The Arcadians #2

Enh . . . maybe a little TOO inspired. Twice in one week is no way to set a pace!

The Arcadians #2

I've been inspired.

Well, a little bit, anyway.

This is page 1 of issue number 2 of my comic book, "The Arcadians". I'm going to see if I can publish a page a week until it's done.

And how have you been?

HEADLINE: YURI GAGARIN ORBITS EARTH (. . . 50 years ago . . .)

Just playing with my tablet.

Doesn't work with Photoshop for some reason.

Hunh.

Well, that's all I've got tonight.

Good evening to you all. Please don't forget to tip your server and drive safe!

Next week's discussion: Abortion-Do Religion and Science Actually Agree On A Topic?

*drumroll* Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah . . . dah-dah-DAH-dah!

Brought to you by . . . House-Wide Pants! Nothing beats a great pair of pants!

The Arcadians #1

. . . and there came a day, just like every other, when I decided it had been too long since I wrote in my blog.

But I had nothing to say.

So I went to the bathroom to think . . . WHAT!?! It's peaceful in there!

But I still had nothing to say.

So if you click on the picture of the lovely Morning Star over there, thanks to the "Miracle" of Facebook, you can go read the electronic version of my comic book (and become a fan of my Facebook Page, hint-hint!) . . . you know, the one that I've mentioned several times herein? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Yikes! Old joke.

And if that doesn't keep you busy, maybe you can click on some of my favourite links over on the other side of the page! Find out about such varied and fascinating subjects as riding the bus, reading comic books, earning money on the internet, Canucks in Washington, overweight cats, and iPod pornography (not pornography on iPods . . . actual pornography for iPods!).

Speaking of interesting, nobody has ever asked me why the aforementioned Morning Star has the mirror image of the same mole on her face that I do . . . I figure someone may someday ask, so let me just get that awkward explanation out of the way: when developing the character, I was unsure that my artistic ability would be able to maintain a consistent "look" for the character. In comic books, it's very important for even a headshot of the main character to be instantly recognizable (ya know . . . fer "branding" and such?), but her character was not suitable for any type of headgear or mask, and, moreover, she would tend to change hairstyles from time to time. So I asked myself, "What to do? What to do?", as I scanned through my reference material, my eyes fell upon a picture of Nikki Taylor (Blonde supermodel? Anyone? Anyone?) and perhaps the second-most well-known "beauty mark" of all time next to that of fellow supermodel Cindy Crawford. Aha! But it couldn't be in the same place as either model, so where could I place it on Star's face? This is when I went to the bathroom again (I just told you that's where I go to think!). As I turned the faucet to wash my hands, I gazed into the mirror and it dawned on me, "Hey! I have a 'beauty mark'!"

And so Morning Star's distinguishing charcacteristic was born!

The Day After . . .

10-Prey


Three had been living with Bonn close to year when his training began to get the better of him. He had grown far beyond the mindless foot soldier that he once was, but a base predatory instinct was something harder to overcome.

“Please,” Bonn insisted the day he found Three leaping across the cavern opening at a small scurrying rodent, “go hunting for dinner. Better that you use up that energy catching our food than me!”

That had been four hours ago, and even if Three felt the hunter’s heart beating in his chest as he stalked the mountain pass that had become his home, he feared that his hunter’s skills would never return.

Perched atop an almost perfect sphere of granite, about 20 feet above an ancient crevice that ran in a more or less straight stretch for close to three miles in either direction of his position, Three had been waiting for an Antelope to pass for what seemed like forever.

Although he had been becoming more familiar with the rocky landscape around Bonn’s cave, it had not been long that he had even been able to walk, let alone clamber over the mountaintops. He had left the cave and headed first to the watering hole over the rise. This was actually only about 100 feet from where Bonn had originally found him while gathering liquid for cleaning. The location was actually just a collection of boulders, fashioned into a bowl shape by centuries of a small waterfall dripping into its centre. The water poured through a crack at the top of a sheer face overlooking the bowl, filling it to its brim before spilling out between two adjacent rocks at about five o’clock to the incoming water’s twelve. The side that Three arrived on was flat and worn away slightly from Bonn’s many trips. The pool stretched out for about 20 feet in front of him, with the rock face to his left, a rising edge to the bowl, about his eye level, in front of him, and a sheer drop to the right. Peering from a distance over the drop, Three could only see the clouds above what he imagined to be a deep valley. He looked back at the incoming waterfall, listening to the splash it made as it landed.

Clambering back up the rock path he had come from, he found a slide of loose gravel that had fallen from above. It had given him enough of a path to reach the top of the rock face. At the top he found a small stream of water running over the rocks. He followed the stream as it gently rose up the mountain. The local vegetation consisted mostly of moss and lichens, but the occasional tree had managed to crawl up out of the boulders.

A cold breeze suddenly blew Three’s shoulder length brown hair into his face from behind as a shiver ran down the middle of his back.

“Brrr,” he muttered involuntarily as he hunched his shoulders forward and tensed to warm himself.

It wasn’t long before Three reached a mountain crest. The stream he was following ran from a pool that appeared as if from nowhere: apparently the product of an underground spring, volcanic in nature, since he could feel the warmth radiating from the pond.

The pond sat between two mountain ridges that came together to his right, and ran off to his left following each other like a pair of snakes. Between was a narrow path made of loose gravel. And in the gravel he could make out the distinct pattern of hooves, antelopes and goats. They apparently travelled up the path to find water and warmth in the frigid, tundral mountains. Heading off down the path, he quickly realized that the long straight valley was not conducive to catching an animal unawares. And so he found a large boulder sitting alongside the path, climbed to the top, and found himself where he still remained to this moment.

The wind had been getting stronger and colder as he sat on his perch, but discomfort was not something he was bred to acknowledge. However, with no sounds save the wind itself howling down the pass, and the slight smell of rain in the air, Three was beginning to believe that his efforts on this day were destined to failure. Looking around and seeing a gentle mist rising as clouds moved in seemingly from all around him, Three saw the sun lowering in the west and rose to a standing position. Clasping his hands as he raised his arms over his head, Three stretched out, arching his back and hearing the slight clicking of his joints as he stretched his tired muscles.

Tensing his leg muscles to leap from his post, Three heard the scratch and skitter of his feet atop the rock, and suddenly, entirely instinctively, pulled himself back, almost falling off the boulder in the process.

A slight “clop” had almost been obscured by the noises of his own body, but even if he hadn’t heard it, his well-trained body had. Crouched back into his predatory position, one knee bent under himself, Three glanced around the other and down the path. The mist had hidden a small caravan of about nine antelopes, heading up the pass for water, one after the other, every second beast slightly offset as if to keep them from the unappealing odours of their fellows’ rear extremity.

Heads up, they were moving at an even pace, albeit slowly. Fortunately, they were unaccustomed to being hunted at such an elevation, and as such had no reason to even be listening for Three as they passed.

As they got closer, Three watched them through the mist, realizing that one near the middle of the pack seemed oddly misshaped. It’s back carried some sort of hump. A hump that seemed to swagger oddly, then suddenly rise high. A small tendril reached out and tapped the neck of the attached beast, as Three realized that the fourth Antelope carried a rider. A human rider.

The beast reached within about forty yards of Three when a distinctive curve could be seen to the rider, a delicate melon-sized head perched atop an “S-curve” body. The rider was a woman.

Closer the herd approached as the rider began to take shape, her pale green clothing standing out amidst the tan animals and grey rocks. A red stripe ran down the centre of her chest. Three could ultimately see a distinct scaled pattern to her green, vest and leggings, as well as a hood strangely shaped like that of a cobra or a . . .

“Viper . . .”

The name of the woman rebel who had become legendary for the slaying of the first Number 1, and legions of other soldiers, spilled from Three’s lips, as the strangely garbed woman’s head snapped, her eyes meeting his, all four open so wide that the pupils and irises disappeared in a sea of white.

My Comic Book

This right here is the cover of my comic book. And directly preceding of the writing of this, I slipped Page #19 of Issue #2 into it's protective sleeve in it's own little portfolio. Originally, this was to be a nice little "flash" file that you, my dear readers, could flip through to read the first issue. But, apparently, that doesn't work so well in Blogger. If you would like to read it, please send a self-addressed stamped envelope to . . . kidding! (But, seriously, you can ask me for one in the comment section if you actually would like to read it.)

So why am I writing this? I usually have a point to my blog posts, and this should one should as well. Well, in fact it does. But it's a secret! ◕‿◕

Naw . . . just thinking about maybe getting a spot in Artist's Alley at the HalSciFiCon if and when I finish Issue #2 (which, by the way, I am much more content with regarding the artwork). Have to have a backup career in place when I succeed in killing off the population of Nova Scotia with renewable energy . . . "The Coast" and Anne Murray said so!

Now, if I can just get my animation software to work correctly so that I may show off "Mur-man and The Newf" . . . it's like "Magnum P.I.", but set in Newfoundland instead of Hawaii. Excited?

The Day After . . .

9-Time Passes . . .


Six months. It was six months before 387 was able to sit up on the edge of his bed under his own power. A half-year out of his life. But, as Bonn pointed out, remarkably short considering he had performed brain surgery on himself.

This is not to say that 367 was fully recovered. Six months of bedsores. Six months of not walking. Six months of no solid food. Six months away from any and all tasks that 387 had been performing since before he could even remember.

Fortunately, Bonn, as he learned his benefactor’s name was, had done all he could to restore 387 to health. After only several weeks, the former soldier was able to walk across the room. Several days later he was eating solid food. Unfortunately, Bonn’s culinary skills were not as well developed as his medical skills. “Three,” as Bonn started calling him, however, accepted all of his meals gratefully, and wolfed them as if he had not eaten for months. Which, as chance would have it, he hadn’t.

“I have no sense of taste,” Bonn stated bluntly one evening, obviously noting Three’s attempts to not flinch as the meal first touched his tongue, “They were considered unnecessary in my function.”

“You’re function?” Three was never one for conversation, but this statement intrigued him for some reason.

“Yes, as a consult. I was a first generation genie.”

At least seven feet tall, with a green, almost reptilian skin, and an almost emotionless face, Bonn was clearly not human. But Three had always thought Bonn was . . . well, he hadn’t actually considered it before.

“I have lived here alone for so long that I had almost forgotten,” the big man almost chuckled as he stared past Three into thoughts of the past. “Another lifetime ago. One of several, actually.

“I was designed as an advisor for the President of North America. That must be, . . . so many centuries ago.”

“Centuries?” Two questions in one evening; Three almost felt drained of energy.

Glancing at Three Bonn looked almost amused, which the young soldier hadn’t thought possible, “Yes, about four and a half to be exact. My longevity was part of the reason my genetic pattern was initially altered.”

“What do you mean ‘altered’?” Suddenly Three was a chatterbox.

“Unlike yourself, the first genies were one of two strains—clones of humans with no outstanding characteristics to set them apart from their progenitors, and genetically altered human beings, designed to enhance some natural characteristic. I was the latter . . . somewhat.”

Three had never even considered where the first genies had come from, and, hearing Bonn’s words, that fact suddenly struck him as odd.

“. . .” Three opened his mouth as if to speak, but only then realized that he had no idea what he wanted to say. Bonn glanced at the young soldier and laughed with his eyes.

“Questions are God’s greatest gift—even if our past won’t allow us to take off the wrapping paper.” Bonn smiled a crooked smile as he lifted his towering frame, collecting the meal’s dishes, and ushering them away to be cleaned.