The Minion's War: A Memory

Good ideas really do come when you're in a comfortable bathroom.
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Sometimes I see it. Scenes of a life. A quaint house on a hillside overlooking rolling waves of emerald and gold. The pitter-patter of feet echo through the hillside as they run to me. So precious. They call to me, tugging playfully at my hem,  skipping and pointing at a door. Someone emerges from the way; a woman. The children, ecstatic, run off to the beautiful figure, hugging her legs tightly as they continue to beckon for me. They all shined a light so bright, growing more overwhelming with every step. I can see her face; as a twinge seizes my heart. A slender hand strokes my cheek and supple lips mutter words unheard. I want to ask her to repeat it, but the words are stuck, an acrid taste taking their place. Tears surface within her auburn eyes. My fists clenched hard enough to numb my hands. Why do you cry? Who are you? Do I know you? Why does it hurt? I find myself farther away. I want to turn back, but something keeps me. I can hear cries as I depart. Further and further away, slowly being consumed by the blinding light. I cannot hear. I cannot see. I cannot feel. Nothingness. Except a longing. I hear a voice stained with longing and, as always, brings the familiar twisting pain to my heart. Yes, I know this one: "Minions have spawned."

Juxtapose: Part 1

This is something I wrote a while ago, but never posted it. It's a rewrite of something I found in a journal from many MANY moons ago. I'm talking that stage when all you wear is black and listen to grunge metal and old  school hip hop. Regardless the nostalgia got me.
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I was 18 when the draft finally grabbed me. In this country, Metahlia, there is a constant need of soldiers to fuel the cabinet's age-old bloodlust against their rival, the province of Aseria, and they grab us ripe the millisecond we hit adulthood. Thousands of young men and women are funneled into the military against their will to serve a minimum of two years, while unfortunately very few make it out. To survive was to win, and during those battles you had no insurance, but to pray that Fate herself that she had you within her reach. When I was 16 the military had made an appeal to the public; They claimed they had found a way to end the bloodshed, a way to quell the fighting and the endless deaths, and offered a deal during a press conference: any who joined their new recruit program would only have a single year of service and be granted wartime draft immunity thereafter. Several young souls leapt at the opportunity for a shorter service time, but what awaited was unfathomable. The recruitment drive was nothing but a scheme; a filthy facade for a chance to create human weapons. They had created nanomachines that could replicate and take the place of human cells; a living metal.

Journal Entries from a Scholar: Entry 3

I swear I'm trying to get back onto updating this -_-
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January 25th 21XX

I thought she died, but she only seems to have fallen into a deep sleep as she had suddenly fallen limp while mid-bite into the poor rumpus of a cow carcass. It's strange, however, that even the most savage of beasts can appear peaceful at rest. I've moved her to a cordoned section of my house for when she wakes. She was much lighter than what I expected, especially considering how much she ate. Maybe this whole ordeal is finally taking its toll on my sanity, but she definitely seems to have grown since yesterday.

The Minion's War: Part 3 - Caster

Been a while since I posted. I'm alive...sort of.
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Nashor. That name floated among us after the sinister howl traveled across the river's waters. Heavy axes propped upon strengthened shoulders swayed as they marched. A dread hung from the utterance, but even still, Proud were they, the warriors of our front line. Heading our company striding even before the siege, they stood defiant; steadfast. First to battle, only the strongest were chosen, borne to hold axe against the blade, unlike the kind that I am.  A lowly staff is all I was given alongside knowledge of the arcane. It resigns me to the shadows of the mighty and the smoke of the siege. Our cowardice makes us less valuable to the cause. Weak, we stand farthest from the bloodshed, and often last to remain of the fallen. Even so it it was fear that pushed our cause. Fear that pervades every bolt cast to sear those who cannot reach me and protect those who do not see me. Though our brethren will fall; their proud shoulders slump a midst the dust and blood, as the opposing trod harshly upon their pieces. The loud crashes of metal scoring metal echoed across the field as the siege is torn apart, its rider mangled just as his ironclad machine. A blood lust both foreign yet familiar to those who have braved the fields and survived to see beyond the second guardian. Their eyes glowed viciously as they towered over our own front, and just as quick as they had arrived, they had reached us in background. The cowards now stood foremost, standing behind naught but the corpses of the fallen. The bolts frantically cast were merely waived by the vigor of their swings when I was met by a clean cut. Worn wood could not bear the weight of  wrought metal. What should be inside flowed outwards and mingled with the dirt. It was always an unsavory death, a baptism in blood as I closed my eyes and let the core take hold of my soul.

The Minion's War: Part 2 - Tower

This took a while but here it is.  I had some trouble on figuring out how I should go about writing the story but after going to bed early and belong alone with my thoughts some good ideas came out of the scary ones. Srsly don't do it. Being alone with your thoughts is some scary shit.

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There was dust; A hazy storm illuminated by strikes of the axe and blaze of the siege. It fell upon us as we drew near. It stood not a man, or machine, but a devilish construct made for desolation. It sought prey,  appointing the one meant for an end. Energy crackled up the behemoth from its feet,  hissing as it spun up to the apex centering on a charged point before hurtling in a burst of fire. And the shot reached its destination. My armor melts, glowing white hot, scalding flesh underneath. I swung again, my axe crying loud as it landed feebly. The beast waited in repose until the familiar hiss of mana filled the air, it's energy billowing my cloak and spurring the storm as it surged skywards. Blood beneath my gauntlets undermined my grip, denying the axe the privilege to cleave. The sky grew brighter. My axe fell to the ground. I scrambled to retrieve it but my fingers found no familiar metal. My fingers were not found. My flesh crackled as immense heat devoured me. My tabard crumbled, turning into a fine char as it fell from my mangled frame. I writhed. My allies feverishly, stealing glances at their possible future, but I had survived. My brethren carried me on. I was clutched in hands firm and perched upon shoulders as they took care not to let me fall away; There was dust.

Alone Artist: Part 2

I had visited this estate previously. It was a visit which luckily bore witness to the stipulations of my commission. Messages crudely painted onto several relevant surfaces throughout the massive manor served as a guide in lieu of the host. Inscribed on the front door over the weathered gargoyle knocker was a terse message: "Knock thrice, Name and place". Just as I had seen my master do two years ago I followed the prompt. I knocked three times, paused and stated my name, "Hello. This is Sean Penn."  I could feel a presence looming behind the door as I continued, "I am from The Lone Atelier for your commission today, Mrs. Dawnseer." As fast as I had finished my introduction, the lock on the door clicked open and the presence dissipated. I reached for the tarnished doorknob and, with a deep sigh and shaky grip, turned and pushed. The weathered wooden door resisted before boisterously creaking open, its loud rasps echoing as it revealed an ominous portal into the quaint house.

The Minion's War - First Wave

So I like to play League of Legends and there's these little minions in it that are just forced to beat the hell out of each other or get killed by some champ. When I'm bored in lane I like to come up with stories for them, this one happened to get out of hand from talking in RaidCall with some teammates. I honestly like doing this so there's probably going to be more.

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Never would I forget their cries. Agonizing screams as beasts tore brethren twain. Again and again; Endlessly.  Shrill cries turned the panicked blood coursing through my veins to ice, unnerving my heart as I clutch sword to breast. Small metal pieces in my coat clinked as we marched. A sudden halt made, the eyes of another was met. Scores of bloodstained hands trembled fiercely. Tears fell as he heaved arms overhead; Those of company, just the same. Booming of cannons cracked the air as the earth trembled under the weight of our charge. Weapons clashed. Promises made hand over hand were stayed by the piercing blade. As I step over the fallen, their precious metals scattered, I am brought closer to my Valhalla. Among the chaos, a new promise is forged blade over blade: I will not die; I will survive. Never would I forget their cries. Agonizing screams as beasts tore brethren twain. Again and again; Endlessly.

Deep in the Black: Part 2

Two years ago I noticed a miasma. Anxiety bubbled whenever my eyes met it, a black cloud pulsing and rolling violently like tempest encompassed me. I had ignored it, but day by day, it grew. I could see an arm, and as another day passed, a leg, until there was a figure. A silhouette hovered within the bubbling nether.

It was heavy, like someone were riding on my shoulders, and made my anxiety worsen to a point at which I could rarely sleep. At night I would lie awake as the cloud loomed ominously overhead, the dark figure floating within like an abhorrent embryo. One night, I was awoken by the gnashing of teeth and an unintelligible chattering. The silhouette writhed viciously, sputtering and shaking violently as it moved. It tore at its face as the gibbering ascended to a howl, the strips of its torn skin fluttered through the air filled with the sounds of manic gibberish, falling into small piles  of dark flesh onto the floor.

As it rent flesh I could see details: two abyss colored eyes, followed by a small nose. The mumbling ceased and the night's silence flooded in to take its place. The figure, placing two fingers beneath its nose, thrust them deep within itself, and wrenched them apart, tearing skin into crooked smile overlaying small white teeth. The whites of the eyes surfaced as two pupils rolled into view circling aberrantly as the cloud contracted, slowly taking form. The black eyes looked towards me as the face twisted into a toothy scowl. A low voice emerged from within it, laced with the same dread that formed the miasma: "Worthless."

[Untitled]

I don't know if I'd continue this, but I certainly enjoyed playing around with the concept. This is what happens when you have too much espresso. Title suggestions are welcome. Sorry for the delay though, been extra busy taking care of my poor little nephew who caught a stomach virus. Stay healthy out there yall!

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A thick spray of blood speckled my overcoat as the large chunk of meat jutted into view. "Sure you don't want any?" a toothy, childish grin spread across her face as she took another bite. "I'm good." I quickly retorted, waving my hand dismissively before gently patting her on the head,  "You should eat. I know you're starving, hmm?" She nuzzled into my hand, purring loudly while she chewed. She always adorably asked me to eat with her, but I just can't bring myself to join her. I hope she doesn't take it personally, I really do love her, but eating flesh just isn't for me.

Journal Entries from a Scholar: Entry 2

January 20th 21XX

It's hungry incessantly; my stores are empty. It ate everything. The butcher eyes me curiously whenever I place an order. A whole cow every two days is too much. I should space my visits more. I wonder why I took it in. Why am I doing this? Research? Duty?  A blind curiosity? No man should leave a child to starve, but what if the child isn't only a child?

Where the Beginning Ends: Part 2

Here's part two after some light proofing. I had some extra time to look over it while they repaired a hole in my roof that's unfortunately infested with ants...
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Her eyes were solid brown, no whites or pupil; Two immensely deep pools of ebony that were a tonal companion to the dark wisps of hair that curtained a part of her face, gracefully falling to her shoulders and down her back. Sparse clothing draped her lithe frame; a torn white blouse, revealing her navel, and tattered brown shorts, covered with rough patchwork as if done by the hand of an amateur seamstress. Her beauty formed an incredible juxtaposition to her attire; a Venus in rags. She stood prominent within the dreadful atmosphere, putting every flower in the field to shame.

She approached without hesitation. Her eyes locked to mine as each footstep drew us closer. Her overwhelming presence wrought the air from my lungs. Her gaze prickling my skin with each pass. An awkward smile gradually crept across her face, seemingly taking delight in my squeamish reaction to the stare down, revealing a grimace of teeth that could rival a bear trap.
   
She circled me, surveying every nuance of my person: my clothes, my hair, my shoes, precisely prodding and touching with an assortment of rough, painful jabs and gentle caresses. Her slender hand reached out and rested on my chest, placed gingerly over my heart as she closed her eyes. Merely seconds had passed before a sudden and violent ejection launching me backwards, tumbling several meters through the flowers, only to roll to a stop by slamming against her, flanking me with an extreme speed. Her curious facade was now a stern expression. Words of an unknown language tumbled forth over her jagged teeth.

Tools of the Trade: PIXELovely

As a new section,"Tools of the Trade" will look at art tools and resources that I utilize during my coursework as an art student at the Ernest G. Welch School of Art and Design at Georgia State University. I'll try to not only include resources that I myself use, but also newer resources that might not have enough exposure as well as including specific art tools and brands that aren't well known or used.

To start off we have PIXELovely - Figure and Gesture Drawing Tool. I was introduced to this website in my freshman year as an art student after asking some of the senior students about the tools that they use when working on their personal projects. PIXELovely is the perfect tool to use for daily sketching practice. The website will let you practice your gestural drawing in timed sessions that are tailored by the options you choose. You'll have a choice of not only the whole body, but  for hands and feet as well as faces and expression practice. If those aren't down your alley they also have an option dedicated to practicing animal figures as well.

The homepage, displaying the four figural drawing options as well as other resources below.

After clicking one of choices they'll take you to the next screen which has a plethora of options to chose from to further tailor your experience. You can chose whether you want nude models, clothed models, or both as well as which gender to be presented. After making that selection you'll choose which kind of session you would like: Standard or Class mode. Standard mode uses a static timer based on the length of time that you chose and is an endless cycle, while Class mode starts slow and quickly picks up the pace cycling for however long you have chosen.

There is an extensive choice of options that are tailored to which session mode you have chosen.

Afterwards they'll begin your session, displaying model pictures of your type on an all black background while notifying you of the amount of time you'll have per image as well as showing the controls over on the left-hand side. The images will automagically cycle when the time indicated is up allowing you to focus entirely on your sketchwork. When your session is over they'll promptly take you back to the website so that may begin another session or continue about your day.

There are previous, pause, forwards, and stop controls on the left that you can use if you wanted to use a particular image that comes up in the rotation. The images also provide the source if you wanted to visit it for more of that particular artists work.

The website also has a forum, yet it is unfortunately rather inactive with the oldest post being a few weeks old the last time I checked. Regardless, PIXELovely is an amazing website to use for an artist that just wants to get some help with their daily practice or even as an external resource for gestural drawing. This is definitely a tool I'll find myself using for quite some time.

PIXELovely: Figure and Gesture Drawing

Journal Entries from a Scholar: Entry 1

I wrote a couple short entries like these on the bus. It gives me something to do since it's an hour long trip for me to GSU and back.
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January 6th 21XX

I was late. It was really cold today. I tried to hurry. My gut still turns at the memory, the sound of teeth scraping bone and it's lips smacking loudly in the background.  An entire family is gone. All of them. Why was I late? God, why? I tried so hard - I tried. Why would you do this? Why would you create such a thing? Why did I take it home with me?

Alone Artist: Part 1

I've decided to just work on a seperate story each day, helps keep the mind fresh and the eyes sharp and etc. etc. cosmic wise saying
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"1416 Townsend Road" was  poorly written across the crumbled and slightly damp memo fished from my pocket. That was the location of today's commission. It was only two train stops and a short walk from our atelier and in a relatively safe neighborhood so I took a little more time with my preparations. I arrived a later than specified, but the client, one who had been a repeat customer for the past five years, was known to be very merciful and graceful, yet a mysterious individual; merciful being a rare quality when compared to some of our previous clientele. No one had seen this client, only through the multitude of portraiture that hung within the halls of that dilapidated Victorian house could one obtain a glimpse at what would be an immaculate beauty in person. I had been to this estate only once before, roughly two years ago in the beginning of my apprenticeship. My teacher had decided it would be good for me to see how the commission work of the atelier was performed so I would follow her coattail, toting all the supplies as an impromptu pack mule, as we went from place to place. 1416 was the last commission she completed; she now sits at her desk, scrawling out often inexact and crudely written memos to thrust into the unfortunate hands of individuals employed in this dying line of work.

Deep in the Black: Part 1

New material inc
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"Worthless."

It keeps me awake at night. A soft voice that echoes through the darkness. An inescapable whisper that was both gentle and harsh, as mother a admonishing a child, yet wrought with an astringent loathing. I can see her twirling with profound grace as she mouths her jeers, "A waste of life." A grimace of jagged teeth crawled across her face as each of her words turned my heart into a corkscrew.

Where the Beginning Ends: Part 1

This is one of the oldest short stories I've been working on. I've decided to post it in parts so that I can get feedback and edit accordingly. TL;DR something something wacky antics ensue

Edited 3/5/2015
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The sea of golden flowers pulsed in the subtle breeze. Vivid memories tumbled forth from a mental tempest: a blinding yellow flash, gibberish, and small groping hands.  My wallet, cellular phone, and keys were no where to be found. The only belongings on my person were clothes and my watch, which had stopped working, both hands lying dormant over the six. Exuberantly yellow flora swayed methodically in the breeze, illuminated by the sun hanging in an unblemished sky over an even emptier horizon.

An overwhelming sense of dread hung in the air clashing with the sweet scent of flowers.

My blood turned to ice as I caught sight of the two glassy eyes sharply peering from the petals.

It crept slowly at first, quickening its pace before erupting, soaring high into the air forming a silhouette against the looming sun. Yellow petals tossed a strewn by the forceful entrance cascaded down as the being landed, serenading the entrance of the unknown.

A Space to Paste

This is the blog I've been planning for while to post some of my short stories, artwork, and other shenanigans as I create them as well as a place to showcase other amateur artists and tools that I use.

Not much else, but if you like what you see or if you have a critique to give, tell somebody and/or leave a comment.