Sunday? Already?

I really enjoy my lazy Sunday art posts...

As I may have mentioned.  I worked with Dr. Paul Redgrave on a project or two in my college years.  He also knew someone who was an anthropologist by the name of Doctor Dorian Petran.  Who wandered into the wilds of China with the ideals of finding a lost civilization.


I got a letter from Dr. Petran (by way of Dr. Redgrave) describing a "man with a large fanged mouth, snout-like nose, spines along the brow and head, with large horns.  They call them selves, Ingalat."  He spent a number of months with them.  I just got a few descriptions and one illustration(which I packed amongst hundreds of notebooks in various places and cannot be located as of yet). 

The first rough sculpt.

Being an idiot (or jsut absent minded) I have only my photos of the sculpts and not the illustrations that I neglected to scan.  Thus, sculpture and a lazy Sunday post.

 The more refined sculpt.

Zombies, ghouls, and bruises.

Besides sculpture, I like to do a lot of theatrical make-up. Mostly zombies, really.  Thus, I felt that today I would indulge in a bit of egotism and show off some of the zombie and theatrical/special effects make-up I've done.

...Again, mostly zombies.

Done for a Resident Evil midnight release party at the horrid video game shop I used to work at.

I was the only zombie.  Foolish people and their not being creative or interesting.

 

For fun.  Tryptich (The Rose West), my roommates' band was playing a show.  I decided to be strange.

Garm...The Surgeon.  Somewhere in his transition from man to monster.

Continuing with the doctors theme:

 

Herr Doktor Fälshungleben, seeker of the great secrets.  This was for the Oneonta State University's Zombie prom where I made people into zombies all night long.

My friend Babs is always more than pleased to be a zombie for me.

These were for Zombiecon 2009.

This photo is big...and awesome.

We invaded the NYC public library, a midtown Sephoria, three bars and Grand Central station.

Babs took tonnes more and there were some from the summer that we did as well.  Those from the summer are here and and the Zombiecon 2009 are here.  Including some really awesome shots of yours truly, I have one of them:

I'm a big fan of Left 4 Dead's hunter "special infected."  Hood make me pleased.

Svalbard Vampyr.

Dr. Jones (head of the New York branch of the ESS) has been traveling as of late.  Well, for the past three months or so.  He was in Japan in January, moving across Vietnam, up through Thailand and China into Kazakhstan.  From there, flying to Finland, trekking into Norway and taking a tiny plane up to Longyearbyen, Svalbard.  The harshest inhabited place on the goddamn globe.

While he was in the land where your eye-balls freeze when you get the morning paper, he did a lot of research into any local myths that might be looked over since it's a tiny island off in the middle of nowhere.  The locals told him to talk to the folks at Polish Research Station Hornsund, at Isbjørnhamna, in the Horsund fjord (aside: I love Nordic names).  They have some interesting stories, apparently.

The research station is populated by eight people (according to Wikipedia) and is south of Longyearbyen.  The people there told Dr. Jones about something they called the Svalbard vampyr.

 

Svalbard vampyr.

On this Dr. Jones writes:  "They said that every few weeks, there would be what looked like lanterns floating down the mountains and along the coast.  The researches claimed that when the lanterns were investigated, they turned out to be animal skulls with eyes glowing like candles.  They had long gnarled death-pale hands and the cloaks were also their shadows (possibly a translation error).  They varied in size, from average adult male to the size of a small cat.  The skulls, which are supposedly sun bleached, are proportional to the body.  Sometimes the skulls are adorned extraneous horns or tattered remains of ears." 

I think I drew the eyes too dark...

Dead Tom excerpt.

Dead Tom.

Caution:  This story uses language that some people are too lily-liveredto handle.

    It all started when I fell of the roof.  I know, not the normal way to start a story, but bear with me.  I was pretty sure my first autobiography wasn’t going to start that way.  But you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.  Anyway, I was working on the new Twin Towers (on my day job.  A guy’s gotta make a living).  I was on break having a smoke.  It’s my one vice, everyone has one.  You know you do.  I was on the very top of the roof enjoying the view and a cancer stick when this spider (fucking twelve feet long, swear to god) bites me.  Now look, I don’t freak out easily.  I mean, hell, I spent three weeks in college during the first Mortality Riots doing coverage for the school paper.  But I have this thing with spiders.  Let me put it to you like this: me at five, my mother and a black widow.  But that’s another story I guess.
    Getting back to it, this eight-legged little S-O-B gets a chunk of me from out of nowhere and I freak out on the spot.  It’s not really the bite that got me, but it helped.  I was trying to get down to street level when my buddy, Nick, comes over, tells me to calm down and let him help (I’m a rational dude, but when something that can kill me bites me, I react badly). I reacted with my usual wit (“Fuck off!”), turned around too fast to catch my balance and then fell.  They say that when you fall from high enough up, you black out.  I can say without a doubt, that you do…when you hit the pavement.
    Kills me again to think the last thing before it went black was how much the ring I got for Meggie cost.
    I woke up in North General Hospital in Harlem.  Well…woke up sounds like the fall wasn’t fatal.  I rose in North General Hospital in Harlem.  You ever end up hung-over on a subway and realize you lost five hours between leaving the bar and waking up?  If you haven’t, try imagining.  Not pleasant, is it?  What I got was that, but swap five hours with three days and a morgue instead of the subway.  And the first thing they asked me was what I saw.
    “What do you mean; ‘what did I see?’”
    “Seems coherent,” he said to himself, “What’s your name, son?”  A skeevy looking doctor asked me.  You know the type, scrawny, big head, thick glasses…the kind you don’t want asking you to turn your head and cough.
    “Thomas Jones…where am I?”  I tried to sit up, but something sloshed in the back of my head.  No, no, sloshing isn’t right…it was like feeling yourself peel off a hot car seat, but on the back of my head.  It didn’t hurt, it pulled at my eyes like coming up into daylight after a night of heavy, rewarding sleep.
    “Slowly, son, you had a bad fall.”  His nametag said ‘Dr. Jack Harvard.’
    “Dr…Harvard?  Like the school?”  I sat up slower.  The back of my head felt wet.
    “No relation, I assure you.  What was the last thing you remember?”
    “I was…falling.  Working at the-”
    “Hm, the Twin Towers, yes, yes.  Now, after you hit the ground-”
    “Hit the ground!?”
    “-Do you recall seeing or hearing anything?  Any tunnels of light, voices of god?  That sort of superstitious clap-trap?”  Harvard was writing on a clipboard (clipboards have a way of making a person seem professional).  I went pale, or would have if my heart were still beating.  Harvard cleared his throat and looked up at me.
    “Mr. Jones, you fell to your death three days ago.  You were pronounced dead at one thirty-four PM by paramedics who were called by a bystander at the Twin Towers.  Does rising run in your family?”
    “Rising, uh, yeah…my mom rose when I was four or five.  I think her dad rose too, but I’m not sure.”
    “I see…”
    When I was three, my mom died.  My dad was really conservative, in all the stereotypical ways.  He tried to make sure mom didn’t come back into the picture after she rose.  She never got custody, but dad was also a romantic.  She always came to my birthday parties and to Christmas dinner (not that she needed to eat).
    Harvard cleared his throat (again) and gave me a card.
    “This is the Risen orientation group we’re associated with.  They’ll help you out for a few days.”
    “Risen orientation?”
    “Mmmyes, frequently the new members of the Risen community find themselves very disoriented physically as well as mentally.  Did you have a will written?”
    “Of course not.  I’m only twenty-five.”
    “Mmmyes…and your current residence?”
    “Rent was paid for the next month.”
    “And any family?”
    “My dad, but I think he’ll expect a funeral.”
    “That’s to be expected.”
    “No, the traditional kind.”  That shut Harvard up.  He made a face like he was sucking on a lemon and filled out more paperwork.  After a minute of him writing, I finally took a look at myself.  I was still wearing the clothes I had on the day I fell.  Only they were gritty, the left side was sticky with old blood.  I spotted a mirror set to the side of the autopsy slab.  I looked all right, my eyes had the sunken, darkened look that most Risen have, I was pale, but that was expected.  I grinned at my reflection, Harvard was still writing, he said something about being careful, the shock of something or other, not thinking much of it, I stretched a bit, feeling my spin twist in very wrong ways, noticing for the first time a bump at the side of my neck, between my ear and my shoulder.  And fuck, just behind that, the head wound.  It was a big caved in chunk of skull, all black and sticky.  When I was ten, or so, I cracked open a rotten watermelon just to see it.  It was black with mold and smelled rank.  There were maggots copulating in the putrid goo inside the melon, I could imagine the same happening thing in my head.  I hoped to fucking Christ it wouldn’t.  I flashed on that as I stared into my head.  Harvard took the mirror: “Best you don’t obsess over things until you’re a bit more acclimated, eh?  Eh?”
    My heart, while it wasn’t literally functioning, was pounding.

Hooray for writing!

Dead!

For a moment, imagine how different life might be if the dead returned to life.  Mr. Tep does a lot of traveling.  And he ends up bringing back the strangest newspaper clippings.  Such as this headline and blurb  from the Weekly World News dated March 6, 20--[page is torn]:

"It has been fodder for horror movies for decades, the living dead, zombies and the undead.  But now it appears as though it is actually happening.  Reports are in from the five boroughs that mass disturbances in cemeteries and inexplicable morgue disturbances are, in fact, the deceased raising from the grave.  "I was working the dinner-shift down in the cooler[the morgue of St.-data expunged] and this woman, she was a Jane Doe from somewhere on Roosevelt Island, sits up and starts panicking 'cos of the Y inscion."  Eyewitness Samuel Churez reports, "Dammedest thing, too, the stiff next to her just shouts 'shut it, you c*nt!' and rolled back over!"

Intriguing, no.  Now, take a gander here:

"Zombies Invade Manhattan.
Paul McKinney

The outlandish reports of the dead returning to life have begun to pour in from all of the five boroughs.  Mayor [expunged] has officially denounced the risings as dangerous and has begun to welcome select zombies with open arms.  Those among the zombies who are of historical importance are among the first being examined by the medical community."

Enter Tom.

Dead Tom.

Dead Tom is the story a struggling journalist when the Harlem mortality riots.  Which are what happened a few years after the risen (what the zombies call themselves) had grown sick of being treated as second class citizens.  It's very similar to the race riots of the fifties, but with the undead.

Tom works as a window washer while trying to find a job doing real journalism and ends up having a nasty fall...from the top of the building.  He is introduced into the risen community and gets the story out about them, helping to finally give living a view of the discrimination the risen have to put up with.  It's a fun little thing to work on.

Also in the works is Dead Theater.

 

"Ragamuffin."

This young lady comes from the entirely fictional (as far as you know) tale Dead Theater.  She's what the folks call a raiser.  One that can raise the dead.  She can feel and read their minds before she raises them, putting her into something like a 14% of the raiser population.  She is an avid actress, more or less amateur, and frequently finds people for specific roles by raising them.  The story that concerns us is in regards to a production of Jekyll and Hyde that begins to mirror aspects of the play...

Tomorrow I'll post a chunk of Dead Tom.  It's in progress, but enjoyable.

Thematic continuation.

So, I posted a video yesterday.

I'm going to follow that up with another video.  This one is short.



It was simple and fun. I adore working in Flash and had the benefit of using a Cintique to do this.

So, since that was short.  Have another bite of animation.


Clearly I need to be playing in Flash more.  That adorable little scamp is a Bad Luck Dæmon.  This of course pulling from the original meaning of the word demon, which was a spirit of divinity...nothing negative about it.  Greek meaning, by the way.

UNPRECEDENTED!

What is this?  A post?  At two in the morning?

What trickery is this!?[interrobang]

I have found a menial job.  I am the night receptionist for a school for dental and medical assistants.  Which means several things:
I cut my hair so as not to look slovenly(seven years without any real cutting of hair can do that).
I now spent six hours sitting a desk waiting for the phone to ring(I'm quite serious).
My indentured servitude to Mr. N. Tep esq. has increased(since I can no longer put forth 20 hours of my day towards his services).

Behold: cut hair.

Also: Teresa.

The quite unfortunate bit is that I may miss an update or two.  I pride myself on updating everyday with the strange and unusual from Mr. N. Tep esq., the ESS, and others.  I shall strive to continue my, thus far, flawless goddamn record of daily posts.

Besides, I can sleep when I'm dead.

A short video.

Did this one for a music and video class.

The music is much longer, but until I find a better way to upload music, this will have to do.


Share and enjoy.

To go further into it, I was reading the Dark Tower cycle at the time.  The idea of traveling through places was very interesting for me.  I had this long scene in my head of the viewer making their way through the forest as the music played.  As the music picked up in tempo and voices, things got more hectic.  Eventually, the music trails into a single chime that slowly plays out and trails off for a long time.  While the chime is playing itself out, the viewer would have arrived at a single door standing in the middle of the jungle and then fade to black as the music fades.

And to continue Saturday's musical theme...

Possums in the Attic.

Laaaazy Sunday art post!

Here, have some more Warcraft doodles.

Dealt of the Undercity, rogue of the Forsaken.

The first character I ever made in that infernal game.  I like being sneaky and shifty.

I was also trying to do something interesting with the posing.  The hapless bearded man is sort of based off a guy I saw on the buss while I was penciling it.

Rogues.  They do it from behind.

Often musically. 

Yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh!

Music of the spheres.

Let me start by saying I'm no musician.  I listen to it, can begin to identify things.  But I'm not a singer or can I play any instruments.   Music is math, and math and I have never gotten along.

That said, it is worth mentioning my employer, Mr. N. Tep, esq. has never been one to think people can't do something.  For any reason.  As he said: "Just arrange the notes in this pattern.  It will be adequate for my client."
I was given the score sheet and left to my own devices.

This is what I ended up with:

Pleasant enough, I suppose.
The client was never told to me.  But when i got a hold of the invoices to file things, I found it again.  All it said was Kavanagh.  Which, if you're up on your mythology, is one of the families that the Banshee was meant to sing for.

Well, now isn't that interesting?

Unnamed rock-eating arthropod.

Once more, we have an unnamed zoological sample from the Professor.  This arrived to the offices a few days ago in a brown paper-bag...

On my desk... 

With a moldy tuna sandwich...

The Professor wrote on the bag: "A curious species of arthropod that feeds on minerals and sediment.  Commonly found on the underside of bridges and sometimes in caves.  Have you ever seen the stalactites on the underside of a man-made bridge?  Occasionally, these are among those, hiding in plain sight!  Marvelous adaptation."

"Notice the large tongue and lamprey-like mouth.  The tongue's rough texture and a rather potent enzyme secreted by self-same tongue are what allow it to slurp up a mineral rich soup.  The body is covered in minuscule holes (in pattersn of three, no less, most curious!) that secrete the waste from this process.  The waste is, of course, undigested minerals.  This acts as a protective shell and camouflage.  Brilliant."

Hopefully the next sample he sends won't by in a sandwich bag...

Odd New York.

I suppose there are a lot of blogs out there that examine unusual things in New York City.  But I think it's worthwhile to note that this city is full of both strange people, strange places, and strange things.

One day, a nice bright shining fall day, I was wandering around by Grand Central Station.  When I noticed that a pile of trash had caught on fire.  For no apparent reason.  Easily one of the strangest things I've ever seen, and to this day, the only time I've called 911.

Also in Manhattan.  The set-up to this was better when I was there.  I was on lunch when I worked in a horrible HORRIBLE retail place on 33 and Broadway, when I saw bubbles, big iridescent soap bubbles, floating at what would be the second floor level of the buildings around me.  At first, naturally, I though they might be the Colour Out of Space, come to rob me of my vitality (this is a frequent worry of mine).  It turns out there was someone selling bubbles and bubble wands on the street corner.

On of many memes in my apartment is shouting "BEES!" and running in horror.  I just felt this van's sticker was highly amusing.

The subways stop in Queens, on Hillside ave, sometimes finds itself...growing pods.  I didn't grab a sample, but the Professor claimed he KNEW exactly what these pods were.  He's not gotten back to me for a year and a half on it, as he is prone to vanishing in jungles for months, sometimes years, on end.

Also in Queens, closer to my apartment.  A fork stuck (or growing..?) by the sidewalk in the tiny little park across the street.  WHY!?

A milk crate full of seemingly unopened peanut-butter jars in the dumpster.  I can't begin to fathom why this happened or what drove a person to do it.  Perhaps it was cursed peanut-butter.

Last but not least...

I'm a runner.  I'm one of those crazy people who put on stupid looking clothes and subject myself to the heat and the sun and working my body to its limits but running from nothing.

Well, when the zombies come we'll see who's laughing...

I spotted something odd in the woods one day while I was out pounding the pavement. 

Naturally, I had to investigate.

It was a whole ream of college ruled paper.  Sitting on a log.

Sometimes there's weird stuff without anything preternatural going on.

Contribution from the late Martin V. Shiloh.

One of these days, I'm going to post up some short biographies of the ESS members, founders and helpers.  Although, I did give a pretty extensive background on the whole organization.

One of the founding New York members (from around 1927) was a fellow called Martin V. Shiloh.

He was a specialist in archeology and loved to gallivant around Europe.  He had that typical Lovecraftian fascination with Hyperboria and Mu, the lost civilizations of the "Golden Age of Men."  Most his searching was in the Mediterranean with a Polish gentleman named Christoph Zebrowskiwho was a treasure hunter of sorts.  An Indiana Jones sort of fellow.  Professor Shiloh went missing in the fall of 1939 while researching in southern China.

Well, Professor Shiloh donated something like 85% of the ESS library and was a enormous archeology nerd.  His cataloged work and findings are so extensive (and unorganized) that I've only begun going through them (because I'm the young, stupid, clerical member of the society and Dr. Jones has way more going on).  But I found something cool and thought it deserved some attention.

From the papers with the photo:

"5/6/29.  Found in a burned longboat.  Remarkable craftsmanship.  Appears ceramic, very solid.  Depicts Thor struggling in coils of world serpent."

Professor Shiloh was a man of few words.

Der Großmann serach continues.

Last week, I had an extensive post regarding the German faerie story about Der Großmann-the Tall Man.

Apprentice's wood cut of Der Großmann.

I still haven't gotten permission from the library to photocopy the sodding woodcut (damn antiquated books rules) but I did send out some e-mails to my colleagues at the ESS and got back a few interesting results.

This one, from (I think) the late 1880s.  The Tall Man is on the left.

One of the Bostonian ESS gentlemen sent me this with a message:

"Yo, got your email, found this on a SIM card I found in the park.  Loks [sic] like that thing you were talking abot[sic].  Day I found it, I scanned the police reports.  Surprize surprize [sic], missing person report filed that morning."

And lastly, I was looking through some of my personal accumulated photos.  Ever since Dr. Jones had told me about his numerous ghost sightings in New York, I've paid more attention and looked a lot closer.  I dropped a contrast filter on a batch form around my neighborhood to see if there was anything unusual I had missed.  

If you can spot it you get a cookie.

Here, let me just point it out:

Sweet Mary, Jesus and Joseph in a birch-bark canoe smoking Cuban cigars.

I took this in August, 2008 From my window during this sudden rainstorm.  And that would appear to be a ten foot tall blank-faced man in a suit by the tree.

The really scary part about that one, the thing at really worries me, is that it looks like it's looking at my building.  We have families in the building, some with young kids.  A few of them on my floor.  After I noticed this I did some searching, but there were no missing persons reports...still frightening.

Also; a word on the hands: I managed to get some translations done, Dr. Redgrave sent me some ciphers when he read the post.  Should be able to post a translation in a few days...

Steampunk continuation.

Aboard the False Moon, Captain Sylver stood next to Mr. Hetherson at the helm.
“Ah, permission to speak, cap’n?”
“Granted, Mr. Hetherson.”
“Why did you kidnap the carnie?”
“…My actions are not to be questioned, Mr. Hetherson!”  With that, Sylver stormed to her quarters.
“Oh, good.  Another brilliant plan by the illustrious captain…” Mr. Hetherson sighed.

Deep in the brig of the False Moon, Ms. Deeskay sat nervously toying with her top hat.  There was a rhythmic clunking and Captain Sylver approached her cell.
“Why did you kidnap me?”  Ms. Deeskay demanded.  She grabbed the bars of her cell, glaring daggers at Sylver.
“Well, you see, a sky-pirate lives by her wits and intuition.”
“Your intuition told you to kidnap me.”
“Well…”
“You didn’t have a plan!”
“Of course…I…not…silence, prisoner!”
“There wasn’t even mention of a plan, just intuition!”
“Well, fine!  Than we hold you for ransom.  And when we’re paid we kill you anyway!”
“But my carnival is pretty much penniless.”
“Oh.  Well then…no rich family?”
“No.”
“Hidden secret treasure?”
“Oh, no.”
“Friends in high ranked political seats?”
“Only a duke in Luxembourg…oh, no, he’s dead.”
“Hm…”
“Hm.”
“Well then…”
“The kidnapping was quite dramatic.”
“Oh yes, I concur.”
“…Very dramatic.”  Ms. Deeskay thought deeply.
Sylver looked at her, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“A merger of our operations of business?”
“Well, I was going to say you could be my on-ship wench.”
Ms. Deeskay interjected loudly: “WHAT!?”
“But your proposition is good too.”  Captain Sylver dug through her vest pockets, removed the keys and unlocked the cell.  Ms. Deeskay stepped out.
“Now, Ms. Deeskay, was it?  I believe we have a business proposition to discuss…”

Back at the Carnival, Felix and Kraus began to scheme.
“We’ll need the acrobats to help, as well as several clanks.”  Felix said toying with one of his ‘polychromatic rubberized cylindrical inflation units’.
Kraus nodded, “I do know/ a young gent in Lon-don/ who may help/ this situation: undone.”
“Right.  We get to London, find this chap, get an airship and rescue Ms. Deeskay…I suppose then finding an airship is the main problem.”
“Zeppelins are hard to find/perhaps a ship to charter/a contract to bind?”
“Nono, too much involved.  Besides, a charter would cost too much.  We have very little money to work with.”
“Finances are a dreadful burden/ yet to port we must go/wait/ hear you…that…sound?”  Felix and Kraus exchanged glances (at least one may assume Felix was looking out from under his hair), and ran to the tent flap.
Decending from the clouds was a sleek zeppelin, a red Jolly Roger flying above its mainsail.  Ms. Deeskay was standing at the tip of the bow waving and smiling enthusiastically.
“You’re back!”  Felix shouted over the rotors and gyros.
“I’m back!”  Ms. Deeskay hopped from the ship and promptly fell on her rear.  Felix helped her up and gave her a  ‘polychromatic rubberized cylindrical inflation unit’ in the shape of a lemur.  Captain Sylver landed next to her, also grinning.
“You stole our Ringlady.”
“And returned her, no worse for wear, excepting perhaps a spot on her bum where she sat in my bring.”
Felix leaned to Ms. Deeskay’s ear, “Is she besmirching your honor?”
“No, dear.”
“Oh, good.”
Sylver cleared her throat, “Now.  I believe we had business to discuss.”
“If this is about ransom…” Felix began.
“Nay, she’s already told me you’re damn near broke.”
“Well, she asked…” Ms. Deeskay said to the looks.
“I’ve proposed to your Ringlady,” more looks shot at Ms. Deeskay.
“Not my lady!”  Felix shouted in shock, he pouted.
“Not that kind of proposal!  I submit a joint venture.  The crew of the False Moon and the Dapper Cat Carnival works together to make more money!”
“And a better show for our esteemed audience.”  Ms. Deeskay interjected.
“Dear madam/I wonder what you/ propose for this/ merger of two?”  Kraus crossed his arms, and poured himself a small glass of absinthe.
“Well, Kraus, I am quite pleased you’ve asked.  In short, we will allow Captain Sylver and the crew of the False Moon to periodically interrupt our show and cause some havoc.”
“Um, mi’lady?  This seems like a bad plan.  Like when I stole the colors from the robes of the Archduke of Latvia..?”
“Oh, but that is the ruse.  We fight them off valiantly and in return give them a percentage of the ticket sales.  But not before I am kidnapped and we beg for ransom.”
“So we’re going to just endanger the lives of us performers and risk having cut-throat brigands attacking our carnival.”  Felix asked tilting his head.
“Of course.” Ms. Deeskay smiling.
“Yay!”  He hugged her tightly.

Another town, several weeks later: the Dapper Cat Carnival had set up shop again.  Ms. Deeskay was peering through the curtains, observing the crowd.  Felix leaned on her shoulder, crossing his hands.
“Anything interesting?”
“Oh yes,” Ms. Deeskay grinned madly, “we have pirates…”

This concludes Steampunk Monday!  Tune in next week for another exciting text-based narrative of the Dapper Cat Carnival and the False Moon!

Sunday art day.

Look, it's Sunday.  Enjoy some World of Warcraft art.

Troll deathknight being bad-ass.

 

Paladin of the Argent Dawn being holier than thou.

Oh goodness, in-prog sculpts!

 

Blightshade body is coming along...

 

Sans tongue.  but I think it will come along alright.

Fun fact: I dropped the head before I took this and panicked that I ruined everything.

 

What?  What's this?

AI AI CTHULHU FHTAGN!

Yes this is a very lazy post.

Sculpture is SERIOUS BUSINESS.

To err is human...

Oops!  It would appear there was a clerical error in today and tomorrow's posting.  So, for today, please enjoy a double dose of posting.  I'll attempt to whip something out for tomorrow.

The Management apologizes.

From the desk of Dr. Paul Redgrave

In 2007, I worked with a gentleman on a project that was part art and part history.  I was interested in props and historical recreations, so I asked my friend (he went to RPI), who was the professor he interned with on dead languages.  He gave me the e-mail of one Dr. Paul Redgrave, one of the hardest individuals to track down in the history of impossible to find professors.  I was unable to get a hold of him initially, but got a reply by snail-mail after a week or so.  Dr. Redgrave was working out of the country in Ottawa, near Denholm (read: feck nowhere).  So we had a running correspondence for a while, he gave me some recreated designs and some photos of the rune carvings they found.  Even gave me a whole write up on the society's philosophy.  Creation and destruction held in balance by a mediator force.  Remember the plague-doctor's mask?  This was them.

 And then he sent me this:

He told me it was in the walls of one of the ruined structures he assumed was a library.  It was with some writings and several other almost identical sets of cloth and stones.

 

The cloth and stones in better detail.

The stone and cloth together were both in surprisingly good shape (considering the supposed age of the ruins-some 2000 years) and I started translating them as soon as possible.

The stone was interesting as it had the High Runes on it.

 

Water, time and life.

As of right now, Dr. Redgrave has asked me to keep a lid on the translations and my ciphers for the low runes (what these people wrote mundane things with).  He's working on a book and wants to keep things a bit more secret.