Tag: fantasy
#1 Alcott
Alcott’s world is populated by mostly non-human species of all kinds. He gains the public’s support through lies and depception, quickly rising into a tyrannical dictatorship. One of the main antagonists of a project I’m working on, he has no moral obligations and has a sense of rightous entitlement. He loses his temper easily, and has a strong hatred for those outside his species (althoug he hides it from the general public). He has a strong passion for candy and sweet things. However, he doesn’t think it looks good so hides this too. In fact, he keeps so many pointless secrets that they eventually leak out, causing him unnessasary embaressment.
#1 Phoen
Little more than a mid-level burner, Phoen is a lonely emissary of the star-torn world of Charn. Her soft amber flame denoted her as a glorified messenger, and she had resolved herself with her fate until the off-worlder pushed her towards more…She didn’t seek more. She never wanted to arouse the blues or purples. Attracting their attention never ended well for ambers.
#1 Queenie
Queenie is a wise, but weak queen. She is too impressionable and listens far too much to outside sources who are leading her astray…
I use ball-point pen for most of my preliminary character designs, because I apparently like to torture myself. I always hesitate when doing straight inks. But sometimes I end up being interesting clothing designs, so I continue to use it ^^
#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
#1 Frankenstein Jackson
#1 Frankenstein Jackson — This is a very old character; believe it or not, back in 1969 or 1970. I thought it would be fun to have the Frankenstein Monster as a non-scary character. This version likes playing with children and reading them story books, and his old weird house is more funhouse than a haunted one.
#1 – Tabitha “Tabby” Alexandra Marcosa
Tabitha, more fondly called Tabby by her older brother, is looked down upon as the runt of the clan. Even though she resides in the main family, she is looked down upon by all due to her humble nature and desire not to hunt. She fears her twelfth birthday when she will change into a lycan and has fled her school because of it. She now resides in the forest hoping to conquer her transformations before they conquer her.
#1 Dirk De Luca
A word on Dirk from those close to him
Dirk’s, well Dirk. He’s a modern day Aladdin mate, diamond in the rough, but he’s from the midlands. I first met Dirk about 13 years back, he was about 14 then I think; aye there about. He’s a mob boy, born and raised, always been with the De Lucas. They attached him to the boss’s son, Mica, as sort of a little playmate at first but he eventually wanted to a bit for the family.
So somebody, its hazy on if it was Mica or his pops or Zappa; but one of them, tossed Dirk a knife one day and the lad all but fell in love with it. He looked at it as if somebody had given him a winning lottery ticket. He took to it like a bloody fish to water. He seemed to surround himself with all things sharp after that. It was a bit queer in all honesty, you would walk into a room and there would be little Dirk juggling kitchen knives as if it was like a normal thing to do.
The Boss, he saw a talent that needed to be polished, started talking to Dirk and seeing if he wanted like a future in the family, not that he wasn’t getting a future but it was more like a job interview. He figured he would just make Dirk into a bodyguard for Mica. The lads bloody loved the idea, the pair of them were inseparable and heck Mica thought turning Dirk into a bad ass would be grand.
Dirk went walkies.
Nobody heard anything from the boy for about years then he shows up on his 18th birthday looking like he’d been running from a pack of dogs for all of those 4 years. That old twinkle in his blue eyes was long gone, now he just seemed to stare at you, hell he bloody stares through you, with these cold dead eyes. He was still all smiles, pearliest of whites that lad. Somebody had shaved him bald too that was the second thing we all noticed after seeing his eyes. He used to have, like, this thick blond mop of hair that kept falling over his face.
So Dirk shows up again and everyone is happy as can be, Mica damn near broke him in half when he came through the door. That’s when he tells us the boss had sent him off to live with Serge, an old enforcer, and well the gruff old bugger went through some things with him.
Dirk wouldn’t tell us what he did those years but if Serge was involved, personally, I don’t want to know.
Now everybody is shuttled off to the pub to celebrate Dirks return and his 18th, lads entitled to buy us all a round and that. We get there and everything’s fantastic for the first hour or so then it happens.
Some lad hops up and screams something about his brother being dumped in a river, or a compactor or a furnace, something like that. He jumps for Mica and everyone goes to stop him.
Dirk grabs the lad in mid air and slams him to the floor, snapping a table in two as he does. There’s cutlery all over the bloody shop and as it flies through the air, a single lithe limb darts among the silver and snaps back into place like it was a rubber band. We all hear this sound like a whistle going off and the lad starts gurgling.
Dirks just gone and slashed the blighters’ neck.
He leaves him there on the ground, staining his shoes, and he checks Micas alright. Soon as he says “He’s fine†Dirk laughs for a bit and returns to his pint. Then he spits out; can’t hold his liquor Dirk.
That’s him now. He looks after Mica better than an entire squad of lads. He just needs something sharp about him.
Don’t even need to be sharp sometimes. I saw him kill a bloke with a plastic knife from a kids party, slap the mans throat and when he opens up gasping for air Dirk jammed the thing in his throat and snapped it in two. Gave him another quick tap and he started chocking to death on his own vomit and a Scream knife.
Seen him off a bloke with a pair of knitting needles and a cufflink once, it was a [explicit] sight to behold. He’s a machine near about. He sits there idling away until he gets told to do something and then he does it.
He’s told to stop a train, he would stop that train. He gets told to kill a bloke, blokes dead.
The boss said “Anything that lad touches turns Vorpal.†I’ve no clue what vorpal means but I hazard that it means really bloody deadly.
#1 Talis
Talis is one of a fantasy race known as Cythids. It might help to think of them as blue elves with huge, three-finger claw hands and two giant poofy tails that they ordinarily hide from view due to social taboos.
Talis is a monk. Or anyway, he was. During his time training at a monestary, he came across a strange striped animal in the woods. It was clearly injured, and being a monk, he brought it back to the monestary to care for it. Unluckily for Talis, the creature turned out to be one a Pooka – sentient troublemakers who like handing out social awkward curses. The Pooka cursed Talis to always speak lies for no real good reason.
Obviously Talis had to leave the monestary after bringing so much shame on himself, so he took up a variety of bit jobs (including newspaper reporter) and chain smoking. He wears his tails on the outside of his clothing as a sign to the rest of the Cythids that he’s screwed up awful bad. He’s also single, probably as a result of the compulsive lying.
Llllllladies?
Day 01-The Soul Stealer
The Soul Stealer keeps an ever watchful eye on humanity. When someone’s heart has completely turned to evil she terminates their existence and traps their soul so they can no longer harm others.
2011 Challenger: Noel Burns
I am Noel Burns and this is my first year trying the 30 character challenge. I ended up here thanks to Comixtribe and Tyler’s work through there. At this time I claim to be a writer. At other times I was an artist, but I got old and realized I wouldn’t be able to do the level of work I wanted to without being able to spend more time working on my drawings. A wife, three kids, a job where I work 45 hours a week, a second job where I work 12+ hours a week and then I am also starting a comic publishing/printing company at the same time. I don’t have near the time I would need to be able to work to the level I wish to be.
Now I help others who have dreams of making comics. I teach classes in Iowa City on Introductions to Comic Creation and Life Drawing Classes. I do printing for many people who are making comics now, and now through my publishing company I am starting our first anthology called Journeymen. We are currently taking submissions through the end of November. If you are interested you can find out more at www.icgeeks.com/journeymen
I am looking forward to the 30 characters challenge as a means to flesh out some of the story ideas I have banging around in my head. I am also looking forward to seeing what everyone else will be working on.
I can be found at www.icgeeks.com
#29 November #30 February
Lovers out of time and out of place. Passing the sword as the seasons change.
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.
#26 Coriander Cindersilk
The epitome of a perfect faerie: Wild at heart with moxie to spare, but delicate and inviting on the outside.
#25 Gnorn, Lord of the Gnoll
Frightening to behold, but beyond gentle, the Gnoll call mountain-ranges home. Rarely coming to the surface, Gnoll prefer to let the surface-dwellers bicker amongst themselves. Gnoll are one of the oldest lived of all creatures, and their leader, Gnorn, remembers the birth of the first Dragon. Gnorn was also the first Gnoll to slay a Dragon, and because of that terrible accident, Gnoll’s are the only living creature Dragons fear.
#24 Zorn Glitterscale
Dragons are regal even at their worst. Zorn could very well be the most evil dragon to have ever lived. He has devoured seven of his own riders, and while some think him misunderstood, the grin he wears after every despicable deed is easy enough to read.
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.
Roy the Abstract Zombie
Roy likes brains. Roy is also made from stained glass, so he has to be doubly careful during the zombie apocalypse because he could shatter at any time.
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.
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