lab coats.
“Yes,” continued Dr. Rok’sla drily, “they are indeed Gorth. There is a great deal of…misinformation that circulates about the Gorth race. Contrary to popular opinion, they are not all pirates. Many of them choose to pursue careers in the arts and sciences. As have these two, my able colleagues here on Dekkar V.”
The two Gorth smiled hugely at Stephen and Rowan, revealing a startling array of jagged razor sharp teeth.
“Unfortunately, however, one piece of common knowledge about the Gorth is true. They are quite unable to master Galcom, and hence will be unable to converse with you directly. If there is anything you wish to ask of them or convey to them, I fear I will have to translate for you.”
This piqued Rowan’s curiosity. “That’s quite fascinating Dr. Rok’sla. I understood the Gorth to communicate by extremely low frequency sound waves, produced and received by specially evolved organs in their tails. Those frequencies are far below the threshold that can be created by the vocal apparatus of most species. Are you saying the calurrian race have some sort of similar capability?”
An unreadable expression appeared briefly on the bulbous features of the rotund little being and he answered tersely.
“I have been specially trained.” His face smoothed again into its former blandness. “And now, perhaps, you would extend the courtesy of introducing yourselves?”
~~~~~~~
Afternote: The next Character will also be from the novel Alien Artifacts. James has definitely created some memorable ones. It has been interesting finding a balance between the ones I saw in my own minds eye when I read the novel and the ones I shape from my discourse with the author. Another completely new and satisfying process –a path to agreement– must be forged in order for the author to be happy with what emerges from my pen.
Enjoy!
Day# 23 Gobbler, Spirit of Thanksgiving
Pass The Turkey! (And Don’t forget the Stuffing!)
#23 Gobbler, the Spirit of Thanksgiving came to consciousness sometime around the end of the Twentieth Century as mankind measures things. It was a slow awakening, born out of the human need to give thanks for blessings received, and the growing awareness that the entity to whom these thanks had hitherto flowed may or may not actually exist, and if he did exist was kind of demanding and two-faced anyway. Gradually the idea of a venerable old gobbler who, in the past two hundred years or so always showed up at the dinner table around thanksgiving time, sacrificing himself so that others may feed bountifully, and therefore have something to be thankful for, took hold on the imaginations of the western nations. And in doing so freed the Spirit of Thanksgiving to emerge as a conscious being to join the ranks of the modern day spirits along with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
Gobbler, the Spirit of Thanksgiving is a crossover character who will be in many of my comics from now on, blessing those who are grateful for what they have even as they strive for more.
Enjoy!
Day# 22 Roadkill, Carrion Crow
Not the Eyes! No! Not the Eyes!
#22 Roadkill the Carrion Crow, aka RK, funny little sentient bird that he is, often finds himself disgusted with his own natural appetites. He really has spent too much time roosting outside of that therapists upstairs office. He often wishes he was human so it would be easier to find something else to eat, but heck, on the other hand he is doing a service to the world, cleaning up the reckless by products of human excess, especially the by products of excessive speed in machines of immense mass.
So RK is in two minds about his place in the world. Either he is a disgusting inhumane pecker of mangled dead bodies, or he is a humane creature nobly going around cleaning up the messes that others leave behind. The one place where he draws the line, though is with the eyes. He can’t even bear to look at a dead creature’s eyes, and shudders with disgust bordering on illness at the very thought of eating them, as he knows his fellow carrion brothers do. This of course sets him up for a certain amount of teasing from his fellows. They will even jokingly set an eyeball or two right in front of him from time to time to see if he’ll throw up some sauce to go with the meal.
But, struggling with his dual view of his place in the universe, he has become somewhat philosophical. To the point where, if it is someone else who is having problems adjusting to the world, he will forget his own struggle while he offers sage advice that if he could hear himself, he might consider taking to his own heart.
Strange things happen when he and Aedre cross paths. By this time Aedre is getting used to the occasional talking animal, but RK is as individual as a snowflake. He has a somewhat changeable nature, sometimes easy going on himself and the world; sometimes belligerent and bellicose. He can be startling in his actions and words, but rarely violent, unless provoked or threatened. On the other hand he can also provide some comic relief. When one is on an epic journey every bit of comic relief is appreciated.
Day# 20 Flykk, Dragon Hatchling
Hunter or Prey?
#20 Flykk, Dragon Hatchling: Due to the unfortunate accident of a premature hatching while the Dame Dragon was away on an emergency, Flykk found himself alone, exhausted and very, very hungry when he had finally burst himself through the leathery hide of his containing egg. If there had been any others there they would have remarked on his very large size, and the sharpness of his hatching horn.
There were many other eggs in the lair, and the place was warmer than an oven, so it didn’t take Flykk long to recover a bit of strength and pull himself along in search of food. He opened his eyes but the world was a fog of colour to him, in which he could discern only vague shapes that as yet held for him no meaning. He found a few bits and pieces of meat near the lair entrance, that the Dame had dropped when she flew off. But his hunger was gargantuan
There are few predators that will attempt violence against a full grown dragon, but will try to feed on the eggs or any unattended hatchlings if they can get away with it. Gnarwolves for instance, much prefer a hearty meal of hatchling to its usual sparse pickings of hares and other small fast animals. Hatchlings instinctively hunker down and hold perfectly still so that their protective colouring blends them into the landscape around them. But Flykk’s battle with his shell and the absence of the Dame’s restraining hands and wings made his hunger so acute he had to move.
So it was that Flykk found his first meal and his first enemy simultaneously. Making plaintive cries he dragged himself, staggering toward the hot smell of blood and flesh somewhere before him. Though he felt weak with hunger, he was actually gaining in strength as he moved. His wings drying and filling out, began almost to lift him as he gained ground toward that maddening odour. He scrabbled out of the lair and across the rocky terrain, his nose leading the way, his eyes barely opening, mewling for the food he so badly needed.
It was close by now, and there was another smell near it, one that would have spelled instant danger to any animal other than a dragon, hatchling or not. This smell was also food, though less compelling. Flykk was becoming angry now, his frustrated animal need forced him to flap his wings and claw at the ground with his hind claws while he roared his disgust with the world as best he could.
Unfortunately, that was the moment the Gnarwolf chose to attack. –unfortunately for the wolf, that is. For Flykk was larger that he expected, and heavier, and was in the middle of the instinctive dragon dance of bloodrage, clawing with hands and feet, and buffeting with wings, and striking his blind head back and forth jerking upward the gleaming horn on his nose. By the time the Gnarwolf realised his mistake, it was too late. Flykk gored him with his horn, knocked him senseless with his wings and brought down his sharp teeth and claws in a frenzy spurred by the sweet acrid smell of fresh blood.
The hatchling Flykk fed well that first day on Gnarwolf and it’s half-eaten hare. Then he crawled father into the thicket in search of more.
Day# 19 Sly Peter
Sly Peter
Peter Vale (aka Sly Peter) was already established at Maple Public School when Aedre arrived on the scene, and was a couple of grades ahead of her. But since she was an outcast, basically friendless, she had time to notice things about people. And the things she noticed about Peter Vale was that he was a nasty sneaky boy who took pleasure in hurting things smaller than himself –specially if he didn’t get caught doing it.
He was the kind of boy who pulled the wings off live flies and watched them buzz around until either they died or he grew bored with the sport. But not only flies; butterflies too, and if he knew it bothered you (especially if you were a girl) he would follow you around with the poor wingless creatures, sticking them under your nose, so he could get double the enjoyment from the pain he was causing.
He was the kind of boy who tripped the weaker kids in the hall in such a way they didn’t see who it was, or who pinched the little ones he knew were afraid of him –pretty hard, too. Mean and mean-spirited, he was always on the lookout for nasty things he could do to the other kids and to small animals, and get away with it. And if he couldn’t find anything he would make up nasty stories and spread them around.
He would befriend any new kids until he found out everything he wanted to know about them and their family, find out their secrets, blackmail them, and gradually be meaner and meaner to them, until they finally broke away from him.
Aedre watched him, and seeing his methods determined to have nothing to do with him in spite of her need for friendship and the touch of another human being. Therefore when he got around to trying to befriend Aedre, who was as socially ungraceful as wild animal, she scorned him, telling him hotly that she was aware of his sneaky tricks. He denied this in the face of the truth, apparently hurt, for that was his last bastion of defense: no one could prove anything he did. Thus he swore that he would make her sorry for her accusations.
Day# 18 Agnes McBeale
The Bitchy Sister
#18 – Agnes McBeale is one year younger than her sister, (#17)Paula but seems so much older–not to mention more irritable and just plain bitchy. With sparse red hair curly hair and being scrawny and tall she is the polar opposite of Paula. Compared to Paula’s flawless skin, Agnes is covered from head to toe in a mass of freckles that she loathes. She confides in no one, keeping herself to herself as much as possible. She has no real friends either, but doesn’t want them, clearing them off with her acid tongue.
The whole of Agnes’ energies is focused entirely on getting through school and away from that cramped, crowded, nasty house, and her so-called “family”. She practically spits when she uses that word. Her grades are very high, but no-one where she lives cares. Except Paula who is jealous of them.
Sometimes, when she deigns to walk to school with Paula and Paula’s dogsbody, Aedre, she spends the whole trip saying cutting things to both girls.
She confides in no one, keeping herself to herself as much as possible. So know one knows what causes her to lash out at everyone around her. One day people will know. But not for awhile yet.
Day# 17 Paula McBeale
Daddy’s Little Princess
Paula McBeale and her sister (#18)Agnes live across the road from Aedre’s new house on Hook Rd. They live in a tiny one-bedroom house that is far too small for four people. To Aedre’s view, they are disgorged from the house every school morning, and swallowed up again right after school as if they don’t exist at any other time.
Paula is secretive and constantly feels deprived, since she get no allowance and has to beg for everything she feels she needs. She finds an outlet for her feelings of resentment about this by stealing small things from school, from stores, from her friends, though in the latter case she calls it “borrowing”. Her favourite thing to steal when she can get it, however, is money. No one finds out about this habit of hers for many years.
She is an excellent actress. After all she’s been acting for Daddy since she was a baby. Sometimes the things he makes her act for him make her uncomfortable but at least she has his undivided attention for periods of time. Daddy is an avid photographer, but he never shows his photos to anyone but Paula, keeping them locked away in a box under her bed, and he says its “our secret game, Princess”. So she is cautioned never to tell anyone about the secret game or Daddy won’t be able to play with her anymore.
She takes to hanging out with Aedre on the way to and from school because she feels that Aedre is so pathetic it makes her look good, and besides, sometimes she can steal stuff from her and she never seems to realise the only person who could have stolen it was Paula. Paula holds Aedre in contempt while pretending to be her friend.
But then, Aedre is conditioned to think that everything bad that happens is her fault, and so if something goes missing then she must have lost it somehow. This suits Paula just fine. Daddy’s little Princess knows how to get on in the world.
Day# 16 Thomas “Weeks” Kelsey
Thomas J. Kelsey, dubbed “Weeks”, short for “Wee Kelsey”, which was what most of the other kids called him from the first day he attended Maple Public School. Snarky remarks during his first recess period about his diminutive size –about two thirds the height of the shortest of his peers– soon gave way to awe when he aptly demonstrated not only his aptitude and skill at most sports, but his well honed sportsmanship as well. He could take joke and a pounding on the sports field better than most boys twice his physical stature. He was built heavy for his height, yet he was agile, too.
He did well in his academic studies, got along well with other boys, and excelled on the sportsfield. The one thing he’s have no truck with was girls, and he held strong opinions as to their place in sports, mostly negative. Where girls were concerned he was implacable. If a girl wanted to play on his team, he would stare at them without a sound until they fled. Unless of course they fled to a teacher who forced him to comply, which he did readily, but gave no quarter to the girl, so that finally she had to give up in defeat.
Aedre, of course, didn’t know this until she smashed into his prejudice head-on. She had asked the recess teacher if she could play soccer, and he had agreed she could. Fully confident of himself and his view of the world, Weeks bested her simply by being himself. No hard feelings on his part. That’s just the way the world works. She never had a chance to even see the ball. She may as well have been invisible. For Aedre, who had hopes and dreams of a different world than the lost and lonely one in which she found herself, it was just another entry carved into her psyche on the very long list of grievances that would push her to the very edge of either going mad, or giving up completely.
Weeks didn’t know anything about Aedre of course, except what the other boys told him, that she was a cootie-bag and a witch besides, but whether or not he believed them didn’t matter. She was a girl and girls had no value in Week’s world.
Day# 15 ReldoRurr
It Ain’t Easy Being Tween
ReldoRurr is an Adnirovjyna youngling, eldest offspring of (#12)Thaddeursus, and therefore a source of great embarrassment to his parent. At the age of dissent, rebellion, and world-weary long-suffering of elders, his passionate nature has more than once brought him before the council whom he refers to as those old fligmarrons* (*a grumpy indecisive animal so set in its ways that it will often run right into an obvious trap rather than deviate from its normal routine–needless to say, they are now a protected species on the planet Adnirovjyn).
Although his father has more sympathy for the age ReldoRurr is going through than the cub may realise, he is still an Adnirovjyna, and therefore feels the censure of his kind deeply. Thus it is his way of trying to keep ReldoRurr out of the way of others that he often gives him the task of collecting (far afield) the small tubers that sprout from the (#14)Sqorthk animal variants.
These can be plucked from the Sqorthk just after the rainy season as they pull themselves ponderously along but this has proven to have a traumatic effect on them, and so usually the younglings are sent to gather the ones that have matured and fallen off to the ground where, if they are not scooped up will root there and grow into the Sqorthk plants far from the villages. Much more convenient to have them growing under controlled conditions in pots within the villages proper. And much better for all concerned if the wilder younglings are kept busy at a useful tiring task far from the village.
Unfortunately, ReldoRurr finds this kind of work beneath him, even though he enjoys it, sensing that no matter how useful it is to his people, they really are trying to get rid of him, because in his own mind, he is right about them when he keeps calling them on their “Griiftakk’s Invisible Sceptre” policies** (** a fairy tale told to Adnirovjyni children about a ruler of their people who was sold by a pair of scoundrels from the south, a non-existant magical sceptre that only the most wisest rulers could see). His resentment came to fruition when he reported the existence of an alien invasion from outer space and was given extra duties as a “curb to youthful imaginings”.
Fortunately for ReldoRurr, his pater did accept his story, mostly from the excitement and passion with which it was delivered ((shudder)), and after the fiasco with the council, went with his cub to see with his own eyes those very strange beings, whom he later learned called themselves Wee’hlir and Hie-ke, and hailed from the stars themselves, although actually from an earth-like planet in Andromeda. It was inevitable perhaps that ReldoRurr developed a strong case of hero-worship for the hairless ones, well one of them, for the consequences of that were long remembered.
And so it was that ReldoRurr was the first person ever to lay eyes upon the magnificence that was the space entrepreneurial partnership known as Wheeler’s Orbits and the beginning of a tale so strange it is told to the children of Adnirovjyn to this very day.
~~~
Well I’ve finally reached the half-way point and what a fun ride it’s been so far! Meeting some wonderful artists and storytellers, as well as challenging myself to keep innovating and trying different styles of art, have been the highlights for me during this Challenge. I’m psyched to get the next fifteen Characters out there, as each one contributes much more than one can imagine to the ongoing stories for both Wheeler’s Orbits and Aedre’s Firefly, not to mention a few new story ideas as well.
I hope everyone else is enjoying this Challenge and the fruits of all our labours as much as I am.
#18 Ajay McSpeedy
Neither rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night shall keep Ajay McSpeedy from his appointed rounds!
Day# 14 Sqorthk, Animal Phase
Tastes Like Chicken!
Adnirovjyna Sqorthk, Animal Phase: During the rainy season the shell becomes leathery, then soft and peels off to reveal the third phase of this fascinating creature: it is now an animal, capable of pulling itself along the ground in a kind of inch-worm motion, digging its front fin-arms into the soil an hauling itself forward, then stopping to let its long back legs catch up. then it hunches its back and repeats this activity until it is far from the plant of its origin. That is, if carnivorous predators don’t eat it first.
The animal-Squorth gives off a honey-like odour from it’s pebbly skin that carnivores find strangely attractive, and many have learned that the meat under that skin is deliciously sweet and satisfying (As Wheeler soon learns). In the animal stage the Sqorthk is easy prey. It cannot move quickly and has no natural defenses.
In the animal stage it neither eats nor drinks, its main purpose seems apparently to be to move itself as far as possible from the parent plant so to drop its developing tubers to begin the cycle again. In this regard the Sqorthk has allies in the native peoples as they will protect them from predators, often keeping them as pets, and regularly harvesting their tubers for planting once the rainy season has passed.
Since the Adnirovjyna have a strong taboo against eating the Sqorthk during their animal stage, would it be any wonder that Wheeler’s appetites could bring them to the very brink of interplanetary war? Or at least, very bad feelings?
Day# 13 a Sqorthk: plant stage.
Adnirovjyni Sqorthk, Vegetable Phase: a vine-like animal that spends part of its life-cycle as a plant, used as a food source for the dominant sentient bear-like species known simply as (#12) Adnirovjyna.
During the vegetative stage, each vine becomes translucent and produces pebbled protrubances that can grow to be quite large. In the early stages these can be broken off and used as vegetables either cooked or raw, which contain starches, cellulose, vitamins and minerals conducive to the good nature and health of the indigenous sentient race of Adnirovjyn. It is a favourite item to be combined with other Adnirovjyni flora to produce a delicious frothy alcoholic beverage well loved by the native peoples which they call Frooshk.
Once the protuberances grow beyond a certain size they lose their translucence and by their own weight droop toward the ground. Here they remain inert for a period of weeks developing a hard knobbly shell –a cocoon of sorts you might say, which protects them from predators to a certain extent, though some have been known to find ingenious ways of cracking them open. It is within this shell that the plant-Sqorthk undergoes the unique transformation from plant to animal.
Next up #14 a Sqorthk in animal phase.
Enjoy!
#5 Niele
Yesss!!! I’ve wanted to design this character for a very long time. Such an important character to my comic! Since I’ve designed her, I can’t get my mind off of the major part she’ll be in. It feels great, too! I’ve been on a writing frenzy since.
I don’t want to give too much away with her. Randi, one of the main protagonists to my comic, is an Immortal. He’s over 700 years old. He’s met a lot of people, and has had to leave all of them behind.
When this girl stumbles upon Randi one morning, everything she knew is turned upside-down. On the flip-side, Randi’s world is turned right-side up… I’m not going to say much more than that…
Day# 10 Mad Maggot
Mad Maggot! That’s what everyone calls him. The stories about him elicit responses from sympathy, to disgust, to outrage. He is crazy, but no one can catch him. The kids at school say he steals babies in the night and eats them for breakfast. But no-one believes that, or it would have been news on the television and he would be hunted down and arrested, instead of being left alone to rummage through people’s garbage.
He makes silly trashy ornaments from things he finds in the garbage, too. paper and tinfoil pendents on greasy string. He tries to sell them to other people on the streets of small town Maple, Ontario, too. But no one wants to buy, because they stink of whence they came. He never begs. Never. But when he offers his creative excesses while cursing and swearing loudly and waving his arms around frantically, then hugging himself and crying, people will sometimes drop coins into his filth-blacked hands. He is a very large man, but sometimes he seems so small and pathetic you want to cry at the sorrows of the world right along with him.
Now and then he simply disappears for a month or so, and when he shows up again, he has usually had a hair cut and lost his beard, but it’s growing back in already, and he may have on a different, slightly cleaner overcoat, but he usually tears the sleeves off those within a week. He is more to be pitied than despised. Yet there are always those who go out of their way to further torture the tortured. Everyone knows that you should never push him too far. He carries a stick in his pocket that bears a sharpened end and larger blunt one. Once when the kids had him circled down by the tracks at the back of the football field down the hill behind the school, bear-baiting him, he pulled that nasty weapon out in a rage and brandishing it, began chasing them. He scared the hell out of them and they never went that far with him again. But they ran so fast they didn’t see him stop and fall to his knees, tears of rage and self-pity carving tracks in the grime on his weathered face. they didn’t hear his anguished lonely howl…
As Aedre continues her Escape to Freedom, she meets many strange and wonderful creatures. This one may be one of the strangest, and most certainly is one of the most dangerous. But Aedre has lived with danger all her life and has survived this far. Always before though, there were others around who could bear witness if the punishments and harassments of her family got out of hand. This time there was no-one else, just Aedre and the madman, everyone reviled and called Mad Maggot. Somehow, being drawn near this creature, Aedre could see that in some ways they had much in common, both being chosen as one to be reviled. It is this meeting that makes Aedre wonder if she is being made to take the place of this despised and crazy thing that was once as human as she. Could there be another fate? If Aedre was to seek it out, could another, possibly better, more humane fate be hers? Stay tuned to Aedre’s long journey of discovery in Aedre’s Firefly, the online graphic novel (updates Wednesday morning at the stroke of midnight).
Day# 09 Flodd and Flara for Wheeler’s Orbits
When Wheeler’s Orbits made landfall on Faranurus IV with a cargo hold full of Denebrian, they thought it was unusual that there was no bustling spaceport; not even a sign of any kind of technology at all. Ikey thought they should check the computer and the starmaps to see if they were in the right place, but as usual Wheeler just opened the airlock and went out to see what was happening.
“They probably just have really good camouflage, Ikey. You worry too much!” and he was gone. Ikey donned space-suit, set the computer to figure out what went wrong, and doggedly followed Wheeler. This was definitely NOT dry, arid Faranurus IV! This place was a swamp. Of course it might have changed in the last year, but he doubted it very much.
The first thing he saw that moved was moving away from him. It looked like a giant lopped off banana with arms, but no legs. It kind of floated along a few inches above the ground when it wasn’t reaching up with its long yellow arms to swing itself from the low hanging branches from tree to tree. It was a colourful world, and in spite of himself, Ikey felt himself relaxing. That of course put him even more on guard. He’d seen some weird things in space, but never before a piece of fruit with arms. Then it turned around and started back toward him. It had eyes! and the arms had hands with opposable thumbs! He wondered if it had sharp pointy teeth and decided for the better part of valour.
Through the portal of the airlock he could see them gathering, apparently curious about this huge thing that had landed in their forest. They even more reminded him of bananas since they were in a multitude of shades from bright green to deep yellow, and some even had the brown and black spots you find on the very ripe ones. He shook his head. Leave it to Wheeler to run off on his own on a strange world.
He left his suit on and went in to the computer. The data screen showed the deviation in course due to an input error of one digit. He knew who to blame for that, too. He sighed. Well, they weren’t too far off course. If he could grab Wheeler they could be on Faranurus IV within a week.
He looked back at the airlock window, and was startled to see yellow-green faces, shaped a little like earth monkeys, jostling to peer in at him.
=========
” Come Flara, come with papa to see what the skies have brought this time.” He gazed fondly at his third daughter, so green and yet wasn’t that a tinge of the yellow of maturity creeping into her skin. It made him sad that soon she would be fully mature and golden and leaving him for her chosen mate. But he would enjoy her companionship while he could, at least until his next change and he could bear more fruit himself, though then he would be a her self.
Things had often dropped from the sky that didn’t seem to belong here. Most often they fell near the great lake, and then, before his people could satisfy their natural curiosity, they flew away like Singbirds, often straight up into the sky until they were specks that could be seen no more. That was always a disappointment to Flodd. Maybe this time, there would be a chance to touch and taste the thing that fell from the sky.
Flara skipped along in front of him, skimming the ground, still a bit wobbly with that skill, and reaching up for hand holds on the Twanda trees, not to mention gorging herself on their clusters of fruit. He was an indulgent parent though, and prefered to let all his offspring learn through their own experience, though there was something quicker and more delightful with this one, so that he tended to be more protective of her.
He could see through the trees that others of his kind were gathering, streaming in the direction of the new fallen thing. This made Flodd happy. He loved gatherings, and he loved exploring, and he loved bringing his curiosity to bear on new things. Especially when the sun was warming his Frolldots and he had energy to burn.
Suddenly, he cried out in alarm, “Stop!” and pulled Flara to him and behind him. A strange animal had burst out of the undergrowth, splashing muddy sand all around him. It was tall and thin and was strangely coloured. It had twice the appendages than normal and actually put two of them on the ground and in the water of the swamp. That appeared to be its mode of locomotion, although it was a lurching one. Flodd had never seen its like. Is this what had fallen? It seemed too small and at the same time too big. It stopped now, swaying and seemed to be speaking to him, but the sounds were very low pitched and growling, akin to the sound of a Froctali in a fallen tree.
====
“Where the heck am I and what the heck are you?” Wheeler said to the yellow being standing stock still and staring at him bemused. “I’m lost.”
Day# 08 the POISON PENN
My first ever Super-hero-type Villain. :`)
Jhorn’l Ag’Penn hails from a religious colony of Grythf’ah‘s (Worshippers of Agh) on a nondescript planet circling a small red giant in the sparser areas near the Rim of the Galaxy.
Like most religious fanatics, the beliefs of the Grythf’ah brook no quarter with any other religious practices. Sure in their divine arrogance, they send out their most devout acolytes to bring word to the heathens (that’s the rest of us).
Jhorn’l is no slouch when it comes to converting the unenlightened. At some point he became convinced that he was doing Agh’s work; he was Agh’s Right Hand in this world to help others to the next. And of course what better way than to first test them, then when, er… if they fail, show them the error of their ways with a little fear of Agh, and a little Holy Poison to help them on their way into the Light of Agh’s Truth.
When did that happen? Oh, perhaps around the time Jhorn’l found a derelict ship full of humanity’s bones, and many useful artifacts, including some Golden Age comics from DC and Marvel. Of course he couldn’t read them, but being the vain and contemptuous being he was, he delighted in the idea of Spandex to match his particularly bright and beautiful green skin.
‘Twas then that he hit upon his Master Plan to weed out the Unworthy, and deliver the Holy Message of his Holyness, Agh! At this point he underwent Grimstolaet, changing himself from the inside out and donning his new Spandex, took upon himself the Holy Name of Poison Penn, the Right Hand of Agh.
All over the Galactic Rim he sped enticing the weak to evil, putting the fear of Agh into all those who succumbed with poison pen letters, then blackmailing them in the name of the Holy Church of Agh, (in order to defray costs), and finally when they refuse to repent, descending on them in a poisonous cloud and stabbing them to death with his poison-tipped spear-pen, while chanting the one thousand four hundred and fifty-three names of Agh.
Of course sooner or later he would run into our Dysfunctional Duo, Wheeler and Ikey. And so its possible that even Prima will have her hands full trying to rescue Wheeler and Co in order to bring them to Justice, while the Poison Penn is trying his best to bring them to Agh.
Enjoy!
#4 Charini Melton
Fourth character design from Point Blank (my someday-to-be webcomic).
Charini Melton is a scientist—well, she’s really just a researcher. But she knows a lot of underground information. She is meek and timid, and is constantly fearful of getting into trouble, especially when Adela and Randi (the main characters of the story) start pestering her about what she knows.
She often spends her time cooped up to herself and any person she is forced to work with in libraries, like everyone else who works in the research vicinity. The place she works in is directly linked to organization mentioned in my previous post. However, claims to know little to nothing about the experiments that are run behind the scenes…
#30Characters Chatter…