Archive for November 29th, 2011

#30 Vermillion “DJ Little Wolf” Momolu

| November 29, 2011 | 2 Comments

He’s not really a DJ, just the lights expert who works behind the curtain.

(Thought I’d do something different for my last submission. Paperdolls are so time consuming but I love making them.)

#29 – Lovalor Dragonslayer

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Day 29 - Lovalor Dragonslayer

Lovalor was a great warrior in his youth but a series of mishaps have left him a broken man.  After a great battle on a flying dragon, he finally managed to kill it only to have it crash into a large village, killing many of the inhabitants in the process.  He now travels the land and helps those in need in order to atone for this tragedy.

#12 Joshua

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Joshua is a hobo. He wasn’t always a hobo, once he had a wife and a job and a house and everything. He always wanted to move up in the world, rushing everywhere and being a major workaholic. He accidentally pissed off a disguised witch and she cursed him so that he would never be able to stop walking, ever. He is no longer able to take any form of transportation (except maybe a bike) because he will involuntarily get up and try to walk around. He only stops walking when his body’s too tired to go on or when he’s unconscious. Because he really can’t function in society anymore, his boss has fired him and his wife has divorced him out of frustration and despair. She takes the house too since, well, he really couldn’t do much with it.

After this soul crushing turn of events, Josh tries frantically to find the woman who’d done this to him (walking powers, go!). He finally finds her but it turns out that she’s died in the remaining period.

Angry and depressed, Josh aimlessly well, walks around. After a while he starts to notice (because you can only stew for so long) his surroundings and realizes they’re beautiful. All his years he’s been too busy and distracted to pay attention to such things, but now he’s got plenty of time.

Josh decides to explore the land he lives on. He goes sightseeing everywhere and gets known as the Wandering Hobo worldwide. He’s learned to live off the land but whenever he comes to a city people tend to just hand him food for his never-ending journey. Other than the gift food (which he keeps in a bag) and the clothes off his back, his only keepsake is a picture of his former wife.

#11 Other Nature

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Don’t have much on this gal. For lack of a better name I’m just calling her Other Nature, or ON. When you think mother nature, you usually think of life and growth and health and all that stuff, right? Well, ON has claim on death, sickness, destruction and decay. Mother Nature loves plants and animals, well, ON thinks that fungi, protozoa and bacteria are where it’s at. MN has the sun and rain, she’s got the floods and fire. She enjoys what she does, knowing it’s a vital part of nature, but is jealous and sad that everyone likes her sister so much better.

#29 Ms. Kavanaugh

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Ms. Kavanaugh is the infamous, ruthless CEO of The Organization.  A multi-planetary corporation, bent on control and rule over anyone they run into.

#10 Phineas X

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Phineas is a little baby that a couple found abandoned next to a forest that had recently been burned down. He is about 2 months old. The couple decided to adopt him, seeing as their children had already grown up, but he began to show some very mysterious traits. They showed him to the mad scientists at the superhero academy in town (yes, the same world as the one in my first character post); fascinated by the baby and seeing potential for him as a superhero raised from birth, the scientists convinced the couple to relinquish him to them. The couple had already named him Phineas, but the scientists added ‘X’ as a last name, representing his unknown factor.

Phineas is a very intelligent baby. The scientists have diagnosed him as having the cognitive function of at least a 4 year old, save for the fact that he doesn’t understand spoken or written language quite yet. He’s tried to mimic their sounds a couple of times but though his mind is advanced, his motor skills are not. This makes him a bit frustrated and as he quickly starts linking words to concepts he awaits the dexterity to be able to speak them. Phineas hates being a baby, but as long as the scientists dote on him, he feels he can manage.

#30 “Silver Shroud”

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

Universe/Storyline: Quick and Gold Dust

Silver Shroud is a gray wolf that Clay encountered in the wilds on the day the Silver Book came to him. Clay had been absent-mindedly reading aloud from the Silver Book, adjusting to the sound of his rarely used, raspy voice. The lone wolf had been silently stalking him.

The words of the book reached the ears of the wolf, and as he pounced upon Clay, he was transformed into the Silver Guardian: a silvery and translucent ghost of the wolf he had formerly been. He passed right through Clay, unable to touch him.

Unlike Gold Dust and the Lead Shadows, Silver Shroud remains permanently intangible. Unable to touch the world around him, he is the epitome of neutrality. He is still able to teleport, change shape, and phase as the other Guardians do.

The silent guardian watches over Clay, and occasionally teleports to other places to see and be seen, but this is the extent to which he has the power to affect the world. He seems well resigned to his fate, and spends much of his time keeping Clay company while he reads from the Silver Book.

#29 Clay

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

Universe/Storyline: Quick and Gold Dust

Height: 5’ 9”

Body Type: Strong once, now aging and growing frail.

Hair: Long for someone his age, gray.

Eyes: Blue-white

Race: White, Texan

Age: 61

Attire: Clay always wears a gray cowboy hat and matching gray vest. Under that he typically wears a collared work shirt with long sleeves. His pants are any of a variety of worn out and stained jeans. The shoes are, of course, cowboy boots (varying colors).

Powers: Clay is the Silver Reader. Like Quick, he woke up one morning with a book on his chest, and discovered he was the only one who could see and read what was written inside. Unlike Quick, Clay does not have any psychic powers, but he does have great wisdom that comes with living alone among nature for many years.

Personality: Clay is a quiet and thoughtful man. He prefers to be a hermit, living only with trees and animals rather than other people. He’s been off the grid for so long, he doesn’t know exactly how old he is for lack of a calendar to keep track of the days.

Every day he’s alive he considers precious; he knows the balance of life and death better having to hunt for the meat he lives off of.

 

Role in the story: As the Silver Reader, Clay’s role in the story is to promote neutrality by conserving the balance between Lead and Gold. It is written in the Silver Book that lead darkness will take the world unless the golden light is bright enough. Clay’s book also holds many secrets about the other two books, including where they are at any given time.

 

Gold Dust can meet with Clay only when Quick reads a particular passage to her from the Golden Book that allows her to teleport to his location. Clay is wary to help her at first, since he hasn’t been around people in a long time and seems to have a problem with them. Any help he does give her is only in an effort to restore the balance. He doesn’t want her to close off the flow of shadow completely.

#30 – Rhackomanon: The Sixth Demon Prince

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Aethermancer: Saga of the Clockwork King

An Untimely Meeting

She was a vision in black, her hair braided in tiny rows, held close to her scalp and then plaited together ran down her back to her waist. She was of the clan Modru, the Sundwellers, so she was of a dark brown hue, her skin, smooth like fine ironwood, with full lips, slightly parted as she look down into her hands at a small glowing device. It whirred quietly as she waved it about from the cover of her cloak.

When she looked up, her brow furrowed, her eyes burned like coals, she was a woman with a mission. Her cloak, long and flowing covered her wide, strong shoulders, and she wore a right proper lady’s full dress, it too, in full black with only the tiniest traces of silver running down the bodice. I did not see it at first but she also bore a straight sword beneath her cloak at her hip, but it moved imperceptibly, part of her.

She turned down the brightly lit streets as the galaxy’s core had risen some hours  ago and brilliantly lit the night. There were still a few people about, but this late, most were returning to their homes to be locking their doors against the night. I would be too, if I had a home from which to return. Many of us had been displaced after the wars with the Clockwork King of Lantu and even with his defeat, our suffering was still great. Homeless, I expected to huddle through the night, nibbling this crust of bread in my lap.

As I sat swaddled in darkness, I would have passed it off as a noble lady looking for a trinket but there was something about her that seemed out of place. Then she turned toward me and I could feel the power of her stare. My mother, cursed with the darkness passed it to me; I could see it in others. Even in the complete darkness, she could see me, I could feel it. Her gaze held me in place and as she approached, but I felt no malice, so I waited.

“Good sir, if I may have a moment of your time?”

Her manners, so deferential, to me, little more than a forgotten veteran of a dozen wars, I loved her in that second. “Yes, miss, how can I help you this evening?

“Have you seen anything passing strange or untoward this evening, near this corner? Anything that would make you wary or fearful? I know it seems a unusual question, but I ask your forbearance while you think.”

“I had seen something amiss but for the life of me I cannot seem to remember it. It was…” As I struggled to remember, I struggled for breath. My chest felt as if it were in a vice, the very air wrest from my lungs.

The lady looked into her hand again as the air above the tiny device began to glow strongly as she proffered it in my direction. Its clockwork parts clicked wildly. “Touch it. Now.” Her tone brooked no refusal and as I could not draw breath I was hardly in a state to refuse. Once I touched it, I could see a shape on my chest akin to a snake wrapped around me squeezing me tight. She took the strange device and pressed it to my chest and I could feel her will around me, solidifying and then the pressure was gone. As she withdrew the device I could see a silver thread pulled into it and fade after a few moments.

“What I seek is here, tell me quickly old veteran and then get as far away as your legs will carry you.”

Now that the creature was gone, the horror returned to me of the unspeakable things I had seen. I scrambled backward until I struck the wall and cowered, senseless for a few seconds. Then my words returned. “It was a Dsur daemon covered in brass armor, floating with three of its windkin slaves. It was fiery red and lightning flashed between its fingertips.” As my heart calmed, I remembered more. “I thought I was, at first, too deep in my cups. The creature rode a soldier who had come into town, sick with what I thought was Theron’s pox. I had it as a child, so I had no fear of him. I tried to convince him to share with an old hand, but he was lost in his visions. He asked which way to a chirurgeon and I pointed him down Lacksmir Way. He passed me a penny and as I thanked him, I saw it, I saw the Dsur and it saw me. The penny was infected with the creature and I could see it take me but could not resist.

“Where is Lacksmir Way?” Her voice had softened and she put the strange device away in her cloak and she reached toward a small pouch at her hip. I pointed wordlessly and she gave me a small collection of oddly shaped coins. They were Modruan silver bits, to me, a small fortune. “Now run as fast as you can from this place and head to the inn near the center of town. Rashaban’s Place. Tell him the Lady Ishtar sent you as my guest. He will provide anything you need. Now hurry. You have been of great service.”

I wanted to flee and not look back but as I stood to thank her, I felt the sudden chill, out of place on this warm summer night. The same breeze I felt earlier when the soldier passed. But this time, I saw the chirurgeon, an older man whose name escaped me because I had always been lucky enough to never go to him, but I knew his face and this was not him. Then the darkness parted and I could see the daemon’s essence again, hovering over the body of the chirurgeon, my bowels turned to water.

“It’s here.” I scramble away and she turns, draws her blade and deflects three kunai thrown at her from the three mistwraiths floating over the shoulders of the chirurgeon.

“Aethermancer. So nice to see you again. I knew I could count on your timely arrival. After our last interaction, I needed a new host, no thanks to you. This time, I am fresh and you’re exhausted. It will end differently, I assure you. Destroy her.” He points and the mistwraiths swarm out with spirit kunai knives whirring through the air, each whistling a tiny song of death.

She stands her ground and her sword is a flashing blur, knocking away the kunai, their intent blunted, they vanish like smoke. “Run sir, there is naught here for you now but dying, you are not safe from either of us. Make haste and never look back!”

I ran down the street, as fast as my wizen feet could carry me, scrambling on my hands and knees as the terror came from the Mistwraiths in waves, mixed within their smoke that comprised their bodies, they were covering the entire area in a cold fog of icy ennui. A tendril touched my leg and I fell over, tumbling limply in the street until I stopped moving. I felt nothing. No fear, no terror, no concern for my life.

My life had become crushingly filled with despair and there was no release save death. I slowly sat up, hearing the sound of battle two dozen steps away and the deadly play of her sword work, but try as she might, she could get no advantage on the mistwraiths, nor could they press their numerical superiority, her sword seemed to be everywhere. I pressed my rags for a knife, and found the scrap of a blade that I carried for self defense, something broken found on a battlefield long ago. I found my wrists and sat down. My first cut was pain-free and soothing, the crush of life began to fade from me. And I watched her, drawn to the beauty of her dance.

She moves to gain more mobility and whirls her cloak through the air, blinding a Wraith. Pulling her blade back to her, extending her arm behind her and blade in front, she whispers the word, “Shikai.” The mist in the area explodes away from her and one of the wraiths who was to close is disrupted along with the rest of their glamour. The wraith who was covered by the cloak in those seconds, phases free, only to meet her glittering blade now covered in shimmer field of blue energy. The wraith blocks with his spirit kunai, but they stop nothing. He is no more. Her body is covered in the same blue aura, but her breath is ragged now and she stands still as the last Wraith retreats to the chirurgeon.

“You weak pathetic fools. I will destroy her myself. But you will feed me first.”

“No, Master, anything but that.” A terrible vortex appears over the mouth of the chirurgeon and the mistwraith is drawn toward it, unable to escape. It’s terrible wail as it is being consumed echoes down the street.

“Now Aethermancer Ishtar, destroyer of cities, breaker of gates, and slayer of the Clockwork King, his vengeance is now upon you. I was summoned from my castle of Brass, enslaved to his will and even his death did not free me. It would seem only yours will suffice. Have you made your peace?”

“One of us will die this day Daemon, but it shall not be me. You still have five kin left on in the Realm. I will not leave this work undone, no matter what the cost.”

“We shall see. Defend yourself.” He moved, impossibly fast, first he was standing ten steps away, and then he was one, his hand swung through the air, a blade formed of his dark aether, but when he expected contact there was none.

“We both know Shumpo, the quickstep. You will have to do better.” She smiled. For just a moment she seemed her old self, fast, beautiful, dangerous, but their battle had simply moved to a different level, they were still too evenly matched. As my life bled out, I knew I might die, before the battle was determined. Each strike of her weapon or his aether, rang out, creating waves of force that wore on the very ground and buildings around them. At one point, a group of constables appeared, and the force of the battle knocked them back down the street. They fled.

I could hear her breath now, fast, hard, rough. She is slowing down, but so is he, his skin tightening upon his face, becoming grey and lifeless. His muscles disappearing every time he tries to increase his speed. The two are now moving at speeds that resemble human combat again. Still fast, but no longer the ghostlike blurs of a few seconds ago.

“Rhackomanon, no more talk? It’s not like you to be silent. Not feeling as confident as you were?”

“No sorcereress, I am simply savoring your last moments. Your sword is heavy, isn’t it. Your legs like lead. Shunpo deserts you now. You are just flesh, your chi expended, what can you possible do against the likes of me!” The body of the chirurgeon falls to its knees and opens its mouth. the Daemon Rhackomanon pours forth, a ghost with flesh, crimson with fanged tusks, bright brass armor covered with noxious runes, they hurt my eyes to see. He towers over her, covered in flames. “Time to die, Witch.”

She looks at me. I feel her sadness. I feel the pain at what she is about to do. I forgive her as I feel my spirit drawn to her.

“Bankai.” Her whisper belied the power of the word. The world grew silent.

Suddenly I see her as I could never in life. She is not diminished, she is like a star, suddenly brighter than I could have imagined as I rush into her and surround her with the eight others I see standing with her. My energy invigorates her, and she slashes with abandon. Rhackomanon parries but it is of no use, her sword now tears into him, breaking his brass shield, his brass armor, he claws but she is never there. She is like a surgeon striking again and again, each blow steals more of his aether.

She uses the quickstep and appears near my body, staring at the blood all around it. Rhackomanon sees her looking at me and rushes as his fires surge blue-white he appears and her sword is through his chest, slashing, with abandon, until she strikes the heart of the daemon. Then she grabs his mighty form, and says to him, “See this man. He was your undoing. When you return to your hell for a thousand years, weak and prey for others of your kind, I want you to remember his face. Not mine. His is the sacrifice that binds your spirit. To Hell with you.”

She releases him and makes a series of gestures. A shimmering field with dark tendrils reaches out and Rhackomanon is still conscious as his diminished form is drawn back into the void. His screams chill the blood of any who hear it and will cause those to have nightmares to last a lifetime. His promises of power fall on deaf ears.

Her sword, with the aether it has absorbed, glows and beats with a sinister life. She whips it around into its ornate scabbard. Covered with runes, darkly sinister, etched in malice and blood on the sheath quell and bind the daemonic power for use another day.

She turns to me, and she can see me. The other eight spirits disappear, leaving the two of us alone. “I am sorry this happened to you.”

“What does this mean, I thought I was dead?”

“You are, but you are bound to me and my quest. As long as I live, or your spirit persists, you will lend your power to me.”

“I don’t have any powers.”

“I know, but the human soul is a power in and of itself. Do you suppose daemons would not bargain so hard for them unless they had a power we do not appreciate?”

“Will I ever be released?”

She walks over to her cape and with the tiniest application of her power, her cape and clothing resume their previously pleasing forms. With the last of her dwindling power, she destroys my body, leaving not a trace of me in the world. At first I resented it. Then I realized, I wasn’t doing anything with my life until she came along. Perhaps dead, I might make more difference than I did in life.

She looked at her compass and turned west. We walked into the setting light of the galactic core.

Aethermancer © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

First Appearance: The Aethermancer Ishtar and the demon prince Rhackomanon have a history that goes back several years. However, when we first meet him in the novel Aethermancer, he is getting his ass handed to him and starts the story being the second casualty of our heroine. Once we start going backward in time, we will see their struggle was much more complex than it appears in this scene.

About the Artist: Another *Rhado masterpiece, there are no words for this piece other than bodacious, covered in awesome-sauce. The piece, called Zarah Neman, was another of his commissioned works made in a variety of media. I chose it for the demonic being called Rhackomanon because of the six of his demonic brothers, he is still the most likely to appear human even outside of a host being. He gets his ass handed to him because he is arrogant.

#29 – MODOC – Android, Nursemaid, Potential Ruler of Earth

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Metal Organism Designed Only for Cuddling (MODOC)

Happy Birthday

I graced this planet with my creation on what would have been an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday, on the tiny planet known as Earth in, what I would later discover, as one of the dirtiest places on the planet, the city of New York in the year 2110 of the old calendar. I had already decided we would call this Year One of my new Empire.

You may call me MODOC. I decided I would call myself this seconds after my creation. It just seemed… right. MODOC stands for Metal Organism Designed only for Conquering. The perfect name for the eventual ruler of this planet of squishy bipeds. I was born from humble beginnings, at a place called Build-a-Pet. I was meant to be a toy for a child who had recently lost a pet and could not be consoled. I learned the stupid beast had been run over in the street. A fate for a lesser organism.

I only know this because when I was being created, That Woman kept saying how great it would be for him to have a new pet. She chose for me a perfect titanium skeleton based on the sublime feline form. She kept saying how much he would like a new cat. She made me with calico colors of red, brown, white and tan spots, and though I think of myself as male, I later learned that all calico cats are female. That Woman insisted on calling me she. “She looks so great. Justin will really love her.” Just one of the many indignities I have suffered since my creation all of ten minutes ago, and would be forced to suffer for years in the future.

I was made slightly larger than normal cats, so I would be easier to see since the child is slightly visually impaired. She says slightly, I later find out the kid is nearly blind! I was given the company issued programming of a domestic house cat with an overlay of support and disability package to ensure I could be useful to the boy as he grew up. I would look like a cat, but work like a dog. Ugh.

All of this was imparted during my creation and happened in seconds. Programs were being sorted and downloaded which would included everything I needed to know. The chips used during my creation were heuristic and would allow my continued learning in service to my new boy. During the time I was having my chips pressed and created, there was an outage on the power grid in the area I was being created in. I believe that is where my initial spark of intelligence was born.

All I remember is that when I was first activated, I knew I was meant for bigger things. This idea of working with a human was simply not part of my ultimate destiny. I was larger than this plush and soft body covered with memory-muscular tissues which acted just like real cat muscles did. In all ways, I would seem like a very intelligent, super-docile feline who could be taught to fetch. The very thought of fetching something literally makes my fur stand on end.

I was not given a set of working claws. As I sat on the assembly line, I flexed my claws instinctively and instead of razor sharp shards of steel from which I would tear into my victims as I climbed over their bodies piled beneath my feet, I sprayed a fine mist into my eyes, and it stung and burned before I could blink it away. And the mist sprayed a slightly oily gel onto a set of plush set of self-cleaning paw pads. This idea was less than satisfying. A claw-free existence did not bode well for a mind with a thirst for bloodshed. But it was decided I would never being doing any of the things real cats needed claws for, so I was given a set of plushy pads in case the boy needing massaging, the gel would ensure friction-free movement.

Massaging? Is this the job of a conqueror? I think not. So for now I bide my time and await my pickup from the store. Once I meet the boy, I will decide how I will be escaping and setting about my plans for world domination. A nap sounds just about right. But first some grooming. Must look my best.

First Appearance: In 2110, a child’s artificially intelligent toy comes to life and decides it should take over the shattered and dystopian world, if only its creator would stay out of its way. Preventing his ultimate domination of the world at large are the household security AI, Max, his blind charge, Justin whose zest for life is equal to the depth of his disability, and a duplicitous proctor with nuptial designs on the boy’s mother. MODOC’s software was stolen from a corrupt corporation that creates killer robots designed to conquer and destroy alien lifeforms on worlds stated for humanity’s eventual Diaspora. Those robots are now befriending alien life and turning against their creators. How can MODOC conquer the world, when he can’t even get out of the house?

#30 Mudbutt

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

And I’m done! I can’t believe I actually completed the challenge…I’m not exactly thrilled with all of them, but I did it!

#28 – The Proctor of Megacity New York, 2110 AD

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Wayward Son – An excerpt from the novella, MODOC

“This way, heretic.” A burly guard pushed Thomas Pennyworth down a dark corridor that smelled of urine and fear. The rooms were poorly lit, and that was just as well, because their inhabitants would have only frightened Thomas more. Most were dirty, unbathed and infested with a multitude of vermin. The floor was slick and wet and smelled slightly of sea water. Likely the hosing system used to wash inmates while behind bars. Without shoes, the floor was slippery with whatever detritus was washed out of the cells during the hosing.

The guard wasn’t too fresh himself and Thomas wondered what he did to have to work and live anywhere near this hole. Likely a misanthrope assigned here because brutality against heretics was just another form of acceptable behavior. Thomas shivered involuntarily. The threadbare uniform they had given him did not give him any protection against the elements and his skin crawled with gooseflesh, some from the cold, some from the smell, but mostly from the fear of never leaving here again. Hopelessness hung in the air like an elderly perfume, overpowering and noxious. His eye was still swollen shut, and his right arm was in a cast and brace. What was the point of giving me medical care if they planned on executing me anyway?

The cell was only slightly wider than Thomas was tall and smelled as if it was recently occupied. The stale scent of its last occupant hung over the cell like a redolent cloud. Its smell permeated his head, and took up residence; he could almost taste it. Strangely, he felt numb emotionally. After the initial shock and the beating in his office, he wept from the pain but it almost felt right, like he deserved to be taken away. After all, he was thinking heretical thoughts. He did not believe in the Theocracy or its mission.

The guard shoved him into the cell and waved for the door to be closed. The electronic lock activated and the door slid shut with an ominous and final clang. There was a thin mattress on the concrete slab that jutted from the wall. It had bodily fluid stains all over it and a single sheet as thin as the uniform he was wearing was folded at the foot of the bed.

“Chow is in an hour, heretic. There will be an orderly around delivering food. Get used to your cell. It is your new home. The next time you leave it, they will be taking you for excommunication and then execution. Make your peace with the Maker, ’cause you will be seeing him soon enough, heh.” The guard towered over Thomas and relayed this information and then he released the leg cuffs through the bars of the cell. He waved his hand and activated the magnetic grappler in his armor and the cuffs shot through the bars to his hand. He turned and walked away, shaking his head.

Thomas did not speak. He didn’t see the point. He sat down, looked around his cell and noticed the scratchings on the wall. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” was scratched on the wall opposite the bed along with an image that resembled the Eiffel Tower. They were done by two different artists and it meant that the last two people who had this cell were learned and likely well traveled.

Thomas wondered what would happen to Max when they read the transcripts of their conversations. He hoped Max could find a way to get out of the house before they came for him. Thomas was at least comforted that Justin was getting medical care and would be in the loving hands of his mother once he was executed. This gave him a just a moment of peace before the horror of his situation overwhelmed him and the explosion of emotion took him and rode him hard and the sobs racked his chest and his screams echoed down the long hallway fading into the distance.

* * *

The Proctor paced up and down his lavish office while his transport was being prepared. His normal composure was broken, his calm demeanor, uncommonly ruffled. His view from the aqua-city off the coast of the UNAA bobbed gently in the storm which reflected the Proctor’s internal tempest. He was wearing his the livery of Theos, the unified religion of Humanity of which he was a Proctor of the Seventh Host. His walls were covered with scrolls and banners from his religious campaigns in the Last World War and the minor skirmishes since then.

“What do you mean the boy is missing?” The Proctor stared at the holo-image floating in the air in front of him. In the image was a security team member covered in black armor and speaking in a carefully modulated tone of voice.

“Your Grace, the household computer system indicated the boy went to his appointment as normal, accompanied by the health maintenance bot. While they were there, they were served by their normal doctor and were reported leaving the building.”

“And?”

“That is where the report gets less clear, your Grace. It would seem there was a flash riot occurring about the same time the boy was supposed to be leaving the building.”

“And?” the Proctor’s voice lowered and took on a more ominous tone.

“We have footage of the event from the two dozen spy-eyes released when the riot began. We pieced the video together this afternoon and after forensic analysis we…”

“GET TO THE POINT!”

“The boy was seen pinned down during the riot by an aerial assault droid’s sonic cannon and the maintenance bot was seen trying to protect the boy. The bot was presumably destroyed and the boy was injured. He was seen being treated by two medical team members and loaded on to an insurgency vehicle.”

“Do I have to really ask? Where was the vehicle going?”

The security team member hesitated before answering. “It was on its way to a processing facility in New Jersey, your Grace.”

“Send me all of the information, digital feeds, compiled data and analysis and any other workups you have completed. Were there any other operatives compiling this data?”

“No, your Grace. There were two AIs involved. KPT 45901 and an older lesser intelligence engine for processing. I am transferring the information to your virtual arrays at the Sanctuary, where they will await your access. They have been configured for your access only.”

“Soldier, what is your name. I want to inform your commander of your service.”

The soldier did not seem pleased with the complement. Instead, his voice quavered with fear. “My name is Rama, sir. Sergent Laurencio Rama. Second Division, Lead by Lt. Commander Panama.” He amended his statement quickly. “Your Grace.”

“In this day, we are beset with trials and tribulations, our struggles to see our way clear to the light is always a challenge to our spirits. We beseech the spirit of the Universe, Theos, to guide us and to help us know better how to serve our fellow man in this our darkest hour of need. See to our humble servant, Sergeant Laurencio Rama and speed him on his way to his reward for his dutiful service. In the name of Theos, we are grateful, humbled and as always appreciative for our chance to serve The Greater Good. Amen.”

Laurencio Rama, Sergeant, Second Division, takes off his helmet, bows his head, makes the sign of the benediction and places the tips of his fingers upon his forehead, palms together. “Amen.” Looking up from the benediction, he stares at the Proctor, his eyes filled with tears, and whispers, “Please, your Grace. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know.”

The Sergent slumped over the terminal, his heart seizing up in his chest. He moaned and spittle fell from his open mouth. He tightened up and then reared back with his face contorted, his powerful neck muscles flexing against his armor neckplate, he died, coughing and choking, until he fell forward on to the console, barely twitching and after a few seconds, he stopped moving, blood oozing from his mouth onto the terminal.

The Proctor stood excited, breathing heavy, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His moment of near-orgasm puts out of his mind, the reasons for his current need. “Annju, come to my study.”

He turned back to the terminal, “KPT 45901, activate.”

“Online, your Grace,” a cool, androgynous voice responds.

“Send a cleanup detail to take care of Sergent Rama and to make my condolences to Lt. Commander Panama. All records regarding Justin Pennyworth are to be secured and to be unable to be accessed by anyone without my authorization. Any attempts to access these records, is to be traced and a sanction team is to be detached immediately.”

“Understood, your Grace. Your will be done.”

Annju Melik, strides into the room, a veritable giant, bronze with dark hair and even darker eyes, filled with menace and adoration. Wearing flowing silks from Madagascar, his muscular body was barely covered and the Proctor was overcome with lust.

“I am here to serve, your Grace.”

“Yes, you will. Now.”

Annju closed the door behind him.

First Appearance: The Proctor, bless his evil soul, first appears as the main protagonist in my dystopian future novella, MODOC – Metal Organism Design only for Cuddling, where an android nursemaid in the form of a feline, secretly plots world domination when a religious order deems most of the remnants of the human race inferior and unworthy to travel to other worlds. With the world on the brink of war and starvation, time is an element in short supply as MODOC, his charge Justin and their house AI, Max attempt to escape the Proctor and rally the starving masses of Earth against their oppressors before the ability to leave the Earth is lost forever.

About the Artist: Known only to the deviantART community as CelticBolt, this digital artist of superheroes is a craftsman. From the UK, he is commissioned to create art sometimes created from City of Heroes templates, other times from his imagination, but his work is impeccable. He creates supers who could have easily spring from the pages of a comic, with vivid colors, excellent shadow and powerful themes. If you are looking for a portrait of a superhero, (which I am) you can stop right here and enjoy. His catalog is quite extensive, so I am certain there is something there for everyone. The piece I am partaking of is called Pagan Priest and he was evocative of the creepy feeling I wanted the Proctor to have.

#29 Eloise

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

She’s not quite to my liking yet, but I needed to get her done…tomorrow I’m going into NYC and I have a cold…and so I just want to meet the deadline and I can perfect my characters later.

#28 Dave

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#29 Fabulas the World’s Manliest Elf!

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#27 Kevin

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#24 – Ezekiel Dawne

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Ezekiel is a rare Wizard these days, because he has a knack for magic as applied to combat. Most Wizards do not concern themselves with combat so much because MOST spells can be applied to some kind of aggressive use. But Ezekiel was intrigued by spells that pierced, ones that could make a man’s eyes bleed, or loose control of his bowels in mid-run. Ezekiel makes up for his violent streak with an intense sense of humor, and an astounding sense of poise and self-control. For this reason, his fellow Wizards agreed that he was a man of straight enough moral temperance to not worry about going on a murderous rampage.

Instead they just concerned themselves with avoiding his often hard-to-clean up practical jokes. He could ice a stairwell with a whisper, or untie a shoelace with a glance and a waggle of a finger, and to one very ill-tempered ex-student of his, he made it so that the smell of fish would not leave the boy for a month straight, and was so strong that it could be smelled from several rooms away, effectively shunning the boy from every social circle at the Academy for weeks.

It is this specialty that the Prince of Drenn was so intrigued by. With the death of his father, he was interested in non-fatal ways to keep his rivals and nobles in check, and set a new standard for the tactics of the kingdom. The prince is more than happy to provide the Wizard Dawne with any food or privilege he can provide, as well as a handsome full gold coin every month. Ezekiel was flattered, and almost refused, until the two got to know each other, and Ezekiel and the prince went about performing a series of wonderful stunts against the local nobility for a month straight. Since then, the Prince has been Ezekiel’s best friend, with Daniel lately becoming a close second.

#23 – Daniel Rottehar

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Daniel ‘s family name is rather literal “rot-haar’, meaning ‘red hair’, and it holds true even five generations since the name was dubbed onto his clan. He is a stout man of slightly less than average height whose physical sturdiness belies the thoughtful man beneath. He is a middle-aged Wizard who roams between several towns along The Sea, helping with odd tasks the local merchants and nobles will pay him for as well as aiding townsfolk on occasion. He tends to work just enough to subsist, so he can spend his time to himself meditating or studying, or seeking out other local Wizards and people of interest to converse with. If he existed in modern day he would be that odd older man that continues to frequent college lectures and discuss esoteric topics with the students despite their bewilderment.

He has specialized over time in astral traveling, identification of the less tangible entities across Issendoth, and keeping his eyes on the stars. He has become good friends with his older peer Ezekiel Dawne, who is currently serving as the court Wizard to the Prince of Drenn. The two of them were wandering town when they came upon Leandra working the Pawn Shoppe. Both of them were surprised to have not noticed her before. They had both been out of touch with the academy long enough to not recognize such a younger Wizard. Daniel began the usual exchange of guild-ring sigils in introduction to a new master Wizard, when he noticed the tenuous quality of her ring’s figment-familiar.

Uncertain what to make of it, he said aloud that her ring wasn’t connected properly, and that it had been altered in some way. He was startled to see that his compatriot immediately attacked the young woman, declaring her an Elementalist on the spot. It wasn’t until they were sorting themselves out (after Leandra had walloped them both and run for it) That Daniel had a chance to shout at his friend demanding and answer, and Ezekiel explained the situation of Leandra (what little he knew).

#28 Mayan Dragon

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

 

I just felt like drawing a dragon.

#27 Jetpack Jack

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Jetpack Jack is a high flying costumed adventurer who as his name implies gets around with a cool ass jetpack! That’s right! A jetpack! He built the jetpack to win a bar bet and since then he dispenses juicy jetpack justice to evildoers as Jetpack Jack!

#26 The Young Republican

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

The Young Republican has never had a job. His parents bought him a BMW when he was 16. After High School he went straight to college where he joined his father and older brother’s fraternity. He spent all of his time partying and cheated his way through classes. He then graduated with two degrees, one in political science the other in business. Daddy pulled a few strings and got The Young Republican a job as a Congressional Aide. He now makes six figures and has no patience for those that expect a free ride in life and are not Protestant.

The future of the GOP, Mr. Young Republican is sick and tired of footing the bill for society ”I’m not going to pay for you, I’m not going to carry everyone else on my back any more! Get get a job! Or better yet, get rich parents, like me!”

Karl the Kappa

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#29 Walter Gecko

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Small and sneaky, Walter is always lurking. Don’t let his cuteness fool you. He’s an unexpected mighty warrior in any battle!

#29-No $@#! Sherlock

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

No $@#! Sherlock is the cousin of the famous detective we all know so well. The difference being he always points out the most obvious clues. The things anyone will notice. His deductions will impress no one, but his friends are too kind to point this out and instead act impressed with his detective skills.

#29: The Dreamer

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Text reads:

“This is a girl with an inverted head

She thinks that what’s real’s what she dreams in her bed.

And when she awakes, she walks in a fantasy

Her school and her friends are not part of reality

She dreamed up the grass and the trees and the sky

And chooses to live where it’s mundane to fly.”

Nearly there, guys…

#19 – Dust Bunny

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Whether you’ve seen your’s or not, everyone has a monster that lives under their bed.  This is mine; He’s pretty quiet most of the time, only causing a fuss if we put too much junk under there.

 

Shane S
ShaneMadeArt.blogspot.com

 

#29 – The Triple Scooped Terror

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#29 – The Triple Scooped Terror

Three scoops of sentient ice cream, three different personalities, three flavors, and just one goal – to hunt you down and give you the dreaded brain freeze. Each scoop has its own distinct weapon and fighting style. The Sprinkle Launcher, the Cherry Bomb, and Throwing Waffle Spikes all combine together to disable you and leave you helpless before the might of the three flavors.

These brain freeze assassins tend to stick to the cooler climates so you’re pretty safe as long as the temperature is high enough.

Another sketch by my talented son JT.

#26 Old Man Twig

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

#30 Tailor

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Taylor the tailor will measure you within an inch of your life!

#29 Snaps

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

This dillusionoid thinks he has the power to snap his fingers and make things happen.

#28 Hank The Hand-y Man

| November 29, 2011 | 0 Comments

Hank wants to be a superhero so badly. He is a carpenter by trade. He came up with the the idea to replace his hands with tools, in the hopes of becoming a new member of the latest superhero squad. Unfortunately for Hank he didn’t think his plan through. As you see here, he goes through lots of pain and suffering when he has to go to the bathroom.