Zonorhc

Thanks guys. Ape, I make all my sigs with a preliminary pencil drawing a 0.5mm pencil, then either leave them as-is or brush them in Photoshop.

I tried to give it that slightly dirty look - it looks a little too artificial if the shading was perfect over the pencil strokes. It's not the .jpeg's fault. For once.

So I decided - at great personal risk - to try another brushed drawing. I can't say that I don't like how it turned out, so here it is. As usual, constructive criticism is welcome. Offers to buy it are good too, unless you think it'll be better off in my sig rotation.

Picking on a few details... The wolf's head doesn't look very canine, and it looks almost pathetic. Try to define it more as separate from the torso in the sense that there is a neck there as well. At the moment it looks like just a wolf's torso with a bulge with eyes, ears and mouth at the front. Try upraising the ears to give it a more threatening appearance. Work on the eyes as well; at the moment, it looks like the wolf is whimpering. The party hat, as said before, is disproportionally large. I don't know how you would hold a bow, but I personally wouldn't hold it by the back of my hand like it looks like the girl is doing. It's also a little too small to be a usable weapon. The arms on both characters are erratic in size. The pointing hand of the girl (or whatever) should be defined more, it's hard to see it against her chest. The amulet should look more like an amulet instead of a golden hoop with a little button. Try to make the neckpiece look more like a chain instead of a solid piece of gold, and define the amulet itself a little more. I don't know how that staff is positioned, but if it's on the ground, try showing how it disturbed the grass. The background on the sig is fine, but you do need to work on the wolf and characters. No offense, but this sig is not worth 2m. I would at most pay 500k for it.

Magey can catch up when she gets back. :P >Edit: Uh oh. Better fix continuity since Ice_Ring edited his out. Someone else can cover the big battle scene. *Hint hint* *** "Are you sure that this is a good idea?" Saben asked from ahead as the group skirted the northern foothills of Ice Mountain. "Vandiel's sure that he's got the cure," Zonorhc called from behind. "By the time we reach the Black Knights' fortress, Frost should be fine. Failing that, she can help guard the wagon while we cause a bit of trouble." "That's how he does things," Corwin said to Marcus. "If something causes enough trouble, like these knights, he'll try and fix the problem." "What do you think he's planning to do?" asked Marcus. "Well, it's not up to me. My guess is that we'll likely knock that fortress down, though he might opt to be subtle for once." Marcus nodded, and continued to watch the scenery to the south, avoiding the sight of the barren wilderness to the north. *** A light breeze flowed through the camp. From their high vantage point they could see the distant lights of the Black Knights' fortress, about half a day's march away. Pine trees rustled and creaked, and the camp was dark. Zonorhc and Saben had insisted on a cold camp, so as to avoid detection. However, lamplight flickered in one tent as Aming and Aryl used a pool of still water to scry on the fortress and create a usable map. Marcus sat in his tent with Aleksander. The blind archer was deftly carving arrow shafts and affixing them with salvaged arrowheads. Marcus was likewise carving wood, though it was simpler since he did not need steel to produce a suitable quarrel. Four finished bolts were already in his case, bringing his total up to eight. Ten will be enough. "This reminds me of a war camp," Zonorhc said from just outside the tent. "Men fletching extra ammunition on the night before a battle, plans being made..." "What is the plan?" Aleksander asked. "Oh, nothing too fancy. We need to get a couple of stealthy people inside for a bit of dirty work, and to open those gates that I've heard so much about. The rest of us will stay outside, taking care of anyone charging out." "I can be one of the infiltrators," Marcus said. "I know," replied Zonorhc as he walked away, a pair of freshly-carved lances resting over his shoulder. *** Early morning mist clung to the damp ground as the group prepared for their assault. As expected, Simirillion and Marcus were the candidates for infiltration, with Kay running last minute communications between them and the main party. "Remember the map?" asked Simirillion as they crouched low behind a large rock. "Well enough," replied Marcus. "We wait for the signal, correct?" Sim nodded. "It should be easy enough to identify." A moment later, a loud scream was heard, followed by the sound of metal-encased flesh striking stone from a great height. Sim tapped Marcus on the shoulder. "That's the one. Remember, we split up as soon as we get over the wall." Marcus nodded, and sprinted for the wall's plinth with Sim. Both quickly hurled their grapples over the crenellations, and scrambled up. Two black knights who were running towards the western wall had stopped in surprise as they climbed over. Both parties hesitated for a moment, before drawing steel. A dagger from Sim quickly found its way into one knight's chest as Marcus lunged forward, rapier drawn, deftly dodging cuts and slashes, before withdrawing his blade and bull-rushing the other off the wall. "Good," said Sim as they sheathed their weapons. "Let's go." He grabbed his rope and slid down to the bailey, and Marcus threw his grapple down after him. Marcus grabbed his own grapple from the wall and ran to the east, where Smedos had indicated the existence of another entrance. He similarly slid down and pulled down his grapple, before quickly locating the door and entering. He recalled the map, and headed down a hallway to his right, which ended at a door. He slowly pushed the door open, and the foul smell of sulfur assaulted his senses. He entered and made his way to the cauldron in the centre. He gauged that it was only five feet between the lip of the cauldron and the grille above. He climbed up and pushed the grille away, before hoisting himself up to the next floor. He glanced around and took his bearings. He moved to the door and heard footsteps outside. Slowly, he tracked the source of the sound and pushed the door open when it had passed. He quietly darted to the captains' quarters and entered an empty room. Locating a chest of drawers near the bed, he quickly rifled through it for a key that would allow him to raise the portcullis. Marcus frantically searched, and found the key as soon as he heard footsteps outside. The door began to swing inwards. Without a second thought, he put the key away, and ducked behind the bed. He waited for the knight to approach the open drawers before rolling under the four-poster and darting outside, quickly making his way to and down the main staircase. Marcus was faced with four unarmoured, but armed, black knights who were in deep discussion at one of the tables, but had drawn their swords as soon as he appeared. Weighing his chances, he drew his rapier and readied himself. The first charged at him with a quick succession of cutting strokes, which he avoided by leaping over the banister to his right, before drawing his dagger and taking another knight in the stomach with it. He jumped forward as he heard his first assailant jump down as well, and thrust his rapier into the man's ribs as he crouched, momentarily stunned by the fall. The other two approached him cautiously, spreading wide apart to flank him in case he came out. Seeing no hope in fighting both at the same time in close combat, he sheathed his rapier and uncoiled his rope with the grappling hook on the end, whirling it around before hurling it at the knight to his right. The man easily dodged the grapple, but not before Marcus yanked it back and around his sword, disarming him with ease. Marcus then ran between the two, whirling his improvised weapon to wrap around the disarmed knight's neck, neatly snapping it. The last knight charged at him, slashing unpredictably as he drew his rapier again to parry. They exchanged blows for several moments, before Marcus finally gained the upper hand, parrying the knight's longsword away and spinning around to give the blond-haired man a kick to the side of the head in the opposite direction in which he was moving to dodge, resulting in a loud crack as he collapsed to the floor, his neck bent to an abnormal angle. Marcus took a moment to retrieve his dagger and rope and regain his bearings again, then rushed to the gate control room, easily dispatching the knight inside. He quickly inserted the stolen key into a machine, and pulled the lever which would open the western gate. A series of loud rumblings from below told him that Sim had succeeded in destroying the underground storage chambers, and a series of surprised shouts indicated that the gate had opened. The battle had begun.

Well, your obviously a commie so u can kiss my but!!!! Just because he disagrees with America doesn't mean that he's a communist, you pathetic ignoramus. Let me take some wild guesses. Backwater USA, below 16 years of age, or both? Oh, and the sword isn't too impressive, or practical for a human to use. If a human were to wield it, it would be two-handed, as well as have a disgustingly large curve with an angle that would allow you to punch holes into your own body with a backswing. That, and it's not particularly aesthetically pleasing.

Thanks for the comments guys. I was actually thinking of shading it in, but I thought it wouldn't turn out as good.

Sig size limits are 300x150 and 30kb. Just thought you should know.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Raven with Grey Feathers Brax stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the gallows. The guard behind him nudged him with the butt of his spear. He began to climb. The steps continued for an eternity. Every footfall was marked with a dull thump and creak as the wood recieved his weight. Brax was completely aware of what was about to happen, yet he was calm. His heart was not pounding in his chest like Varden in his cell. His knees did not wobble, and he stood erect as he finally reached the platform above, where a man motioned him over to the rope. The tree for the ravens. The noose was slipped around his neck quickly, and he stood silently as the noble with the rapier spoke. "You, Brax, are convicted of two counts of murder, and as an assassin, are under suspicion for many more. The punishment for these crimes is death in this kingdom of Misthalin. Have you any last words?" Brax replied, "Who betrayed me?" "A man who wore the robes of Saradomin said that he had a vision of you killing Baraek, and told us of the time and place." Brother John, the thought raced through his mind. Betrayed by the Cabal? "Have you anything else to say?" Brax shook his head, and the noble nodded to the man beside him. The man pulled a lever, and the floor below Brax gave way, sending him down and pulling the rope taut. It tightened quickly around his neck, though not tight enough to cut off all his circulation. Pain still exploded in his head, however, as the blood flow was stifled. His vision went black, though he still did not strangle. What is happening? He felt a shock run up his legs, and he collapsed to the cold stone floor. "We have executed the assassin who murdered Baraek and guardsman Halden," he heard the noble's voice say from a distance as he lost consciousness. "Make sure that it is printed in the Varrock Herald." *** Brax awoke in a soft bed with white covers. A woman sat nearby and smiled at him as he awoke. She wrote something on a piece of paper and left the room. Why am I alive? Thoughts raced through his head as he lay on the mattress. Confusion slowly gave way to planning as he thought of what to do to the man who betrayed him. She returned a few minutes later with the same noble who had ordered him hanged following her, as well as a man in flowing blue robes. "Good morning, Brax," the noble said. Turning to the robed man, he said, "Did you finish probing his mind?" The man nodded. "There is nothing to see there except clouded images of blades and dark rooms. I saw a city built on the inner band of a gigantic wheel floating above a tall spire, though this does not make sense to me. I saw nothing else. He does not appear to have emotions in any form whatsoever. He retains his memories though it is impossible to discern them even with my arts. He is, as you had speculated, the perfect assassin." "Very well," the noble said. "Brax, you are dead. I am Farcin, Spymaster of Varrock, and you only live because of my will, and thus, you are mine. Do you understand?" You are bound by honour to serve. You are no longer bound to the Cabal which betrayed you. Brax was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I shall serve until such time as I am betrayed again."

Paragraph changes whenever the subject changes. For example, when there is a new speaker or a different focus.

They go straight to the clipboard. Ctrl-v it into paint or a similar program.

Ah, I forgot to add the peasants and thatched roof cottages... Sorry, Trogdor enthusiasts! The Trogdor still comes in the NIIIIIGHT!

That's my signature. I sign all my drawings.

Basically put him in a futuristic setting with a lot of people that are similar to him, but give them all darker colours and make him stand out.

Well, I got a little bored, so I drew this. Enjoy! Oh, leave some opinions as well... Heh.

Give it a bit of a cyberpunk setting, but keep it away from traditional fantasy. It just wouldn't fit right.

CHAPTER THREE: Birdcage A burning pain woke Brax. He sat up in his sleeping pallet and rubbed his head. What little light came through the bars on the door allowed him to survey his surroundings. He was in a small stone cell, barely large enough to hold his pallet and a chamber pot in opposite corner near the door. It was cold and damp, and he was painfully aware of the stench of faeces and urine mixed in with the musky odour of the place. Not having remembered being taken in, he assumed his chamber pot was clean, and there were other prisoners with him. The door was made of iron, with bars set in the middle at about head height. The light that filtered in was of a wavering quality, likely from a lamp or a torch. Brax could only assume that he was in the dungeons of the palace, reserved for the most dangerous criminals. Obviously, the deaths of a prominent merchant and a guardsman were enough to warrant such incarceration. He stood and crossed over to the door, staring out of the bars into the cell opposite. His gaze was met by a pair of dark brown eyes, much like his own. "Finally awake, huh?" said the man. "What do you mean, 'finally?'" "Guards brought you in last night, out cold and everything. What're you in for?" Brax went silent. He did not want to inadverdently reveal the Cabal. "Ah, that's fine. Some of the other lads won't say either. One of 'em I can understand, he's a fellow named Varden. They brough him in kicking and screaming about two years ago. They even had to bring in a couple of lancers so he wouldn't try anything too dangerous. 'Course, he killed the guard who put him in the cell with his bare hands, but that's an occupational hazard, I guess." A burst of manic laughter erupted from what Brax estimated to be two cells over from his, followed by a loud banging of metal against metal. "He does that sometimes, smashes the chamber pot against the door. He don't seem to care if what's inside spills out, and that's probably what you're smelling. Anyway, I'm Gart. What's your name?" "Brax." "Nice to meet you, Brax. Too bad it couldn't be in a different place." Brax quietly stared into Gart's eyes for a moment, then said, "You seem to be very cheerful for a prisoner." Gart gave a laugh. "Comes with getting used to it, I guess. I've been in this hell hole for the better part of five years now. Guards brought me in for rape and two murders. I ain't bitter about it; I mean, I did it, an' I'll accept the punishment. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone crazy yet." Brax turned around and sat down on his pallet. He would be here for a while. *** He had been in the dungeon for a fortnight. A week ago, three men were brought in. They said that they were all in the Phoenix Gang, and were convicted of five murders apiece, give or take one. Two days ago, a Black Arm was brought in for murder as well, though his count was seven. Brax stood by the door, at an angle which allowed him to watch the guardsmen lead all three Phoenixes out. All three were very quiet about the affair. In the light, Brax saw that none of them could have been over eighteen. "That's what happens with the gangs nowadays, huh?" Gart said softly, with a hint of cold fury in his voice. "Youngsters like that, killing their fellow man and paying the price barely over a week later..." "What do you mean?" asked Brax. "Only one way out of here, Brax. Well, two, if enough evidence is presented to the court that you're actually innocent. Not that anyone would actually care to do that for our sorry lot." Brax knew that the Cabal would not waste its resources to free any members who were incarcerated. "And the other way?" "Jumping down the leafless tree. Those three boys are going to be hanged." Varden gave a loud cackle. "Tree the the for ravens! For the ravens tree the!" the manic laughter and scrambled chanting continued for a few more minutes before it subsided. The tree for the ravens... "Why weren't you hanged, Gart?" asked Brax. Gart replied, "Oh, hanging's actually the better way to die, the way I see it. 'Course, they figured I was so bad they'd just leave me here to rot away. Wish they would've given me the rope straight away. It ain't easy putting up with the last screams o' those girls echoing in your head over and over. Like I said, I'm surprised I'm not barmy like that Varden fellow." Brax kept silent as he saw three pairs of boots descending the stairwell down the corridor. The three men, two guards and a slightly more civillian-looking man, began to approach. "Wonder who they're going to take away this time," Gart muttered audibly. The three stopped right between their cells. Brax could hear Gart's sharp intake of breath. He knew that the man was hoping that they'd open his door and take him. Gart was to be disappointed, however, as the man in the middle unlocked Brax's door and beckoned him out. He could hear Gart's sigh. "Nice knowing you, Brax." Brax said nothing, and allowed the guards to lead him away and up the stairwell.

I thought I'd do something a little out of whack for a sig, so I did a relatively dark Terragen then slapped it around a little in Photoshop. Constructive criticism is welcome, as always. :D Of course, if anyone's crazy enough to buy this thing, I wouldn't mind that either.

Well, I figured to sketch my current D&D character, so here he is. For anyone who needs to know, he's a Fighter 7/Kensai 1 with the glaive as his signature weapon. As always, constructive criticism is welcome. :D

Here we go. It's as bizzare as I'm willing to make it.

I've checked it, and it's 6.46kb. >EDIT: Damn, Azvareth beat me to it.

I was offering constructive criticism, and if you can't handle that, why did you even post this? I write in my spare time as well, but I make sure that what I write is presentable. You do not need to spend three hours proofreading a piece; do it as you go. In the forum description of the Library, it also says "Creative writing masterpieces." While this isn't an enforced idea, it does help when you put a bit of effort into what you write.

Um, that's nice. You need to change that sig.

I just don't see it as good art. It looks like just another glorified DBZ/RS hybrid. I have a distaste for manga in general, anyway. Yep, I'm the Asian who doesn't like manga.

Note how Keiphus said "other than." There was an exception. I don't really like the drawing myself; the head's far too big and just way too manga-ish for my liking. The eyes... Well, I think they need a bit of colour. The sword's nothing to celebrate about, either. Why such a long hilt for a relatively short, thin blade with no crossguard? That's about all I'm going to say at the moment.