Zonorhc

*Yawn* Just another grunge... Try and use a different style.

i agree, Zonorhc is getting way to in depth of these arguments with people who just don't happen to know a certain weapon from ancient japan It just irks me when people generalise and say "ninja sword" or "samurai sword" without actually being specific about it. They're broad terms, and I'd rather that people, particularly those who suggest their implementation, be fairly accurate with names. As for the actual weapon, I think the Dragon Longsword comes close though it is only one-handed.

Thanks for the advice, tttia. I'm not going to change the title, though. :P

I've been working on-and-off on this piece for a while, and I finally finished it today... I'm still trying to find out what I can do with just a pen and a pencil. Constructive criticism is welcome as always. :)

The arrow still needs fixing. I made this quickly in paint to try and give you a general idea, since I didn't feel like sketching out an arrow and scanning it.

Let's not forget eyes large like dinner plates. Anyways, on topic, really cool technique, and really well done too. It would be really good if it were on something uhm..different, something worth looking at? Anime is just a cartoon with an asian touch of randomness, really. ~witty I agree, actually. Manga is a little bland since it's overused. I'd recommend you use your talent in your own style.

Arrowheads are designed to pierce (or in rare cases, slash, but that head still wouldn't do that). As such, they tend to be longer and thinner that what you've got. Fix those fletchings as well. They're not supposed to cover the butt end of the arrow like some kind of crown. Fletchings attach to the side of the shaft, and are lined up in groups of three. Also, arrow shafts tend to be thin and long. Remember that it has to be pulled back and shot from a bow. What you've got there is a blowgun dart with an oversized head.

My only criticism for it is that the archer's left leg seems to be bent at an uncomfortable angle, though that might be the result of a mauling. Oh, and the spear that seems to be nocked in the bow...

I guess I meant "something that isn't referenced to any game."

You've got my green light on it! Please do it, I need to get better with this thing!

I'm finally getting the hang of surface maps, but I'd like some constructive criticism on this piece. My biggest problem with it seems to be the texture of the mountains in the background, particularly the steeper ones on the right, but I can't seem to find the right colours for them...

That's the wrong way to hold a bow. :P Finger positions are also less-than-optimal (read: would hurt A LOT) for someone who just fired several arrows. Tell him to fix the arms and do something other than Runescape.

Flails are totally different weapons. For one thing, they actually have a shaft, and the piece of metal on the end of the short chain, whether spherical or elongenated, is of the bludgeoning sort, rather than slashing. A kusari-gama, on the other hand, is a kama (short haft with a sickle blade extending from the end at a 90-degree angle) on the end of a long (think two-to-three-metre) chain.

You mean a kusari-gama? :P

Come off it. Most of that is ripped from Diablo 2.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Swoop "Right mess this is," said Vriskath as they picked their way through the debris-littered street. The acrid smell of burnt wood and flesh hung over the entire neighbourhood, gutted the previous night as the vicious gang warfare continued to rage. Charred bodies lay here and there, some under fallen timbers, some draped over piles of fallen bricks like grotesque mantlepieces. Several buildings still smouldered, casting dim, ghostly lights into the early morning mist. The sun had not risen yet, and the hollow, looming structures still stood threateningly, concealing gods-know-what in their shadows. Several guardsmen quietly piled bodies onto carts to be taken away, scarves covering their mouths and noses against the stench and ash. "Brax," Vriskath called from a doorway, "look over here." Brax made his way through the debris to the gutted building, Vriskath stood just outside, holding a lantern, which Brax took as they entered. He reeled at what he saw. Charred corpses were strewn about the floor, many of them still holding weapons. More of the dead littered the now-collapsed staircase. "A strongpoint?" Brax whispered. "Likely," replied Vriskath, looking each corpse over. "No other reason anyone'd pile so many men into this kip. Look over there - that lucky sod isn't even burnt." Brax picked his way over to the indicated corpse, evidently killed by a wound in the back. His blood-covered hand still clutched his shortsword, and the other was clasped around what looked like a pendant. Brax pried the fingers off the piece, and stopped abruptly as he saw the wing. "What's up over there?" inquired Vriskath. "Cabal." Vriskath muttered an oath. "Look at what he's right next to." Brax cursed. "Oil barrels." He quickly searched the immediate vicinity, and found an burned-out torch near the barrels. "The Cabal started the fires?" "Looks like it. Damn fine job they did, as well. They've got the two gangs puttin' each other in the dead book, and they kill off berks on both sides without anyone findin' out." Brax made his way back outside, holding the dead Raven's pendant. "Let's get back to the palace. Farcin would want to know about this." Vriskath nodded, and the pair headed back. *** "Two squads of guardsmen," said Farcin. They had returned several hours earlier, and the Spymaster had been organizing an attack to finally remove the Cabal through the entire afternoon. Captain Tarren had been reluctant to pull more of his men off their regular duties, though once convinced that the Cabal had played a part in the destruction of two city blocks, he readily gave up what men he could spare. "That should be enough," said Brax. "The raid on that weapons caravan lost the Cabal more men than they had planned. I would estimate only thirty Ravens to be in the city now." "They'll be ready," said Vriskath. "They ought to know by now that they're not in the dark anymore." "Tomorrow we'll strike," Farcin said. "We can't delay it any longer. Tarren's losing men, and Prysin has set up some army regulars in temporary postings around the city. We're being weakened from the inside by this guild war." "If that will be all, sir?" Brax asked. Farcin nodded, and he made his way towards his quarters. Vriskath headed in the same direction for a minute before turning down a different corridor to his own chamber. Brax had barely reached his door when a hand grabbed him from behind and swung him around to pin him to the wall. He was dimly aware of Karen's scent as she pressed against him. "Are you going to go and fight again tomorrow?" she asked, slowly pulling him to her quarters. "Yes," he whispered as she closed the door. "What's the problem?" She pushed him onto her bed, before sitting down next to him, pouting. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when you went out to save that caravan? Do you have any idea how worried I am that you're going out and putting your life on the line again?" "Truthfully, no. I would assume that you are very much so, from the way you decided to tell me." She leaned over and held him, kissing him deeply. "You could at least reassure me a little," she said as she deftly undressed. *** "Smells bloody horrible," whispered Vriskath as they crept through the sewer tunnels. "I wouldn't want to fight in here." "Nor I," said one of the guardsmen. "We shouldn't have to," said Brax. "The Cabal tunnels are in the older sewers, and they're mostly dry." They progressed through the tunnels, Brax leading the way. Rats scurried out of holes from time to time, swimming across small channels of sewerage to reach the other side of the tunnels. The sewers were warm compared to the Autumn chill of the air above, though it was scant comfort to be immersed in the humid stench of the place. Rainwater poured into cisterns through gratings in the streets above, and some of the sewerage was beginning to rise. They eventually came to a raised portion of the tunnels, completely dry save for channels of rainwater trickling down to join with the main tunnels. They would enter Cabal territory very soon. "Shutter your lanterns," ordered Brax. "They'll be able to see those lights easily. The Cabal tunnels have their own lighting, so they'll be easy to find." The tunnels began to widen, the masonry becoming smoother and more weathered as they progressed in the dim half-light from gratings above. Brax led them through to the less commonly-used entrance tunnels, and halted just before what he knew to be a guarded intersection. He quickly instructed the guards as to their tasks once inside, and moved on ahead of the group. He silently crept towards the lone sentry, blade drawn and unnoticed. The man was dispatched quickly, and his body slipped into the rainwater slowly filling the cistern. He whistled to signal the group, and they stormed into the Cabal tunnels. The guards rushed through to their positions, eliminating fully fifteen Ravens before any organised defence was set up. Crossbow bolts whizzed back and forth through the common room, striking upturned wooden tables and the guards' wall of tower shields. Brax took Vriskath and headed to the council chamber, where he knew the three Masters would remain even in the event of an attack. "Brax," hissed a voice in the shadows. Marcus K'lath. "We thought you dead," said a raspy voice. Reno Avery. "It is a wonder that you return to us at this time," a deep voice said. Hardom di'Trasi. "Quit rattling yer bone-boxes, sods," shouted Vriskath. "Get out here and lemme put ye in the dead book!" "Very well," said Marcus, as he stepped into the centre of the chamber. "I will fight you." The thin, blond-haired Guildmaster drew his rapier as Vriskath descended the steps, one hand on the hilt of his katana. "To first blood," said Marcus. Vriskath grinned as he took up a stance, ready to draw his blade. "First blood." K'lath held his ground, rapier level as he waited for Vriskath's first move. The tiefling held his own stance, a style known in certain circles as iaijutsu, which involved quickly drawing the blade to add momentum, then sheathing it again. Marcus feinted and thrust, but Vriskath had him instantly. The tiefling stepped once, then drew, sheathing his sword again as he passed the Guildmaster, who collapsed to the inch-deep water in a rapidly-growing pool of his own blood, his torso neatly sundered almost in twain by the one stroke. Vriskath smiled his fanged smile. Within a minute, Avery's blade splashed into the pool as he also fell to the tiefling's sword. "It is your turn, Hardom di'Trasi," Brax said to the shadows. No response. "There's nobody there," Vriskath said, climbing out of the mostly-empty cistern. "He must've piked it after I penned the first one in the book." "He did," said another voice in the shadows. Brax quickly drew his blade. "Settle down, Brax. What's the problem?" John Highcrag descended into the cistern, kicking away the corpses of K'lath and Avery. Brax likewise descended. "You betrayed me," he hissed. "I did, didn't I? But didn't you just lead a whole pack of guardsmen into the sewers? Didn't you just betray the Cabal?" "This is not the Cabal," Brax replied coldly. "The Cabal would not act as this... This gang has," he spat the words. "We were making ourselves stronger so that we can do our duties more effectively." "The Cabal did not need to make itself stronger. If it did, I doubt that it would have used the same means." "The ends justify the means, Brax! We do this city a service by making ourselves stronger!" "Killing innocents and causing destruction is not a service to the city, you fool! You have even weakened this entire kingdom with your gang's actions! I cannot allow this to continue!" "And why not, Brax? Aren't you yourself a murderer? An assassin? Have you never killed?" "I have killed. I have killed unjustly in the name of duty. I have killed unjustly only once, and I regret that now. The others were necessary to protect the Cabal." "How could you lead the guard down here and still talk of protecting the Cabal? Tell me that, Brax. Tell me that." Brax stepped to the edge of the falling pillar of rainwater. "I still protect the Cabal by removing those who would destroy it from the inside. Understand that, John. Have you ever done anything for the Cabal without thinking of your own personal gain?" "You don't understand," John hissed. "Draw your sword." *** Brax stood in the pouring rain, his blade dripping John Highcrag's still-warm blood. John lay in the three-inch-deep water, a wound in his side adding to the already-stained water. His sword lay twelve feet away, and his head lolled from side to side. "Do you understand?" Brax whispered. "You showed no mercy for one who wanted to teach with his blade," choked John. Brax turned away, heading back up the steps to the cistern's rim. Justice knows no mercy. You turned away from the politics of that faction. I still continued its work. What do you think that makes you? A Mercykiller. In heart and mind if not in name. He turned to John's prone form as he reached the top of the stairs. "Justice knows no mercy."

Jackal ears. :) Actually a character in the story I've got going in the Library. Thought I'd do it. I'll use a hood next time.

I drew this up recently, and thought I'd post it. I tried to experiment with what I could do with a pen, and I think it came out alright. I'm still working on how to do humanoid heads, as that's a little bit of a weak spot for me. Anyway, constructive criticism is welcome, as always.

Bumpity! One more 'till the next selection!

Affirmative, control. Napalm strike inbound. I just wish you'd stop posting "discussions" before thinking them over at least three times. There's just something a little disconcerting about seeing the Discussion board spammed with your two- or three-line posts. Hell, you even have the cheek to call them "issues." Now, I don't know about your mental processes as you type out these ideas of yours, but frankly, I get the impression that you think of a less-than-feasible idea, type it up immediately, then run off to look at something shiny. I suggest that the next time you post something, make sure that it is worthy of discussion, you have actually elaborated on the idea itself, and that you have considered the core concepts of whatever it is you wish to change.

Excuse me, but what do you mean by "ninja sword?" Do you mean a kodachi, a ninja-to, a wakizashi, or what? I don't really see this as an issue. Perhaps you should start thinking about more complicated topics to post about.

That line is so sigged.

Hey, come on... That's the second time I've seen my name horribly mis-spelled on this board. :cry: Anyway, the best way to find out what the terms mean is to look at the things made by people who use those words to describe them. I would personally just call my sigs brushed drawings, but your mileage may vary.

I like the naginata-type weapon, but I'm not too keen on the oversized piece of metal death. How would you hold it without breaking your arm or accidentally cutting off your leg?

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Raven Chirping Farcin looked up from his books as Brax entered. The early morning sun filtered in through the drawn curtains, providing weak illumination to the relatively small office. A large cage sitting on one of the many bookcases lining the walls contained a vicious-looking Karamjan viper. "Good job," said Farcin, gesturing towards a seat. Brax had returned with the small detachment of troops and the caravan early in the afternoon on the previous day, and had spent much of the trip back speaking with the odd mercenary - a demon-blooded man Brax had known as Vriskath. Karen had been waiting for him at the palace gates as he and the company rode in. He quietly took the offered seat, and Vriskath followed him in. Farcin raised an eyebrow. "Who's this?" "Name's Vriskath, cutter, and I take it yeh're the high-up in charge o' this mess?" "He's an old acquaintance," added Brax as Farcin looked Vriskath over. "Not a human?" Farcin queried with a slight fascination in his voice, noting the jackal ears that stood from beneath Vriskath's now-unhooded deep brown hair. "Take a seat, please." Vriskath scoffed as he strolled to the armchair. "That's a tiefling to you, cutter. I'm human enough; just tha' one o' my family - thinkin' it's me great-grand-ma' on me father's mum's side - was a fiend. Arcanaloth, I think she was." "Indeed," said Farcin with a slight nod, clearly missing the significance of having a greater fiend for a great-grandmother. "I take it you're not from these parts? Perhaps from further south?" "He's not from this world," said Brax. "Aye, he's got that right," Vriskath said as Farcin was opening his mouth to say something else. "Young Brax 'ere came from th' same place, he did. Sigil, City of Doors. Primes like you prob'ly wouldn't have heard about it, so I'll give yeh the basic chant. See, it's a city built on the inside of a torus - that's a mostly-hollow donut with the inside rim cut out - floating above an infinitely tall spire in the centre of the Outlands. Wonderful burg it is, you should visit it sometime. Most berks hold it to be the centre of the multiverse, but canny bloods - like me, for example - know that that's a bunch a' screed. Can't be the centre of infinity, after all. Still, it's a wonderful burg to cool yer heels between jaunts around the Planes, having portals to everywhere and all. S'pose Brax here fell through or stepped through one as he pleased, and that's why he's here." Farcin's mouth had not closed since Vriskath's interruption, and he gathered enough of his wits to close it as the tiefling paused. "Me? I'm here 'cos I heard chant that there was plenty o' jink in the mercenary business here. Took the nearest portal to some place called Lumbridge down south. Nice enough burg, I figured, even with all the 'adventurers,' runnin' 'round the place. Plenty o' honest costers, though. I reckon all the cross-trading merchants and such have been taken care of somehow. As for this one over here," he gestured towards Brax, "I'm not too clear on if he's told you anything about why he's here. Berk never told anyone when he went and disappeared. Me an' some o' the other bloods figured he'd finally been scragged for all the killings in the Great Bazaar, mostly cross-traders, dodgy Mercane and a couple o' 'Loths. Now he's told me 'bout blitzing through a portal and ending up here, and something called the Ravens' Cabal. So, naturally, I did what every friend and sellsword would do, and followed him in here to try and get some extra jink fer helpin' out. What d'ya say, cutter?" Farcin hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between Vriskath's katana and his grinning fangs. "I'll consider it," he said, before turning to Brax. "Could you leave us for a few minutes, Brax? Send for Courtmage Handur and go off and spend some time with Karen. She's been edgy ever since you left town with that detachment." Brax quietly left his seat and exited the room. Instructing a page to send Handur to Farcin's office, he made for his quarters. "You know, right now you don't really have much of a reason to ignore me," said Karen as he passed by her open door. He paused mid-step and turned to her. "Have I been ignoring you?" "You have," she said, sitting back down on her bed and flicking her black hair back. "Or haven't you even noticed that? Honestly, sometimes you make me feel like I'm not even here. You could at least take some time off running around doing all sorts of odd jobs so I could get to know you better." Brax couldn't help but notice that her cheeks were flushed, as she regarded him with almond-shaped dark brown eyes. "I have -" "- A duty? Of course you do. We all do. What, do you think that you're the only one working for the Spymaster? Hells, even Daren's got time to court Baron Tharden's daughter, and you've probably heard a little about how hard she is to handle." "What are you saying?" Brax asked in even tones. He noted the effect of the morning light filtering through the boughs of the tree right outside Karen's window, leaving dancing spots of light playing in her hair and along her slender arms. She sat there, gazing upon him with clear affection, her slightly parted lips waiting to speak words as soon as he prompted them. "Come inside and shut the door," she said softly, and he complied, still neutral in his expression. "Could you at least try to have a little bit of emotion?" Brax kept his silence. "Is it a problem with me?" she asked, her eyes slightly narrowing in an expression of mild frustration. "You can tell me; it's alright." No, it won't. "Are you trying to keep something from me?" No, I'm not. "Do I irritate you in some way; am I being too forward?" No, you're not. "Tell me what the problem is." Brax shook his head. No. The word had not yet escaped his lips when a surge of things - thoughts? He could not remember what they were - rushed into his mind; opening pits in his stomach and chest; sending a tiny, burning pain into his eyes; and filling his head with long-forgotten words. The numb walls in his mind shattered. That is the sensation we call "longing." What you feel is joy. This stone contains an experience of anger. It's worth your jink to try it at least once. Don't cry. Please. What are you doing? No! No - a gurgling scream. A sob. Laughter. I love you. "Please answer me, Brax." He looked at her as she stood and approached him, and waited. "Is there something you wish to say?" Her face was mere inches away from his, her voice quiet and gentle. Brax gazed into her eyes for a long moment, new sensations - forgotten emotions - rising up inside him. He now clearly remembered the times he had subtly turned her away, and he felt another sensation in his mind. It is regret. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and she responded in kind. He was vaguely aware of the sweet scent of her hair and the softness of her breasts against his chest as she held him tighter. For a moment, he was emptied of thoughts. It is bliss. He held her for a moment more, before pulling away slightly to look into her now-teary eyes. He whispered, "I'm sorry. Thank you."