Zonorhc

On my way home today after basketball, I had a random thought about my latest failed relationship, and eventually got around to doing this... It's not terribly good, but I just thought that I'd post it anyway, it being February and all.

The first one I ever made? ... There. :oops: I brushed in some colour at a later point, some people may have seen that. Latest...

A Realms fan, eh? Just to pick over it a little... The goddess of magic is Mystra, and Azuth is the god of spellcasters. Where and when in FaerÃÆÃâÃâûn's history are you writing this? At present, there is no set leader of the Red Wizards of Thay, although there are eight Zulkirs who run the scene. Each is a master of one school of magic. The Red Wizards wouldn't unite in such a large number without extremely good reason, either. To even think of employing more than ten Wizards at a time, (Enough to perform the more powerful forms of Circle Magic) it would have to be to quell an uprising in the nearby nations of Aglarond and Rashemen. At present, the most powerful Zulkir is Szass Tam, of the school of Necromancy. Now, about the devils. When you mention devils, don't call them demons later on. Being the Realms, there is a HUGE difference. What irks me more is that a Pit Fiend is serving a human, as well as the numbers of devils being fielded. As a greater Baatezu, a Pit Fiend is more than likely to have the human under his sway pretty much right off the bat with clever diplomacy. It wouldn't be too surprising if the human had also sold his soul to the fiend in exchange for the temporary contract. Now, the numbers. Under one Pit Fiend, assuming the Baatezu doesn't make like a proper Lawful Evil spawn of the Lower Planes and defeat his enemies through blackmail, cutthroat politics and other subtle means, there would be at least two squads of Hamatula, several of Cornugons commanded by Gelugons, an extremely large number of Barbazu, possibly a large contingent of mercenary Kytons along with no less than about ten thousand Lemures to serve as shock troops. Now, with the Dragons. The ten standard types are greedy creatures, regardless of whether they are metallic or chromatic (good or evil, respectively). They are highly unlikely to work for a human without extremely powerful magic (Orbs of Dragonkind) or a large sum of treasure. Moreover, a Silver Dragon will under no circumstances be on the same side as a White Dragon. A White would not be seen anywhere south of the Spine of the World, for that matter. Just those points to note next time. It's a fine story, just that it is a little inconsistent with the world that you decided to write about. Also, next time try not to name people after gods or goddesses. It causes quite a lot of confusion, since FaerÃÆÃâÃâûn is in a world in which gods and goddesses can walk the earth if they wished to.

I really haven't had time to do anything with them. I've got the lineart done, but my teachers are piling on the work. Second last year of high school and all. As soon as I get some time, I'll brush them up.

Brushed sketch, actually... :)

CHAPTER SIX: Birds of a Feather The soldier to Brax's right shuddered in the wind. Trickles of rainwater found their way through the thick knots of branches above to fall tinkling into growing pools. The rain had decreased in intensity since the party had been dispatched from Varrock to foil a Cabal ambush on a weapons caravan headed north on the Lumbridge road. Brax was moderately tired, having had little sleep since the far-from-quiet interrogation of the captured assassin three days ago; and the fast ride the group of eleven - himself along with five Misthalin army regulars, three mounted archers from the light cavalry and two Royal Lancers - had had to make in order to be able to reach their destination in time. That destination was a large clearing which would be the point of attack from the Cabal, and which the light cavalry had estimated to be less than a half-hour away. "The caravan's due to hit that clearing in less than an hour," one of the horse archers said. "If we hold this pace, we should be there by the time those bandits reveal themselves." Farcin had conveniently neglected to inform Sir Prysin of the nature of the enemy, and said only that there was an anonymous tip-off. "That was a fairly lucky thing, isn't it, master Brax?" the soldier to his right said as the two lancers took up positions on the column's flanks as the road widened. "The tip and all, I mean. That's a very important shipment, I -" "Be quiet," the lancer to the left snapped in a low voice. The soldier silenced himself mid-word, and they continued on in silence, passing through a grey sheet of water as it poured through a gap in the foliage above. Brax shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He was relatively unversed in mounted combat, his only instruction having been small tidbits of advice from his companions whenever they halted to rest their horses. The cavalry saber sheathed on his hip felt awkward in comparison to the shortsword he had grown accustomed to, also sheathed there. To himself, he thought that it was damned lucky he even knew how to ride at all. "Five minutes 'till we reach the clearing," one of the archers said softly as the horses plodded through mud and detritus. He and the other two light cavalrymen unshouldered their short, recurved bows and quickly and efficiently strung them while guiding their mounts with their knees, a skill which Brax had some amount of respect for. The forest around them was quiet between the boles of the trees, standing like tall, dour, green- and orange-crowned sentinels along the roadside and deeper into the gloom. What could be seen occasionally through the dense canopy was a mass of grey, lighter here and darker there as raindrops fell from the sky. Somehow, Brax felt that the sunless sky and the slight haze nearer to the ground were vaguely familiar, though he could not place the memory. The soldiers all buckled their shields to their arms and loosened their blades in their scabbards, and the archers already had arrows nocked and ready. The lancers likewise buckled their shields and readied their signature weapons, the tips pointed ahead like steel-capped wooden fingers that would point at who would be next to die upon them. Brax likewise loosened his blade, though he forsook the use of a shield in favour of leaving his left hand to control his horse. The column sped up to a canter as they rounded a turn in the road to face a field of tall grass waving in the wind, with the road cutting through and silver-grey sheets of rain pouring upon it no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Dark shapes and ripples in the grass could already be seen converging on the road as the silhouette of the caravan's lead wagon emerged from the trees opposite them. The Lancers led the charge, off the road and into the grass, their lances punching through the chests of black-cloaked figures with small puffs of red mist as the soldiers fanned out, blades drawn, running and cutting down other enemies. Brax galloped his horse behind the three archers as they half-stood in their saddles, almost facing backwards at times as they turned before sending steel-crowned shafts of death into more black-cloaked figures. Brax drew his blade and spurred his mount straight for a single black figure still headed for the road. As his blade hurtled down, tearing down and through the silent figure's shoulder, he plunged into a state of mind-numbing clarity. He no longer thought about his actions as he wheeled and charged at a fresh group of black-clad footmen emerging from the trees. His blade arced high and low, carving red canyons of meat and trailing shredded pieces of black cloth as he rode past. Images blurred past his eyes in a stream of black, green, red and grey as he effortlessly killed and maimed. Action before thought. With the barriers of doubt driven from your mind, you are at one with the multiverse's will. The thought ran through his mind for a brief moment, before he snapped back to reality, and his vision and equilibrium registered a tilting as his horse was brought down from under him. He freed himself from the stirrups and leapt out of the saddle to avoid being crushed by the screaming animal. Rolling to his feet, he dropped his saber and drew his favoured blade as three black-clad men approached him with swords drawn, two of them fanning out to take flanking positions. Things tend to happen in threes, pleasant or no. The thought flickered in his mind. The one to his left lunged, and he dodged the blade with scant inches to spare, pushing into the man as the one on his other side followed a half-second later, missing the expected mark. He quickly spun around and behind the first man as the one in the middle lunged at nearly the same time as the second, in a move that would have skewered him had he dodged the second thrust. He plunged his blade into the man he was behind, bringing him to the ground with the efficiency of a trained assassin. The other two continued their attacks on him in perfect unison, their blades a harmony of feints and thrusts, in a manner that was seen only in Cabal-trained men. No matter how much more experienced Brax was than either one of them, he was hard pressed to defend against the "Flurry of Talons," as it was called. He slowly conceded more and more ground as one of the soldiers hurtled past, hurled from his mount and streaming blood as he sailed through the air to land in the grass a few yards away. Neither Brax nor the two Ravens flinched or even acknowledged the fallen man. Again and again, the two Ravens' blades clashed with and slid along Brax's as he blocked high and low, parrying and dodging as he slowly retreated towards the road. He glimpsed a group of six more Ravens nearer to the caravan, fighting several of the mercenaries guarding it as a Royal Lancer rode into their flank, administering death both from his weapon and his horse as he plunged through the assassins. Brax's assailants had not slowed down in their attacks, though Brax had already attuned himself to their rhythm; and though he was unable to counter their attacks with his own, he knew the pattern well enough to anticipate where their strikes would land. He glimpsed another pair of Ravens approaching from his left, and readied himself to defend against an extra Flurry of Talons. The rain about him was red for a brief moment as the new pair were suddenly cut clean in two at their midsections, from what looked to be one sword stroke. The first pair of Ravens disengaged Brax, one turning to their new opponent and the other keeping his blade trained on the former assassin. The new combatant was a man of about Brax's height with dark hair worn long and fair skin which carried a faint tinge of yellow, wearing nothing more than a simple, deep blue robe. A flash of yellow behind his fringe was accompanied by a fanged sneer as he held his blade two-handed before him, a slightly curved weapon several inches shorter than the Asgarnian bastard sword. It was a blade which Brax had heard was growing in popularity in the south called a katana. The man turned his blade and held it backhanded and parallel to the ground, then flitted out of sight for a moment, appearing twenty feet away to the opposite side of the two Ravens, who promptly collapsed in two halves each. Brax blinked the rain out of his eyes as he sheathed his blade. A weary yet euphoric shout came from one of the cavalry archers; the skirmish was over. Brax headed to where the rest of his party were converging, as a Lancer laid the body of his comrade beside the corpses of three of the soldiers and one of the archers. Their horses had been left where they fell. The Lancer quietly laid the other's broken weapon beside him, mouthing a silent prayer to Saradomin as he removed his helmet as a sign of respect. The soldiers plunged the swords of their own comrades into the ground next to their respective former owners, likewise muttering prayers and removing helms. One archer stood over his fallen companion, muttering his own prayer as he fired one last arrow from the dead one's bow into the ground beside him, then laid the weapon over the dead man's chest. Brax had never witnessed these rites before; the funeral customs of the Misthalin army. He was the only one in the party who had nobody to mourn. The remaining Lancer approached him and saluted, falling raindrops and sweat masking his tears. "Master Brax," he said in a loud, confident voice devoid of whatever sadness he harboured, "the mission is a success." The others likewise saluted, before mounting their horses. The Lancer led his fallen comrade's own horse for Brax to take. As the former assassin stepped up to the stirrups, a hand took his shoulder. He turned to see the man who had aided him, his mustard-yellow eyes hard and cold even as he grinned, showing his fangs. "Brax, you sodding berk. Fancy seeing you here in this backwater Prime world."

It didn't have to be a pixel to begin with. :wink: On that, why did you change the title to a "Pixel sig competition?" That would mean that my entry is technically invalid. :?

Actually he's supposed to be kicking off from his right foot to put momentum behind a swing, but that's where my perspective went crazy.

Dead people are pretty simple. First, draw a sleeping person. Next, remove or twist pieces of anatomy and/or clothing at your discretion. Then, add some blood. If you want a more peaceful corpse, just draw a sleeping person, only slightly paler, with the possible addition of carrion-feeding creatures such as flies, worms, crows, etc.

Flail? Nah. 'Tis a weighted, [bleep]ed chain! :twisted:

I'm still trying to get the hang of proportions and perspective, so I'll need a bit of constructive criticism on this one...

Hold the swords closer to the crossguard :wink:. It helps balance. Maybe make his feet further apart, as it has more threatening overtones. I can't really comment too much on the cloth, since I'm still learning how to draw it properly. Overall, nice concept. You'll improve as you go.

Sorry about the latency of the sigs, but I've hit a little bit of shading burnout. School starts again on monday as well, so I'll try to have them done soon. Hold any future orders; it's enough work to sift through them as it is.

Here we go. The relative sizes should be about right.

Hold on, I'll draw up a reference.

I would've, but Chapter 5 wouldn't allow it... :x

shadow3000: I asked for CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, you dolt. On-topic, yeah, I'm still trying to get the hang of how cloth works, as well as facial structure. It'd be so much better if he had full plate armour... :?

Here's a quick (20-30 minute) sketch I made of the main character in my little story (see link in sig). No relation whatsoever to the *other* Brax, who is my D&D character. That's how I see him post-Chapter 4. I might sketch a pre-Chapter 4 one at a later date. Constructive criticism is greatly welcomed!

I'm not too keen on manga, but it's pretty good. The only gripe I have against the pixel drawing is the thickness of the handle compared to the width of the blade. As a rule of thumb, keep the blade's width (especially at the fort̮̩̉̉) similar to the hilt's. The second piece I like (manga-ness aside), especially the scenery - I've never been too good at that. However, the corpse's posture and armour could be improved upon. Hope to see more work from you in the future. :)

*Snort* Wahahahahahaha!

Zonahue? :?

So are you going to do it, little man? That order. :) Lets see if he's all talk or not.

I thought I'd do something a little different...

Funnny that you've said that; I just finished yours. :D

I think the continuous stream of flame is better. I've never really been partial to 50mm cannon dragons. :wink: