Tag: fantasy

#21 – Nathaniel Wolverton

| November 26, 2012 | 0 Comments

Even though I’m not sure if those wingy-bits are part of his shirt, he is probably a fae creature of some sort, since his proportions are so weird.  But no one else would form a band, so he has formed his own – parading and trumpeting day and night.
No one has the heart to tell him how bad he is.

26

| November 26, 2012 | 0 Comments

25

| November 25, 2012 | 0 Comments

23

| November 23, 2012 | 0 Comments

Day Fifteen: Vid-helm

| November 23, 2012 | 0 Comments

Just because a girl still lives on tape doesn’t mean she’s a damned hipster, just, archaic.
~Tosche

22

| November 22, 2012 | 1 Comment

Day Fourteen: Scientist Bigfoot P.H.D

| November 21, 2012 | 0 Comments


What more could you want?
~Tosche

No20

| November 20, 2012 | 0 Comments

No19

| November 19, 2012 | 0 Comments

No18

| November 18, 2012 | 0 Comments

No17

| November 17, 2012 | 0 Comments

Day Twelve: Your Man

| November 17, 2012 | 0 Comments

Here comes the man you’ve been waiting for.
~Tosche

11/17/2012: Blisterbelch, Troll Tyrant

| November 17, 2012 | 0 Comments

NAME: Blisterbelch  SPECIES: Mountain Troll  ORIGIN: Jotunheim

Considered small by Jotun standards, in the mountains of Jotunheim, Blisterbelch was a hermit and a scavenger, living off of the spoils of his greater brethren, mountain goats, or the occasional Midgardian foolish enough to climb the path into the land of the giants. After the Red King crisis, Blisterbelch fled the Techno-Sovereignty, taking refuge in Nexus City. There, he found himself to be a true giant, his tall stature, vast strength and fiery breath causing all in his path to tremble with fear. After several travelers found their way into his belly, Circle Securities apprehended Blisterbelch, banishing him to Dark 22, a secret Circle-Tech sponsored prison colony on a Terran compatible world cast in eternal night. There, Blisterbelch quickly rose to power, the other inmates treating him like a king. Those few who don’t end up in his stomach, their bones littering the floor around his “Throne of Skulls.”

Model designed in Sculptris and TinkerCAD (3d print pending….)

https://tinkercad.com/things/gxqWQP8g6rc-blisterbelch-troll-tyrant-wip-30characterschallenge

No16

| November 16, 2012 | 1 Comment

Day 14: Cartsward Major

| November 15, 2012 | 2 Comments

Day 13: Ratch Fillmondo

| November 15, 2012 | 0 Comments

Day Eleven: Ardent Way

| November 15, 2012 | 0 Comments

It had all lead to this, she’d put in a hell of a lot of effort to get this far, the odds had been far out of her favor and yet she had triumphed. A cup of coffee, altogether too hot and sweet, was hers. Triumph.
The darting eyes of waiters under thick black hair and too much pressure from the obnoxious American canoe competition team on table four had not looked her way, the steaming pots of cheap coffee and weak tea poured by without ever diverting in their path to her table but still she had triumphed over the odds. With a cunning combination of feminine charm and obstinate determination that comes from paying a ludicrous fee for the breakfast buffet she had broken through the ranks of waiting staff to her goal: the coffee. Kind of a shame that it tasted so awful.
~Tosche

No15

| November 15, 2012 | 1 Comment

Day Ten: Mystic Oats

| November 15, 2012 | 0 Comments


A hairy hipster with magic in his hips and cosmic weight on his shoulders, blessed with phantasmagorical finger powers and cursed with sweaty socks — unwashed for going on three days now.
~Tosche

No14

| November 14, 2012 | 2 Comments

Day Eight: Rum-Ram Bloodstold

| November 12, 2012 | 0 Comments


Tired old man, tired old Bloodstold, in his throne of imitation leather and sipping a glass of tonic and lemon because he’s all out of gin. His runes are all cast, his deceitfully youthful body ached more and more as the nights when he can get a rise out of his magiks became increasingly few and depressingly mundane.  Rum-Ram Bloodstold, the last of his kind in this world to not have given up and departed for the old soul’s dimension, took another sip of his tart drink and fondled thoughts of when the tarts he had at night weren’t just the liquid or pastry variety.
One more sip, Rum-Ram decided, one more sip and then a slip — into sober sleep.
~Tosche

No11

| November 11, 2012 | 0 Comments

#11 King Dontas Godart.

| November 11, 2012 | 0 Comments

Through out the Kingdom of Elmore youth is praised and celebrated, they are seen as strong and clear of mind. These perceptions of youth are what led to the creation of the Crowning ritual. On the eve of the reigning rulers fortieth naming day a ceremony is held. The first-born son or daughter of the ruler, or if they have no offspring, the first-born child of the noblest family in the kingdom is handed down the crown by the current monarch, whom is then behead by the new ruler as the first act in the changing of the order. It is seen as an honour to part of this ceremony. King Dontas does not feel honoured by the thought.

Dontas has ruled with a kind heart and Iron hand since he had reluctantly beheaded his own father to take his place. His father, Wilhelm had been an honourable and brave man and as such had looked forward to the day when Dontas would take his place, Dontas was just filled with a great sadness to have his father gone.

Now twenty-four years later on the eve of his fortieth name day Dontas has no sons or daughters, his only offspring, Vance had passed in infancy. Dontas lost his wife to the grieve not a year later. He was not ready to hand over his kingdom to the Kulgran family. The house next in line to rule should the house of Godart not be able to. He had a plan, perhaps only a plan a foolish old man would come up with, but a plan none the less.

Dontas entered the grand hall for the Crowning Ritual. He wore full gilded armour made by the greatest Dwarfven blacksmiths in the kingdom and with his late fathers twin axes hung at his side Dontas was a sight to behold. Resting atop is long greying hair was the Crown of Elmore. Sitting in the throne surrounded by his father, mother and siblings was Katto Kulgran, the boy who would be king. The throne is not yours yet, was all Dontas could think as he walked towards him.

Dontas, the Kulgran family and the royal high priest where the only people in the hall. They only people allowed by right to be present during the final acts of the ceremony.

The Kulgrans grinned as Dontas took a knee in front of the fifteen-year-old Katto.

“Hand me my crown old man” spat Katto. The other Kulgrans laughed at this. They had been greedily waiting since Vance had passed to take the crown.

It was now or never. Dontas took one last look at Katto.

“I shall see you soon boy” Dontas whispered as he pulled the shimmering blue vial from a pouch at his waist.

Before anyone could react the vial had smashed on the floor, a massive cloud of blue smoke swirled the room, in an instant and with a sound like the in take of breathe before a leap the smoke vanished. As had Dontas.

As Dontas blinked his eyes open letting them adjust to the searing sunlight beating down on him. He stood in the desert; on the horizon was the great city of Saal, the city seemed to pulsate as the heat rose from the desert floor.

Dontas was a long way from Elmore, but all he could think of was his return, and the army of foreign warriors he would bring with him to keep the throne that truly belonged to young prince Vance.

No10

| November 10, 2012 | 3 Comments

DAY 3: La Fantasma de los Perros

| November 9, 2012 | 1 Comment

In 1976 the government of Isabél Perón was overthrown through a military coup, and General Rafael Videla established a military junta. Thus began a particularly dark period in Argentina’s so called “Dirty War”. The new far-right regime instigated a period of overall chaos wherein thousands of suspected “subversives” and left-wing sympathizers were kidnapped, tortured, or assassinated at the hands of the government’s “security forces” and roving right-wing death squads in a self-termed “National Reorganization Process”. Young or newborn children were commonly taken away from their mothers in various state-sponsored concentration camps and redistributed to couples affiliated with the regime in order to mitigate the proliferation of subversive ideas. While many of those captured were in fact members of militant left-wing rebel militias, the “Dirty War” was just as much a witch hunt wherein thousands of victims were indeed innocent.
While many of the mysteries surrounding the so called “Desaparecidos” (The Disappeared or Vanished) were revealed upon the instatement of a democratic government in 1983, little is known, or discussed for that matter, about the true nature of “Nuestra Fantasma de los Perros”. While accounts from eyewitnesses are sparse, the legend was very prevalent in the low income (and often socialist sympathizing) barrios of Buenos Aires, Rosario, Corrientes and Córdoba. Descriptions of a petite woman of native descent, wearing a worn, dark stained gray cloak, and a pristine white, flower-pattern dress underneath were prevalent amongst the many rumors circulating in the populace. She was always accompanied by at least 4 stray dogs—though the number was said to grow with every kidnapping that occurred. It was rumored that her canine followers obeyed her through a dark aura which seemed to emanate from her hands. Several Death squad soldiers would admit years later that during a run in with “La Perra” (lit. “Bitch”) the eyes of her dogs would cloud with what appeared to be smoking tar immediately prior to an attack. The gruesome visages of the would-be abductors and assassins resulted in a great drop in recruitment for the death squads, and had a profound protective effect on those neighborhoods where the woman had shown up. While superstitious citizens offered scraps of meat and bread on their doorsteps at night as a plea to the woman and her companions for protection, the president himself issued several city wide dog-hunts in an effort to curtail the threat of this “Perónist vigilante”. The hunts were called off very quickly due to a mysterious absence of all dogs during the hunts. The loss of a dozen more men to unknown causes also frightened many of the hunters from ever searching in the first place.
Since the woman never spoke or appeared for more than minutes at a time, her origins remain unknown. Some believe she is the restless spirit of a Mapuche shaman seeking revenge on the ancestors of European settlers. Many of the largely Catholic populace viewed her as a wrathful incarnation of the Virgin Mary and a herald of the end-times. The last recorded account of “La Fantasma” came from Cristina Silviatore, the wife of Marcos Silviatore, a prominent lieutenant in the Argentine Anti-Communist Alliance, who reported a cacophony of barking outside of her home. Stepping out to inspect the commotion she caught a glimpse of a cloaked figure staring mournfully into her daughter’s bedroom window. The figure vanished quickly having noticed Cristina, and the dogs subsequently fell silent. After failing to conceive on their own, Marcos had brought the child home one evening in 1976, claiming to have just finalized the adoption papers at a nearby orphanage. As hard as she would try to convince herself that what she had seen was just a trick of the mind, she was never able to look at “daughter” the same way again.

Day Six: Amorveous (Amy)

| November 9, 2012 | 0 Comments

Two minutes, that was quick, indeed — a new record. Where once piping hot pudding and melting mountains of ice cream slouched were now faint streaks of creamy, crumbly, residue of dessert and regret. Amy finished polishing the bowl with her tongue — don’t ask where the mouth is — until the, now cool, ceramic surface tasted more of object and less of desire.
This jaunt into flavour country would mean a lot of mirror-gazing but damn, the descent into self doubt was tasty.
~Tosche

No7

| November 7, 2012 | 1 Comment

#7 Wisp(s)

| November 7, 2012 | 0 Comments

Guiding the unwary by their cuteness!

11/06/2012: Iolanda Jan Lagunov, Human Blue Mage

| November 6, 2012 | 0 Comments

NAME: Iolanda Jan Lagunov  SPECIES: Human  ORIGIN: Realm of Illus

Born to powerful wizard ruling over the Godborn Isles, Iolanda was schooled in the ways of magic from an early age. Possessed of an inquisitive mind, Iolanda spent much of her youth delving deeply into forbidden magics found in the ruins scattered throughout the islands of her father’s realm. After finding an ancient and powerful spell capable of tearing a hole in the fabric of space, Iolanda, heedless of the warnings of her peers, entered the mysterious rift. After a harrowing journey through the Multiverse, Iolanda found herself in Nexus City where she was taken in by the Academy of Arcane Studies. Within several years, Iolanda became one of the highest ranking Blue Mages within the institution. Her mastery of summoning and mixing of spells and natural chemistry has earned her high honors with the Arch Magi and, there are rumors that she is being groomed to enter their ranks when a seat becomes vacant.

Model designed in TinkerCAD (3d print pending….)

https://tinkercad.com/things/cA1t2ND4PEr-iolanda-jan-lagunov-human-blue-mage-30characterschallenge

No6

| November 6, 2012 | 1 Comment

Day Five: Bodey Socksmon

| November 6, 2012 | 0 Comments

Scruffy. Itchy skin under tight tufts of fur. Exasperated, exhausted, extinguished. With a yawn he is all these things and yet as he pulls up a cup, burgeoning on boiling hot, to his mouth and tips in a hot and sweet morning elixir, wipes from his mouth the sticky residue and caffeinated skin, he is for a moment none of these things. He ponders his first conscious thought since he and the sun rose — to shit or shave — and his day is begun.
~Tosche