Grandpa’s Pistol

An unloaded gun placed upon your forehead by your own hand grants a slice of perspective that you can take all the way to hell with you.

Potential is what’s scary. The concept of just turning it off. There is an exciting side to it, it must be said. Humans think they know everything, but one thing they can at least feign ignorance on is death. Sure, humans know that the body rots. It breaks down. Identification of the necrophages that feast upon the remains, a name? Gender, age- they can be added, calculated, surmised, addendumed and chronicled. It’s the moment between the final heartbeat and the last breath, where the body is still alive but struggling against the damage done. That moment will ever be hidden to us.

Smell the rot of a body on the road. It’s easy- humans kill things without even trying they’re so godamn useless. Roadkill in summer, a special nostalgia it carries with it. The stink is what can be remembered, but not because it is foul. It’s the confrontation of death, the confrontation of mortality n’ rot. That’s what’s special. In the beginning, it is easy to be repulsed by such odors. The odor of decay is never pleasant regardless of what is breaking down.

Pleasant, however. It can be enjoyed in a non-traditional sense. It is a reminder of death, the only consequence that humanity can understand. It is also penance- pay for your guilt by witnessing suffering and death and you too can be cleansed in the righteous pain that you yourself have inflicted. This is something good, but there is another side that is utterly hopeless through ignorance.

Why suffer? It’s a question that must be asked sooner or later. We all have reasons why we choose to avoid, or embrace suffering and self-torment. Is it just routine? A role that can be learned over time and patience? I don’t care.

Suffering is universal. From the lowliest cell to the mightiest creature, suffering is there from birth ’till death, metaphorical and tangible. Delay is inevitable. It is all mortality can ever hope for when reaching for immortality. Rot is inevitable. So is suffering. Suffering carries with it a beauty that is never seen simply because it is hidden below the misery that blinds humans to the world around them, to the world within.

Gun oil, time, dry rot, leather, wisdom, old spice, soap, an unending smile. Nostalgia creeps in even when the gun is placed against your head.

How do you picture your death? Is it beautiful? Peaceful? Is it a wish, your death? Are you the type that wishes to go without pain? I have seen death plenty of times to know that most die in agony, illness, or misery. Will you still smile when it is the final moment between your body living to your body dying? Smell the rot and see if you can still grin.

Tide of Violence

Humanity is founded on the base need to hate and kill. All civilizations were built on bones and blood, their histroy hailed and celebrated and taught as something just and righteous. History is not written by the victor, it is simply written. There are versions of history all over the planet that change on bias, intelligence, and tradition. Human history is pointless simply because there is nothing to be celebrated outside of the overshadowed compassion and hope that our species sometimes personifies.

Violence is in human nature. We have “advanced” intellects and brains, along with strong and able bodies, and when we disagree, we turn toward violence. There is nothing more natural and hideous. It is everywhere. Consider yourself peaceful? You are not. Violence teems just behind your eyes, locked away within the primordial memories of the subconscious. It is all you ever want, and it is all humans can aspire to.

Urges are natural, correct? Even though humans are usually suppressed when it comes to sexuality, we are exposed to violence- even told that some forms of it are good, or lawful, or even righteous. Violence and fucking are the same act with different outcomes. The hate in our brains is distracted by hopefully love at the most, and pleasure at the least. Humans eat, drink, fuck and sleep not for sustenance, but for entertainment. We are merely looking for distractions, distractions to keep us safe from our primal sides. Our only side.

Civilization and manners are tricks. Parlor tricks, akin to what you’d teach a dog. Humans are just animals that can learn really complex tricks. What’s driving a car? Shooting a gun? Following orders? Cooking a meal? Assembling a nuclear power plant? Designing a rocket? Diagnosing an illness and treating it accordingly? Advanced. Human. Tricks. Nothing more. Strip that all away and there is nothing but the beast, the being that we are all afraid to be. And its this suppression that makes cooperation, civilization and global teamwork impossible.

Hiding behind words, laws, terms, phrases, beliefs, facts, fictions- we aspire to be an elevated Human, a person of great skill, success, and popularity whether in general, or in their own sphere of existence. Truth is we are humans, a species of animal, no greater in importance than any other creature by default on this planet. Humans are everywhere because we are feral, uncontrolled. We breed without plan or morality, we neglect our children in hopes of making more, maybe getting it “right.”

Suppression will always lead to outburst. When we bury our dark desires opposed to examining, understanding, and learning from them, we are doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over, acting in the folly that this time! This time…will be different. It won’t be. The reason for this is simple- humans are unhappy because we are animals covered with clothes and bombarded with social constraints and ideals. Imagine putting your dog in a suit and then screaming at him when he doesn’t meet the sales goal for June. If you wouldn’t do that to a dog, why a human?

When did we decide we need all the technology and extra population to survive? When did we decide that murder must be suppressed, except when it isn’t? Like in movies, art, video games, and crime? What changes? Nothing.

We are a suppressed species, denied our own urges and thoughts for so long that we are evolving toward apathy. Suppression, and the choice to be civil, are not the same.

 

 

People Watching- Ever Notice This?

Look at people as they walk around in whatever little prison they have chosen to exist in today and ask yourself if you notice anything they all have in common.

People watching is one of my favorite activities. I like to study humans because I am one, and it helps me to better define my world around me if I am able to classify and judge my fellow humans beings. Depressed, sometimes I just sit in one place and silently observe humans and the world they squat on. And I’ve noticed something disturbing.

No-one is smiling.

Now, interaction with another or witnessing something funny doesn’t count. Also, these people weren’t exhibiting neutral faces, either. They just looked miserable. I watch humans move from one place to another and accomplish nothing even though they are completing something. Gnarled with apathy, frustration, anger, grief, sadness. Human language just gets in the way- our real expressions and meanings are better monitored by watching the face, and listening for vocalizations.

Volume and appearance are two things humans understand very well, and language does nothing but mottle and confuse our own natural reactions, degrading thought and instinct into “choice”. It’s all downhill after that. A facial expression says more than most words can, and for the complexities of life that need language to survive, to function? Outdated. We’re doing the same shit over and over because well? We’ve always DONE DID IT THAT WAY! What a great fuckin’ reason to keep doing something, right!?

Humans aren’t happy creatures. We’re not built that way. We are not made to bring in the sunshine and save the planet. We are here, like any other creature, to assert dominance through violence (metaphorical or tangible) and remain the king. Problem with humans is that when a king gets old, there’s no younger, smarter, stronger person to force the masses and the idiots that lead them toward extinction. Instead, we have so many kings and queens all over this planet, we’ve all become subjects and slaves, including the repulsive noble class (rulers, politicians, bankers, billionares, CEOs, tycoons, etc) that we labor for and continuously hate and love depending on whim.

Humans have been practicing metaphorical pseudo-intellectual auto-cannibalism for YEARS! Accomplishments are measured with blood and success in the human world. I mean, why do you think everyone looks so pissed and miserable? As you shuffle to your next hole to hide in, consider this. You are the only one in control of your life and death. Even if murdered, the control you have is to relinquish life, or fight for it- either way you are still worshiping death.

Death. Stare at a humans face and study the features. See where the skin is stretched across the skull? See where the eyes sink into the sockets? That skull, a symbol of death, is always there. When you look at another human being, you are watching them die before your eyes, you are watching their skull come forward and their mortality sink back into it, deep in the shadow of the brow until lost in darkness.

And instead of spending time with people we care about, we are too busy working at a job we hate/tolerate (your a godamn liar if you say you love your job 100% of the time) to obtain money for things we don’t need and have invented for others to want, and then finally need. Humans feed into this loop like we belong there.

That being said, here’s something else. Misery loves company. Positivity is infectious. Humanity’s default state is negativity because of how we forced ourselves into compartments honeycombed through understanding. Positivity is a choice. Negativity is the default. Humans are forgetting this, and they are becoming more and more fixated on tasks, rewards, and death. We value all the wrong things, you know.

I mean, why do you think no-one is smiling?

Feeding the World with one Word…

…cannibalism.

Meat is a problem. Humans eat too much of it, and I’m not talking about health, economics. I’m focused on the impact it has on the planet. Food, water, space. Animal waste, hormones, gene therapy, antibiotics. All of this stemmed from one thing: demand. Bigger animals, more animals. More space, more resources to grow more animals for consumption. All the while, our resources dwindle. Instead of simply breeding more chickens, cows, pigs, etc humans could simply eat one another.

First things first. No more breeding factory farm animals- we liquidate our meat supply globally and start exporting our dead to one another at bulk rates according to meat quality. Of course, there are many other things that we rip off of animal bodies, but I say to you: leather, bone, teeth, milk, meat, hair can all be obtained from humans. And at a cheaper price. As far as human diet and health goes, who cares? Humans will eat anything, even if it is blatantly bad for them. We consume shit tons of red meat, fatty organ delicacies, processed meats, meat snacks, for Christ’s sake. We eat this shit (quite literally) but we turn our nose up at eating our own dead? Fucking ridiculous.

Screw the whole IT IS FORBIDDEN thing. Why? Who said? Why are you opposed to it? Probably because it’s been drilled into your head for decades that it is wrong. Disgusting. Violating. But what of the other animals? Are we not killing them and eating them too? Isn’t it accepted that meat is delicious? Of course it is. It’s just marketing.

You mean to tell me there isn’t some sleazy fuck out there in the ad business that couldn’t sell human fuckin’ meat products to the average human? Hell, he (of course it’ll be a male) could probably start in America- we’ll buy anything for any amount. In reality, how long do you think it would take if someone created a propaganda and ad campaign promoting cannibalism? Imagine if celebrities endorsed the act? The answer is not long.

All it takes is one nation. Others will follow because that’s what humans do. And if they don’t, so what? It doesn’t matter.

We’d assign grades and prices according to how the human corpse was attained, and its condition pre-consumption. Senior citizens, for example, would receive a low grade, and be more affordable. Stringy, possibly diseased meat, poor taste. Good for stew, probably. Death from natural causes. And I am certain that if cannibalism was accepted, we would eat human meat at ANY. AGE. A baby dying at birth? A delicacy that you know some fuckin’ asshole would pay for . A teenager who had a freak heart attack? Excellent stir fry meat. A twenty something, cut down in his/her prime by a hit and run? Thick, juicy steaks. A 40 year old that died on the plastic surgery table? Ground meat for burgers. We could also use the fat from morbidly obese corpses to render down as lard for cooking, like in a deep fryer. Fresh corpses could be donated exclusively to feed the hungry.

Human corpses could be pulled from natural disasters, botched surgeries, freak accidents. Those that are murdered, executed, or die of natural causes. Imagine how much meat we’d have if we purged the world’s violent criminals from prisons and executed them for consumption? Suicides, plane crashes, car accidents. People fuckin’ die all the time because there are people EVERYWHERE. Fuck, all the waste products could be used to make SlimJims, hotdogs, salami, pepperoni, sausage. We could revolutionize the way we think about meat, animal/human rights, agriculture. We’d be a whole new species, a whole new planet. More space, more trees. No factory farms, less animal waste, less pollution. All within our grasp.

The only problem I can see here is the cultural taboo. You see, humans can walk into a foodstore to visit the rotisserie, where no doubt dozens of chickens are being roasted all at once. They can look at this wall of spinning corpses and say, “Wow, that’s a lot of food! Looks delicious..,” Even though they are looking at literally dozens of bodies, each once possessed a life, personality, and dignity. But if we saw a wall of spinning human thighs or torsos, it is horrifying. Shocking. What’s the difference? None.

Humans are weak. Period. We follow what the TV says, and all I’m saying is that this world is one extreme idea away from complete and total change- good or bad. Think about it.

 

Death- the Only True Human Religion

Trapped in this wretched hole as each click of the clock shreds reason and vitality. I am sick of this place. Every moment, every accomplishment is tainted by the darkness of this world. Blood-colored glasses opposed to rose, glass shattered not full. Watching in silence, each human moving slowly through their pathetic lives, just like me. Even the rich ones. The celebrated ones, the humans who we elevate for no reason other than masturbatory aid and spite, they are just as pathetic and pointless.

Money, whether one has it or not, does not dictate the quality of ones life. The quality comes from within and without, a collective forced upon us all by the other stinking, greasy apes we share this shithole with. Ever smell humans in a crowd? Their sweat, their breath, pushing against your lips and face, the sick primitive heat pulsing below an oily sheet of weeping sores and nerves. Itchy, irritating, like a burn from human waste.

There are no humans worthy of saving. No humans worthy of anything but misery and death, the only things we fully understand and worship. Truly, death- misery can be quelled, but all of our actions stem from the terror of death. More than just instinctual, modern humans hide from it, sheltering themselves under substance, surgery and medicine- atavism, fashion, entertainment, breeding, eating, it’s all in worship to death.

It’s the only true human religion. Death. It’s something that we all understand collectively. We don’t know what happens leading up to death or what happens after, but humans constantly prepare themselves for that moment, the split second before the grave when life and death hold together before drifting apart once more. Rot. Decay.

Have you ever took in the odor of a rotting carcass on the side of the road? Bloated in the summer, black welts pushing through the pristine fur you’d still like to touch. Their guts, blood, misery- all frozen in their last moment, their dignity displayed. I envy and laugh at the dead. The reverence they receive, the reverence they don’t. Respect for life to worship death isn’t even a thought. We kill, metaphorically kill, betray, destroy. Look at what we’ve created in the name of medicine, or life. Now look what we’ve created in the name of death.

Guns, swords, bombs, poison, explosives. The filthy human can destroy the planet a thousand times over but we still hack humans open in the name of health to heal them. And heal them we do, sure. But consider the sophistication of modern weaponry when compared to medicine. We can kill anything, but we still lack cures for diseases that have been around for too long. We cannot heal anything.Humans prolong death in subconscious reverence.

Humans are death. It’s all we have. It’s all we know. Our food comes from disguised genocide, our medicine keeps you ill with false hope and health, the extension of life is merely a prayer sent to death. Please, please don’t let me die. Who are you asking? If faith is in your toolbox, how fares it against mortality? It is not faith, religion, government. None are to blame. A sentient species is only as good as its kindest, most generous members and humans cling to the skin of life far after their time has come.

Look at what humans admire and idolize. Who are cast aside, stepped on, and elevated- where is justice and hope when staring in the face of ruthless finance? This whole world is diseased- all humans worship is death, and business. They are one in the same. Every job is a killing job. The ones we love, the ones we hate. They exist not to provide for us, but to stimulate greed and to push us toward a singular ideal- work hard, save dough, get rich, live dreams. You can’t live a dream! You can only relinquish to time and hope your inadvertent and subconscious obsession and reverence of death allows you enough ignorance to enjoy the only part of death that makes sense- life.

Humans looking or asking for/about the meaning of life has missed the answer all along. Some may weave complicated metaphorical tapestries (like myself) that end up as bullshit in the face of time and reality- others choose to seek meaning in personal accomplishment, volunteerism. Other still? they seek accomplishment through murder, rape, and torture. The greater good is always good when you are a part of it, and humans have a way of ensuring that they survive so they can pass on the story of their brush with death, as well as exposing the death of others in an effort to be grateful for life. But no-one is grateful for life.

We waste it at work, in substances, in sloth. The smiles behind everyone- from the homeless wretch to the highest billionaire; our smiles and false gratitude are ways to conceal the true nature of humanity from our fellow humans, burying the instinct deep within a concept called “society”, or behaving in a “civilized” manner. Civilization is a fucking joke. We still have gladiatorial pits. Only when athletes die, it’s a mistake, accident, or tragedy; but in the same breath there are humans happy from this misery, enjoying the death of another.

The shrill words of the fundamentalist, so certain that his god is there, and wants you to die, the “wisdom” of the atheist so certain that his god doesn’t exist, the intelligence of a scientist, so certain of his work that all other concepts, facts, ideas- all illogical and useless, to be cut away from the precious time (HA!) we have. These cocksuckers are lying to themselves, and so are you.

You are a disciple of death. There is no escaping it, and the only true meaning of life is to die. There is no greater honor or disgrace than the grave. Hell. We even purchase life insurance policies to give our loved ones money after we die. Humans are wrong, awlays wrong, and we are so certain of our certainty that we are literally killing one another.

And I ask you. Do you still question the human devotion to its one god? The only religion ever to stick with any bipedal, pathetic, ignorant greaseape is death. So until the moment you achieve death, fill the void with things you enjoy. There is no being right, or wrong. No truth, no lies. You must sculpt your own life before you can even desire death.

So stop wasting time and embrace life through the concept of its end.

Concept Art and Mental Bleeding

Working on many projects simultaneously may divert attention for some. Myself included, I admit. But I’d have it no other way to be truthful. My attention span is greedy. I become bored easily, and I don’t like to do the same thing over and over again for very long. When I do work, I work. It comes out effortlessly, but 99% of the time I have to dredge creation from the bottom of a deep, filthy lake. It’s covered in shit when it first emerges, you know. Through proofreading and editing, I clean an idea off once it’s free of the mental mire.

99 Cent Novellas: more of a concept project than anything else. I’ve been writing since my last entry, working on concept art and generating what I believe are quality stories. I’ve created new characters, given them their own plots, stories, weapons and quirks- I’ve also created supporting characters that mix with my Protagonists to help move the story along.

Expansion of the entire idea, the whole world of Melias, is what I’ve been doing. My mind and my writing are completely fused together; often spilling into my dreams if not specific instances opposed to central themes- I’m not entirely sure if my imagination is delusion, or if it is actually doing its job.

Doubt is the assailant- we are all victims, defeating ourselves. So in spite of this, create. Speaking of which, I’ve made some new additions to Melias that I think you’ll enjoy. First up? A pair of antagonists called Rezerad (the fat one) and Hectan (the jacked one). After the picture, I’ll explain what they are:

Rezerad_Hectan

Rezerad

An ancient Infernal (demon) that has ruled a universe within the Infernal Plane (basically hell) for countless eons. A cruel, twisted, foul merchant, it uses wealth and trinkets to ply weak mortals into willful slavery. A master at manipulation, Rezerad never leaves the safety of the Infernal plane, and the empire it created. The Infernal uses other Infernals and mortals to do its bidding. Worst of all, Rezerad is patient. It will wait for a millennia if it ensures success, and if one does? There will be naught but suffering. Rezerad is a ruthless, greedy miser as well, hording its own wealth to use across the entire physical plane- it always has just the right thing to tempt an unwary mortals.

Hectan

Mindless and utterly without pity or mercy, Hectan is a destroyer- meant to be unleashed. It is incapable of true rational thought, operating with cruel instinct like that of a rabid animal. If it is alive, it must die, and Hectan is large enough to do it. It towers over most anything (in my novella, he was able to cross an ocean without completely submerging) and raises an army in the wake of its slaughter- the lower half of its body the equivalent of a slug, the mucus corrosive, removing flesh down to the bare bones. The mucus also reanimates these remains as skeletons to fight for Hectan, which creates an ever expanding, indestructible army to ensure that whatever is in the Infernal’s path is raised to the ground, and stomped into complete extinction.

In addition to this, I’ve been working on another system of stories that revolve around a particular Rogue, named Gya. I’m not entirely sure of her backstory yet…anyway, here’s Gya:

 GyaGya

Unsure of where to start her, I am still working on her back story. I considered her defecting from a thieves’ guild, or breaking off from an assassin’s cult. I might mix that shit too, I don’t know yet. Unparalleled dexterity, speed, agility and cunning, Gya is more than capable of depending on her own skills to get along. She utilizes many, many custom gadgets and weapons, all geared to help her disappear, distract, deceive, or destroy. A deadly shot, she also uses a collapsible shortbow that launches her arrows with incredible force and accuracy. The arrows themselves host a whole variety of effects such as poison (of fuckin’ course), hallucination, and explosion.

A master of simple illusory magic, she can deceive and confuse her foes to the point where they are trembling in fear- an easy mark. A dagger and a shortsword are her weapons of choice; Gya’s speed and agility allows her to get in close before her foes can react, sending them to a bloody end. She uses magic to also help close distance and confuse her foes- a short range teleportation spell helps her outflank her enemies, but this ability is only limited to leaping from shadows to shadows. A greedy, driven kleptomaniac, her profession augments her natural tendencies, making her a force that is always underestimated until death is near.

Gya, being a thief, knows plenty of fences as well in order to hock her shit and make some money. After she’s done with a score (especially if its a good one), she likes to visit one fence in particular, owned by a dwarf named Urgo, who she has known for years. They are close and loyal friends, and won’t hesitate to protect each other. Take a look at Urgo:

Urgo

Urgo runs a very unique pawn shop / bazaar in addition to being a fence. Taciturn and guarded, Urgo doesn’t just…jump into things. He is calculated, patient, and very intelligent. Gya is far from the first thief to fence Urgo goods- he has a complicated system of thieves all over Melias ready to get gold for their “hard earned” scores. The gun he’s flashing was a gift (that he still had to pay for) from Gya to help keep him safe. It is the only firearm he, or Gya has ever seen (which shows how rare they are). The cartridge is a solid steel slug packed tight with a hornet’s nest of smaller shot compressed into a tight paper wad, ignited by a substance called Deathpowder. It’s like black, or gunpowder, but five times more powerful and backed by powerful alchemy. A supporting character, Urgo helps Gya stay focused- and to help move the plot forward with sensibility; a trait Gya sometimes lacks.

Urgo and Gya will also be facing a powerful enemy in the novella they’re locked in- a sentient flesh golem named Hevitus. A powerful mage, Hevitus stands to propel his own agenda forward which is to basically rule where he roams. What gives him the power to do this? Well, let’s start with his portrait first:

Hevitus

Hevitus

As a construct, Hevitus doesn’t have many weaknesses, like mortality, or even a heartbeat. An extraordinary mage, his magical ability rivaled most Spellslingers in Melias when he was human. Now, there is nary a force that can match his power. Hevitus transferred his terrible will into the construct you see above. Once he gained control of the golem, he brought it to life with powerful magic from the inside, utilizing only the four elements as his basic weapons. The golem itself amplifies his abilities, making him all but unstoppable. If left unchecked, he would simply crush whoever opposed him, able to raise entire cities to the ground as his power builds.

With these characters, especially Hevitus, I tried to think outside the box and really attempt to create something I had never seen before. I want to twist the fantasy genre together with reality and fiction all at once, creating a living story that reflects many aspects of humanity, government, and fiction. Regardless of what agenda or ideals I decide to push forward, I will always make a good, entertaining story. That’s the goal, anyway.

In my fervor, I created another Protagonist, one that utilizes the supernatural in her abilities. A cleric, she uses her martial skills and divine magic to banish evil and the unhallowed, along with bringing rest and guidance to lost, or tortured souls. Here is Genesis, who prefers to be called Neesi:

Nesi

 Neesi

 A cleric of high standing within her order, (I do not have a name for it yet), Neesi follows the same path most clerics do- she wanders Melias to destroy evil and help the innocent- whether they are alive, or restless spirits. A powerful psychic, she constantly hears the whispers of spirits from the Ether (spirit world) to guide her toward places of darkness or suffering. She is a white light for many- living, dead and otherwise, offering guidance, peace, and sometimes death.

Her armor is too big for her because they refused her a custom made suit at the cathedral she is based out of (it’s a real man’s world where she hails from). Often, she looks like she is swimming in it! However, a skilled and capable smith, Neesi created her own under suit to pad the armor and make it fit perfectly. But make no mistake, Neesi is a band of steel; a lithe machine of muscle, conditioned by years of training with heavy weaponry and equipment. Enemies that underestimate her by merely looking at her stature are often gutted or bludgeoned to death because she can easily overwhelm most with her strength.

Her blade and most of her shield are made from Lumite, a strange metal that sometimes falls to Melias from one of her three moons. A rare material, Lumite is almost indestructible, and holds a keen edge for a very, very long time, in spite of what it may be hacking through. Her abilities are driven by her inner will and compassion; she can destroy the unhallowed (undead), exorcise those possessed, help beings cross over, and a whole host of other offensive and defensive spells. I think for the first story I will write…Neesi will be exorcising an Infernal from a young boy, or girl. She is tough, stoic, powerful, dedicated, and vigilant.

Alright, that about does it. I’ll check in from time to time here on out.

Shitload of Concept Art

Creation of a new story means fresh concept art, something that I truly enjoy almost more than anything else involved within this process. I am working on a new story, just like I said, and it involves a new character, Modus (I posted about him earlier) and also a new villan, Ranin. He’s a vile, greedy, sadistic merchant who uses unholy magic and brute force to get whatever his heart desires. Miserly as well, Ranin keeps a close eye on his massive fortune and make sure he gets the most bang for his buck. Ranin is the one that murdered Modus and imprisoned his wife’s soul.

At present, he’s a spellcaster, mostly because he is too out of shape to do anything else. During the exaggerated gesticulations sometimes utilized for spellcasting, he will break a sweat, and often soak the front of his robes. He is impatient, and learned magic through dealing with the Infernals.

He is a cruel child with a machine gun. Wanna see?

Ranin

 

Sick little fucker, ain’t he? Modus also fights an Infernal in the beginning of this novella that calls itself “Eye.” A dangerous beast, it seeks to spread carnage and chaos by conjuring intense hurricanes and tornadoes wherever it may tread. It never fights fair- often attacking by stealth or ambush all while exacerbating the storm it conjured as it fights. Eye has a gullet filled with thin, razor sharp teeth, all crooked and twisted. Its breath is highly corrosive, and capable of breaking down almost any substance. Here’s a picture of Modus staring eye to eye with Eye:

Modus&EyeI also created a creature that I want to use in war scenes. It’s called a Salk:

AdultSalk

Salks are strange creatures, able to think and feel along the same mental level as a horse. They are hearty, covered in dense muscle, thick hide, and coarse hair. It’s front legs are quadruple jointed in every joint, allowing a salk to articulate itself into almost any position to navigate any terrain. It uses its powerful hind legs and to leap from place to place on terrain that might not accommodate hooves, but have plenty of hand holds for their front legs. They are omnivores, eating just about anything that they can swallow whole. Its teeth are actually a defense mechanism- when it needs to clear the way, it lowers its teeth and uses them in a similar manner as the front end of a locomotive. They can be taught to attack enemies with gusto, using any and all parts of its body as a weapon.

Alright, that about does it. I’m currently busy and motivated, which is a pleasant change of pace to say the least.

 

 

New Character Born from Self-Hatred

Modus is his name, the latest addition to the heroes of Melias in 99 Cent Novellas.

He is a Death Knight, a being of his own strange creation, a good being twisted and tortured for what he believes in. When alive, Modus belong to the order of Hallan; a sacred collection of Priestesses with Knights as their guardians. To ensure a bond of the highest order, men and women who wish to enter the order are encouraged to form relationships and eventually get married. Those who do not find a mate, cannot continue their training, and must try again when the order is accepting new disciples.

They are an organization dedicated to bringing peace and light into the world, seeking pain, misery, and illness and cleansing the planet of such mortal agony. You see, the a Hallan Priestess is the wife of her guardian, a member of the Knights of Hallan. Hallan disciples view marriage as the top tier of human relationships- a bond where two beings are linked completely as one, one the protector, one the healer, both sides coming together for a greater purpose, the purpose of healing pain wherever they may tread, and repelling any threats with extreme and violent prejudice.

Hallan Knights are men of exceptional combat ability and willpower. They push themselves far beyond the limits of any normal human being, always having their Priestess at their sides, healing them as they become wounded or maimed during the intensive and cruel training process. Hallan Knights are taught to harness the pain that automatically accompanies such a lifestyle and use it as fuel to drive them forward, relying on sheer willpower alone when the body is almost completely shattered. They are ferocious in battle, but are even-tempered, calm, and sympathetic to those who are innocent, or in need of help. They aid the weak, the poor, the sickly, the elderly, they are champions of the underdog.

Hallan Priestesses are women of extraordinary healing talents, grasping and mastering an entire branch of magic in mere months. They are prodigal- almost able to erectness the very dead with their incredible knowledge of healing and restorative spells. They can reattach severed limbs.  Heal severe wounds, heal disfigurements, disabilities, diseases, you name it. They train alongside the Knights, watching their loved ones get hurt. And sometimes, they must save their husbands’ lives if a training exercise goes wrong. Hallan Priestesses play mother to all the people of Melias. When they are seen in their flowing white gowns and light, elegant armor, they are flocked to, and in some circles, worshiped. But none get too close- her Knight is not far behind.

They take love and transform it into something much greater than just a union between two people, strengthening it as they see the good that they can do in each other’s company. They turn love into armor. Determination. And they are devout in their goals to the death. Modus used to be such a Knight, until he and his wife were captured by a vile and twisted merchant that uses dark and terrible power to assert dominance in any field of his choosing. Modus was cursed with Undeath, his soul sent into the Infernal Realm where it remains imprisoned, constantly tortured by the evil that dwells there. His wife was murdered in front of his eyes, the blood from her neck splashing his own face and armor, her soul banished into the locket that she herself gave him on their wedding day. But enough back story. Here’s what he looks like after decades of being warped by the dark magics that made him:

 

Modus

 

Once a slave to he and his wife’s murderer, he is now free, still carrying out his duties. Only now, he has a connection to the very darkness he seeks to destroy, and he exploits his condition whenever he can. I created Modus out of a time when I was mired in self hatred and dread. Anxiety. Basically, he is a supernova contained within an evil shell, a good, holy being wielding the dark and hideous power that was forced upon him. When I drew Modus for the first time, a felt free from a terrible gravity that I had yet to realize I had been carrying.

I have more concept art coming.

Inspiration through Editing

Creation of story requires an active mind and a steady stream of thought, akin to a dam with a tiny hole at the bottom.

It is difficult to simply pull more content out of your ass. When I force myself to add words to my work, the work? It blows. I catch myself being lazy, using too many short sentences, stupid grammar errors, blah blah blah. The process is enough for me to hide from the piece I am working on, be it poem, novel, short story, name it. At present I am working on a new 99 Cent Novella featuring my two favorite characters, Thas and Gruun. At the present, I am adding more content into the story to beef it up. No, not to pad it for length- actual, real writing.

I’ve been dry.

But that’s okay! And I’ll tellya why. See, I thought writer’s block worked one way and one way only. Your ass sits at the computer/typewriter/notebook and you piss, moan, and pout when the story don’t come out. So, that’s the method I’ve been using forever. Only until recently did I discover a way to still work on your piece and fight back against writer’s block.

Years would pass in between spurts of writing or art for me. Years! I just accepted it as part of the creative process, my creative process, but this is bullshit. I don’t have to accept anything I don’t want to, and by sheer luck alone, I’ve found a loophole. When I used to write, I would complete a piece without even thinking about proofreading/editing until I was complete. Then, I would print it all out on hard copy, proofread, and then edit. Fuck THAT.

As of late instead, I found myself driven to read the pieces I have already completed. Before long, I noticed the unconscious tweaking of the content here and there. At first I spurnned myself, saying that it’s just a minor adjustment and I should wait until I am finished with the piece. That may have worked at one time, but no longer. Eventually, I just said fuck it, and started to edit and proofread all my work before I had finished it, and I stopped printing out my manuscripts (a task I do not miss).

During the editing session, I found myself generating new ideas about where the story would go, and what was needed to move it forward. I also learned where the language was weak, along with countless other weak points. This is helping me shape the story into something I can be proud of. Little did I know that for me, editing generates fresh content in my brain. Why?

My best guess is that maybe editing turns over my ideas inside my head and refreshes them. As I gain more confidence in the finished product, I can write the piece and finish it more quickly, and perhaps produce a result better than my previous method could create.

Hey, your writing process is your own. Everyone had habits and routines, but all I’m trying to say now is don’t get blinded by them. Every once and awhile, try something different, or better yet completely new. You’ll be surprised with how much thinking your brain is capable of.

Concept Art and MORE

Explaining why I’ve been lax in my activity would be boring and egotistical, so I’m going to jump right in and get to stuff people might actually wanna hear.

I’ve been working a lot of the 99 Cent Novella project, in particular focusing on two characters. One, a barbarian half-orc, and the other, a human Warrior Shaman. Anyway, I’ve been writing a novella where these two team up to smack the shit out of a powerful Infernal (picture evil, demon-like creature). Then, on a whim, I decided to get a little artsy fartsy and sketch Gruun’s face:

Gruun.ConceptArt_99CN

No nonsense motherfucker, right? Anyway, he and Thas (the Warrior Shaman) are fighting a being calling itself Sycahiss: a creature that not only has an unsettling appearance, but is also a master of decay, death, and necromancy. It is an Infernal that can tear a hole into our world through the agony and pain of those sacrificed in its name. Like a moth to the flame, the beast is drawn to such profound pain and misery, and when the veil finally pops, Sycahiss takes form as. Well…take a look:

Sikahiss.ConceptArt_99CN

See that little face inside its chest? This Infernal is not as powerful as one might think. Once Sycahiss is ready to enter the material plane, he latches on to a human infant (provided by its cultists) that he keeps inside of himself. Sycahiss draws from the life energy of the child, aging the human without it ever getting any bigger. When the child is used up, Sycahiss must find another, or he will not be able to maintain his corporeal form. Also, his cloak is just a load of bullshit. Here’s a piece of concept art that details one this vile creature’s many captives:

SikahissThrall.ConceptArt_99CN

But that’s not all. Basically, Sycahiss is summoned upon a mass grave. Hundreds upon hundreds of people are tortured, killed, mutilated, and thrown into a large pit by his fanatic cultists, who will eventually add their own bodies to the pile. As Sycahiss emerges into the corporeal realm, he rises up out of the dead, and then rallies these unhallowed creatures to do his every command. Each one is different, but all are savage, mindless, and disease infested- all working as one via telepathic command from Sycahiss. Basically, this Infernal is a miserable and disgusting defiler, searching to spread misery and destroy lives, but unwilling to soil its own hands if unnecessary. Naturally, Thas and Gruun had to stand in its way.

Alright, I think that’s enough for now. I’d like to post some more about the races and creatures of Melias (the world where all my 99 Cent Novellas take place for now), describing what they are, and posting more concept art. I’ve been away from my craft for too long, and I aim to place my heart back where it belongs.