tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55295432773572557932024-02-07T18:39:20.935-08:00The Hard Words For Hard Times BlogMousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-63554965608939856322012-04-29T18:16:00.000-07:002012-04-29T18:16:47.864-07:00WALK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7_91rUsZGOF6GDLP8Fw0CZJVGgLofmAOj5Bec30D3hwxp97zKGAj2lNAHpmU_Ekts_D0sGsXQOGK3Dd0pULvvFAROI7BELGUZAKw1NfnqhyA6tT_AaSK1bYzoe-YEBU9VSvdbCEgOWc/s1600/WALKCOVER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7_91rUsZGOF6GDLP8Fw0CZJVGgLofmAOj5Bec30D3hwxp97zKGAj2lNAHpmU_Ekts_D0sGsXQOGK3Dd0pULvvFAROI7BELGUZAKw1NfnqhyA6tT_AaSK1bYzoe-YEBU9VSvdbCEgOWc/s320/WALKCOVER.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">In
the hellishly repressive 'utopia' of America's not-too-distant future,
mindless televised violence is the last surviving art form. A dying
society's final means of catharsis finds its ultimate expression in THE
TOWER OF JUSTICE, seventeen stories of carnage and cameras, where
hundreds of condemned criminals fight to the death daily in glorious
prime time. Enter GARROTTE, a living mountain of muscle and angst, a
man determined to take the 'long walk' to the top of the tower, where,
it's just possible, the ultimate prize of freedom awaits....for whatever
it's worth. <br /> Without a doubt the most over-the-top violent comic
I've ever worked on, possibly the most over-the top violent comic I've
ever read, WALK is a one-shot written by me, conceived, colored and
drawn by my friend Stefano Cardoselli, and lettered by Bram Meehan. The
art is staggeringly great, but I'm not sure how much I can share right
now. The book will hopefully be published by Thirsty Shadow Productions
some time this year.</span></h6>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-43230342080438833772010-11-29T18:41:00.000-08:002010-12-01T19:51:16.884-08:00Garrett Adderly!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXD98To5WaGvapzzddjtfx_fqEY3iJ4AR5szHTn3PSZmS3w8EIHQAzUS5w-B9EADaWrkPqJki4CzUh1KPkgHvGNaQ7fEE0DNN3fA37ufQwNpGlKU3YVYLYqc1DZBhO7owN6WNPdPhhbXQ/s1600/rats_tooth.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545168176065562562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXD98To5WaGvapzzddjtfx_fqEY3iJ4AR5szHTn3PSZmS3w8EIHQAzUS5w-B9EADaWrkPqJki4CzUh1KPkgHvGNaQ7fEE0DNN3fA37ufQwNpGlKU3YVYLYqc1DZBhO7owN6WNPdPhhbXQ/s320/rats_tooth.jpg" /></a><br />Opened my mailbox recently and found this fantastic pinup of Ravvin the Ratboy, one of the signature characters of our silly saga, Rat's Tooth, brilliantly executed by my friend Garrett Adderly!<br /><br />AWESOME!!!!<br /><br />Thanks, Garrett!!!!!!!<br /><br />See lots more of Garrett's fantastic art at bromkah.blogspot.comMousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-9810084819555726432010-08-27T00:43:00.000-07:002010-08-27T01:52:50.420-07:00The Children of Pollot Un Roone Concept Art Project: Stefano Cardoselli and Laura Ruggeri!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgS8fZYQCLiuDi7TuzNfftToWBfw0uK2Og3cYtEY3Etd7fLfWAktnIVaDBpnJ5GdjeSFcutH74BGdxJMXgm-XX7nPzhw2mt7wtk5TjqtEnixVRC9XMArkTd-b1T-eCku7K_pvG3x97Ck/s1600/CHILDREN+OF+PNR+03++copy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510009665068079314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgS8fZYQCLiuDi7TuzNfftToWBfw0uK2Og3cYtEY3Etd7fLfWAktnIVaDBpnJ5GdjeSFcutH74BGdxJMXgm-XX7nPzhw2mt7wtk5TjqtEnixVRC9XMArkTd-b1T-eCku7K_pvG3x97Ck/s320/CHILDREN+OF+PNR+03++copy.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFXuJWMBuPaBqh6cbCdKmuQ3xwLiE4PVa5GZjKEE9Hyj_ONQ8g1eZCcID9zhXV2YKjchrAoEmtrnaK7IVtQz56E6-PHV-ZdriH6kf-o5mIoh7cYzcFAmebw36E_0fBc2a9QLxF22IJGY/s1600/Pollut+Un+Roone.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 209px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510008092973691698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFXuJWMBuPaBqh6cbCdKmuQ3xwLiE4PVa5GZjKEE9Hyj_ONQ8g1eZCcID9zhXV2YKjchrAoEmtrnaK7IVtQz56E6-PHV-ZdriH6kf-o5mIoh7cYzcFAmebw36E_0fBc2a9QLxF22IJGY/s320/Pollut+Un+Roone.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1hfBOH90Spx5sxyNLtUs-tVywfrxHCuYXcjyStZTxkW6yfdPh7auWUfzqJT4q3OsfvEKt8kEc2ddhPowNn3Bch8hVSHFjnLRLuys5Ay9ZjDa3JLYEo3rmTK9awiCW82NNhBsBDdZAoM/s1600/CHILDREN_OF_PNR-colored.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 206px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509996772261860306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1hfBOH90Spx5sxyNLtUs-tVywfrxHCuYXcjyStZTxkW6yfdPh7auWUfzqJT4q3OsfvEKt8kEc2ddhPowNn3Bch8hVSHFjnLRLuys5Ay9ZjDa3JLYEo3rmTK9awiCW82NNhBsBDdZAoM/s320/CHILDREN_OF_PNR-colored.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>The Children of Pollut Un Roone </em>was an idea I was kicking around for my own amusement, not taking particularly seriously, but I've received enough positive feedback on the raw plot and concept artwork, that I have decided that I must take a more careful look at trying to build a book around it... Inspector Vesperro is a native of Garrett Adderly's <em>Brom Kah</em> universe. I loved the rough ideas he had for the character and the gorgeous artwork he had built up around the concept of Vesperro, and wanted to try a Vesperro short story. The idea I originally had was for a very brief tale, involving Vesperro's discovery of a body hidden under the floorboards of an old house...(this scene still appears in the Children narrative), but the story took on something of a life of it's own, and now is quite long and complex...anyway...Stefano helped me come up with some rough ideas for what I wanted, and I'm very pleased with the results. We also have the good fortune to have Laura Ruggeri on hand to lay down the colors on these pages...I think Stefano and Laura both really get what I was thinking about trying to do with this story...Stefano's work deftly balances a tounge-in-cheek sense of humour with my story's sorrowful undertones in a way that prevents an essentially grim script from tipping over into hyper-tragic, melodramatic Goth-o-rama. Laura's quirky blending of dark shadows and bright, cheery colors nicely complements Stef's interpretation of my script...the seed has sprouted and is taking root....What the sprout will become yet remains to be seen...</div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-50643822556064883862010-08-25T20:42:00.000-07:002010-08-25T21:22:09.454-07:00Iron Head Sneak Peeks<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMvGpkBMMwcWNitww_u8A8JuKwa202_tX2MOuLPh3XwH22z2d1GoDQaAsMWYxSw9_9VQKuDCAEJj6oeYZ3xOXLnGTttR9GB85RGbRjRfCyskwpeen8xlwAQE3l_Kg36oG69WIKSgdbG8/s1600/10.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509562016410728226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMvGpkBMMwcWNitww_u8A8JuKwa202_tX2MOuLPh3XwH22z2d1GoDQaAsMWYxSw9_9VQKuDCAEJj6oeYZ3xOXLnGTttR9GB85RGbRjRfCyskwpeen8xlwAQE3l_Kg36oG69WIKSgdbG8/s320/10.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-L-RQo-L22zrJxFsON3HUPKscCMYnbyY7tDHyC5wQ02wZXNKwosiyvT4192QARSiqK51nlp-YMrLloJE6P9LAy9prXSKN6DxuTGvllSEe4zOY-VdZTgEYFJOxGhEDJHzljhyphenhyphena6XEiRYA/s1600/7.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 204px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509560222719920690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-L-RQo-L22zrJxFsON3HUPKscCMYnbyY7tDHyC5wQ02wZXNKwosiyvT4192QARSiqK51nlp-YMrLloJE6P9LAy9prXSKN6DxuTGvllSEe4zOY-VdZTgEYFJOxGhEDJHzljhyphenhyphena6XEiRYA/s320/7.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Haven't posted about Iron Head for a while, but don't think the book has gone away! Progress continues, as you can see, here! Ramon I. Bunge continues to add beautiful and emotive colors to Rita's visceral and moving story and Stefano's evocative pen and inks...We hope to have Iron Head completed before the close of the year. Please enjoy!</div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-80704452706639975672010-08-22T00:18:00.001-07:002010-08-25T21:25:33.253-07:00Comic Related!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_fcTgE2CUw4ruOHJxhFdhmEO0TccPAA-ncUmKP4wQoEbdQ9gKAWDTjZ2bhlDImxao7eUfDsGYvCYhOIz_ZycQs73Y4fQafUuPqDZQrHbkgnYL-f0VizQyfGqOUzs4ReUrB2ykmKuvbo/s1600/chewielovesleia7a-thumb-550x435-41245.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 253px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508130379704136930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_fcTgE2CUw4ruOHJxhFdhmEO0TccPAA-ncUmKP4wQoEbdQ9gKAWDTjZ2bhlDImxao7eUfDsGYvCYhOIz_ZycQs73Y4fQafUuPqDZQrHbkgnYL-f0VizQyfGqOUzs4ReUrB2ykmKuvbo/s320/chewielovesleia7a-thumb-550x435-41245.jpg" /></a><br /><div>My readers, (all seven of you,) may be interested in a site created and maintained by Brant Fowler and his pals called <a href="http://www.comicrelated.com/">http://www.comicrelated.com/</a>. Brant is going to be contributing his talents to <em>Hunt: Brom Kah, Rat's Tooth</em>, and <em>The children of Pollut Un Roone</em>, and anything else I can coax/trap him into conspiring on.</div><div></div><div>Comic Related is a fun site devoted to various aspects of the nerd culture we all know and love, and became, rather rapidly, a default site for me for Comics news and such. The site boasts reviews, news, teasers, spoilers, gripes, bitching and adoration as regards various facets of comicdom, as well as a very helpful creator's corner. Plus you get weird stuff like photos of Chewbacca molesting Leia, and you really can't ask a hell of a lot more than that. So, there it is. You should go to <a href="http://www.comicrelated.com/">http://www.comicrelated.com/</a> asap, check it out and enjoy. </div><div>Cheers,</div><div>Stephen</div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-75044191512125665702010-07-17T01:06:00.000-07:002010-07-17T01:20:08.401-07:00Hunt! Brom Kah! UpdateLast month, I posted about my plans to put together a short piece for Garrett Adderly's Brom Kah short story contest. We got a late start, and Garrett was even awesome enough to extend the deadline for 30 days just for us and guess what? I STILL missed the deadline. We're going to finish the story anyhow, of course...<em>Hunt! Brom Kah! </em>is a nine page short story, and will actually be the first comic story I will ever have started and finished! Whole thing should be lettered and ready for Garrett by the end of the month. I hope you enjoy some of the sample artwork here...Pen and inks by Stefano Cardoselli, of course, colors by Ramon Ignacio Bunge!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVHAu8tFJ4yGJhDL6utwDzlOOJVKxzmivk8hhXT45hfAJCuxWYxmAMX_DTcTAWEN1WNpLewiRLEyb_uW91x5gBH0_ESfust8BuSDEhxqWR1UlJWx4-lBPurLvAPXKK6uyPifL8nwJW5A/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 208px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494784952058591346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVHAu8tFJ4yGJhDL6utwDzlOOJVKxzmivk8hhXT45hfAJCuxWYxmAMX_DTcTAWEN1WNpLewiRLEyb_uW91x5gBH0_ESfust8BuSDEhxqWR1UlJWx4-lBPurLvAPXKK6uyPifL8nwJW5A/s320/1.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15R5v-Kp9q-1Of71dmaJQ7lzcszeCxCKGRzor4pQds6A7gpGbhZ8W23ICciBsyD1A8EI1NpiZtBH5m1Z0-H04mdh4pp9Z03LgFdSxxmneaUOqfLEZj1f1u3MXZSTMyVoWr1K2qBjZ1jI/s1600/4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 206px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494784440600537458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15R5v-Kp9q-1Of71dmaJQ7lzcszeCxCKGRzor4pQds6A7gpGbhZ8W23ICciBsyD1A8EI1NpiZtBH5m1Z0-H04mdh4pp9Z03LgFdSxxmneaUOqfLEZj1f1u3MXZSTMyVoWr1K2qBjZ1jI/s320/4.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzgIfR6Yalbzf5QfXnYob3_8npm-td09KGarpSRQP0Hq2Xe16X_vwKUhbbP6bMtVNsfLWP6yHlN01y8l4rGt_Oa4IGcUO_WOkKxfDg7pb96sOoXdKAATzK4Vp9gIjPanU4PEXVr9w83A/s1600/6.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 210px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494784035123531810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzgIfR6Yalbzf5QfXnYob3_8npm-td09KGarpSRQP0Hq2Xe16X_vwKUhbbP6bMtVNsfLWP6yHlN01y8l4rGt_Oa4IGcUO_WOkKxfDg7pb96sOoXdKAATzK4Vp9gIjPanU4PEXVr9w83A/s320/6.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-31798769270310477362010-07-17T00:38:00.000-07:002010-07-17T00:53:36.438-07:00Slowly but Surely....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAgpAh51-wn94i5BEjD7waWZRssFhW53p3ESNhobbZdl15KNi77JHljoVHMLW2Q0wt2B3pxix59mWwG2IOTDAdw5kjnl99LSfXtp3aLpou1ikZvorJX1YTvlBnONd3xJGFS52wcPUXSA/s1600/Rat's+Tooth+Logo.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494779701143604194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAgpAh51-wn94i5BEjD7waWZRssFhW53p3ESNhobbZdl15KNi77JHljoVHMLW2Q0wt2B3pxix59mWwG2IOTDAdw5kjnl99LSfXtp3aLpou1ikZvorJX1YTvlBnONd3xJGFS52wcPUXSA/s320/Rat's+Tooth+Logo.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaWXJdiwF6VflGikzEb9OYzPFh_ZfjHRPdqKzjqu2WV5yBdgQYjZe94UvmxHxbVmGafIb0nKVtaeGk88JTiZ27iXbdAIQo7cg6JuzG79pxmm7r90exUrgpuexdiPLk0S42bb9ti8_OA8/s1600/11+(2).jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 204px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494779331008811026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaWXJdiwF6VflGikzEb9OYzPFh_ZfjHRPdqKzjqu2WV5yBdgQYjZe94UvmxHxbVmGafIb0nKVtaeGk88JTiZ27iXbdAIQo7cg6JuzG79pxmm7r90exUrgpuexdiPLk0S42bb9ti8_OA8/s320/11+(2).jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRXRhu6-M2FRsxqUqPQIdHpi2PSsUu4JrRh7pGoFvQYI5buL7fo1S-y67dUU6BM8NtzT-wnDPakUw1wrUeg-rGNOO9UFUbAIwAjT3Ih3ra3sdVT21RomCgxP5TyB4DVkWKDdyYMC9zoI/s1600/14.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 206px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494776751566992482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRXRhu6-M2FRsxqUqPQIdHpi2PSsUu4JrRh7pGoFvQYI5buL7fo1S-y67dUU6BM8NtzT-wnDPakUw1wrUeg-rGNOO9UFUbAIwAjT3Ih3ra3sdVT21RomCgxP5TyB4DVkWKDdyYMC9zoI/s320/14.jpg" /></a> ...Rat's Tooth Issue 1 takes shape! Now that Stefano is finished with the pen and inks for IRON HEAD, Rat's Tooth is gaining momentum! Here are some samples of the new chapter 1 pages Stefano just finished. Thanks, Stefano!<br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-28999356106935788662010-07-16T22:55:00.000-07:002010-09-11T00:45:06.434-07:00All about Rat's Tooth<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494750853552704322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxz4p0WcwOcyjP-gID-cM8lfpjyzkqWepNBynU1JP3jaTqJJQGr92kZqrfCiP3dQ9h6WBUKmiq0p-sY5OhyphenhyphenBKHQPM52I61cyvqsODpWO896TjnVqtR4BR7EoIhgAW5JkHA2P4GeMbj2Q/s320/Rat's+Tooth+Logo.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 222px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494751235338461074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJtdFBwn3NNTFh1YM_evXSASErXoC5k1MVaBPtjhRUO-C8UFVPaDyNuNADjw_13L62Q76psQbBeBo4G9qVjCcCCO4is2C0Kh54qaNP-BB9Kow3XekKxH2JuELAB8flKcdzC1EJ8tz5a0/s320/RATST_COVER_ink_preview.jpg" /><br /><br />“Ok, Quoth the storyteller…Get this..."<br />Long ago and far away and at the end of time, there is a magnificent city, a city of silver and gold. And also sewage. Of high towers polished and shining like glass in the sun. Of narrow, crowded, twisting streets and deep, stinking tunnels where the light of the sun never falls. Of magnificent palaces blazing with jewels, mantled in deep, shaded gardens where weird beasts prowl. Also of wide expanses of decaying ruins, inhabited by the hordes of the starving, and the plague-smitten. Now, this city is (or was) ruled by a council of mighty sorcerers, wizards who were something more than men, having somewhat of the divine in them. It was the power of these sorcerers that kept the peace amoung the city’s countless guilds, unions, cults, gangs and petty warlords. For this task, (and also to protect themselves from one another) the sorcerers gathered to themselves bands of devoted followers. To ensure their utmost loyalty, these retainers were drawn when very young from amoung the orphans and abandoned urchins of the city’s teeming slums. As children, they were trained to perform various tasks in the service of their masters. The most unpromising were raised to be expert in the various mundane tasks of running the wizards’ households. They became companions and concubines, entertainers, clerks, cooks and gardeners. But the strongest, the quickest, the most clever, aggressive and unique, were singled out and trained to become members of the Fighting Cadres, the fighting elite who did the bloody work of enforcing the wizards’ will throughout the great city. The strongest and toughest were trained as bodyguards and warriors, the most cunning and quick were trained as assassins, burglars and spies, while the wisest and cleverest were trained as sorcerers and scientists, the most powerful cadre of all. The fighting cadres were high in the councils of their masters, and it was they who delivered dread and death to the enemies of the lords of the city, whether in dark, fecal alleys or in boudoirs of silk and gold. They were the agents and the symbols of their Masters’ might; where they walked, the shadow of the Wizards’ greatness fell."<br /><br /><div>The storyteller shifted and scratched himself, cleared his throat and continued.<br />Now, my Mistress tells me that she was at this time, in the Fighting Cadre of the City’s mightiest Wizard, one Severus Petrucci. She even has told me that she serves him still, though how, I cannot imagine, for I am about to get to the part of the story where he dies.<br />As I said, Petrucci was the mightiest of the City’s Wizards, and as his power had waxed, so had his ambition... And he had decided, at last, that it was not fit that a being of his stature should sit merely as an equal in a council of his lessers. My mistress was amoung the fighters who launched Petrucci’s doomed coup against the council. They came within inches of victory, and of overthrowing the other wizards, and installing their master as Autarch over all the Great City. But the Wizards recovered from their initial loss, and pooled their strength, and their Cadres drove Petrucci’s followers, street by street, back to Petrucci’s very palace. There, his Cadres died fighting before his very doors.<br />Four, only, of Petrucci’s fighting cadres escaped back into the palace. My mistress led them. As Petrucci Immolated himself in a blast of sorcery, they fled, through weird ways and along strange paths and through unmapped worlds to this land. And on the way had many strange adventures.<br />The storyteller rubbed the smoke of the campfire out of his eyes, sniffed, spat and continued.<br />“Now I am a fighting man in the cadre of my mistress, Silky, for here in Land’s End, she has built for herself a new Cadre of her own, and rules the docks of the city from her marble fortress. And I am one of her own…and where I walk, her shadow falls.”<br /><br />These were the four followers of Severus Petrucci who survived the rebellion in the Golden city, and fled to Land’s End.<br /><br />Silky the scout: Silky was purchased by a rich government official when still very young, for use as a concubine. She did not care much for the destiny that had been chosen for her, and stabbed her master with a kitchen knife the first time he tried to have his way with his new purchase. This earned her arrest by the city fuzz, and a sentence to being torn apart by lions and monsters in the arena. While she was waiting in jail for her sentence to be carried out, Severus Petrucci arrived, sweeping the jails for potential recruits for his cadres. He adopted her, and trained her in his fighting cadres as an archer and a scout. For Silky, Petrucci is (or was) family: The only being that ever helped her or gave her a home, or treated her with respect. She remains fanatically loyal to his memory, even after his death, and it is this need to maintain a link to him that drives her to try to shepard the other three oddball survivors of the cadre through their weird adventures. Silky is a slender, pretty girl with delicate features, pointed ears, and a hard, tough expression. (and a nice bottom.) She normally gathers her hair up into an impressively tall, powder blue Mohawk, but when she doesn’t have the time or pomade to maintain this elaborate and impractical ‘do, it hangs down around her shoulders. Her costume is a black leather outfit and a metal mask. The protection is heavier on the left side of her outfit, because she turns that side toward her enemy when she shoots. Silky is very much the leader of the group.<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 227px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 318px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494753363853348098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjjhYkBXmMVygwCYARu-nFHqVP8EmQQrgKpDPcHcJE1rSX6MdOuP2e_KYG-eyTzz7_w1OuH7o9qC6wswcBhrapZW8xR7MNMjuBtChfLsonnnKOVBIiKxiRbhI2LGCN5vpEJHcT9Ouycg/s320/RitaGorgoniSilky2.jpg" /><br /><br /><div>Ravvin the Ratboy- Like a sort of ghetto Tarzan, or a gutter Moses, Ravvin the Ratboy was abandoned and cast adrift in the city stormdrain while still an infant, and swept down into the sewer, where he was found By a tribe of sewer rats. The rats raised Ravvin as one of their own. He grew up flea bitten, acne scarred, scrawny and generally disgusting, but to the rats, his human size and strength was impressive. He became their great champion and battled the stray cats and dogs and other rat tribes which terrorized them. One day, Ravvin’s foster Rat mother died. Ravvin, saddened, decided to seek his fortune<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 210px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494754122779105170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr1bKE7xVruMJYTQIWgvDODQfXVB7mOfY44OrDMgcMVCE4Ipg9ICyjf92VW-sKVnc0zyJbJTh13aajq5EW23eHaSULVVrxWO2forQSZKLFWCxigqZumnGl8QkLBrImHhLv92puaUCz_I/s320/RatBoy+Rough+Color.jpg" />in the mysterious upper world. He left the sewers and was almost immmediately apprehended by the police who found him, and, not knowing for sure what the hell he was, or what to do with him, beat him up and threw him in jail, just to be safe. Petrucci eventually came along, seeking recruits for his cadres, and adopted Ravvin. Ravvin’s great skill in slinking and sneaking and worming in and out of tight places cut him out nicely for a career in Petrucci’s cadre, where he was trained as a spy and an assassin. Ravvin is somewhat short and wiry. There is something rat-like about his face, especially his teeth. He has a thatch of mangy grey hair on top of his head, and wears rags. Just rags. He has a rotting burlap sack which he guards with his life. In the sack he keeps a number of repellant keepsakes…rotten potatoes, fishbones, and less identifiable bits of garbage which he calls food. He also has a cat skull in there. This is a trophy, taken from one of his vanquished enemies back in his sewer days. Ravvin often talks to the cat skull, and it seems to talk back to him, but we are never sure if it is actually talking, or if Ravvin is just crazy. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XF1VLYpRRomqF9O0yTNU8uGkJ-uD2II_HnY0Q1q9TxZBWmXcXTJB2C0lGcBRED9JA45YpVkAGO9SlsqUw1ayaCIemPcUQx7u98cs_8JQCQOhut3mdIdzF44vMLFrj4WYMqcxijGWGPo/s1600/ratboyface2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 236px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494759321648848146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XF1VLYpRRomqF9O0yTNU8uGkJ-uD2II_HnY0Q1q9TxZBWmXcXTJB2C0lGcBRED9JA45YpVkAGO9SlsqUw1ayaCIemPcUQx7u98cs_8JQCQOhut3mdIdzF44vMLFrj4WYMqcxijGWGPo/s320/ratboyface2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>Ravvin’s other possessions are a rusty knife he calls “Sharpie”, and a mouldy rusty meat cleaver he finds in about issue #4. This Meat Cleaver is called RAT”S TOOTH, and it is possessed by a demon of the same name. The Demon tries to get control of Ravvin by promising Ravvin unlimited earthly power if Ravvin will agree to serve it…(sort of like Tolkien’s ring or Moorcock’s Elric’s Stormbringer) but Ravvin grew up in the sewer and has essentially no ambition besides being left alone to eat the bits of tasty garbage he keeps in his wonderful sack, so the demon is constantly frustrated in its attempts to get Ravvin to do something to improve their shared situation. The Demon in the Cleaver and the cat skull in the sack do not get along, and argueand bicker constantly as they each try to influence the rather indifferent Ravvin.</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 209px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494756903105089026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjawKXoskvp8i6pYbQ23vuvQ4_MnlEhGttE-uhSHZPxhYPBk7oiCWVuuedWMhtthpm3aiMgnlRwShqLi66YrtUDCP5Xs1zyC4J2HLDyxAsAhKqlw84e6k7G3K4af2tx-AvmI66pgjeM20/s320/ECROMKOWrough+color+mock+up.jpg" /><br />Lennard Cromkow- Lennard’s father was an undertaker on the fringes of the Great City, in one of the miserable districts which was constantly battered by waves of plague. Lennard’s experience of life as a small boy was that of one who bears constant witness to the triumph of Death. He made the rounds with his father every day, picking up the bodies of those who had died of plague and of other causes, and hauling them to the burial pits on the edge of the City, far out there where the earth faded away into a twilit nothingness. Sitting in the cart beside his father, Lennard listened to his father’s sermons on life and Death. His father tried to teach him that Death was a great inevitability, a great social equalizer, which no one could escape, and which, as such, no one should be afraid of. Lennard’s mother died of the plague, and his father went on speaking of the great inevitability, the great power in the universe, which could not be denied…DEATH. The horse that drew the family’s cart came down with the plague and died. Lennard and his father dragged the bodies of the dead outside the city by hand. Still Lennard’s father tried to convince him that Death should not be feared, for it was the greatest of all powers in the world…It was the true work and face of God. Lennard’s father caught plague and went to his deathbed, still trying to teach his son to accept and love, not to hate or fear, Death. Severus Petrucci’s Cadre men, combing the plague districts for orphans, found Lennard sitting by his dead father. They took him to Petrucci, who looked at him, saw something in him, and took him into his cadres to train as a sorcerer.<br />Lennard is completely insane, even further gone and crazier than Ravvin the Ratboy, if that is possible. In his tutelage as a wizard under Petrucci, he has specialized in the necromantic arts, and has come to learn so much of the nature of death, that he believes himself to be an agent of Death on earth, a sort of Grim Reaper sent to do Death’s work. Lennard affects, as much as possible, what he imagines is the appearance of his God, The Reaper. He wears a huge black cloak and hood, from the Saturnine depths of which his wide, white eyes sometimes glare out, startlingly. His weapon is a huge scythe…ridiculously, stupidly huge, but he can be surprisingly swift and skillfull in applying it to his enemies. He wears a huge backpack which is hung about with all sorts of weird bits of gear and equipment…scalpels, a cauldron, little cages containing his zombie rats and bats which he has reanimated, jugs of embalming fluid, formaldehyde, etc. Lennard can reanimate humans, too, and whenever possible, has a zombie or two following him around, which makes it hard for him to get into bars and such. Lennard’s looniness cannot be overstated. He is actually quite handsome, but his appearance is so absurdly over the top macabre, his conversation so obsessed with death, and his person so rank with the stink of putrefaction and formaldehyde that his presence evokes hostility in practically everyone. Lennard and Ravvin DO NOT GET ALONG,<br /><br />and any one issue of Rat’s Tooth will contain at least one attempt by one to kill the other, sort of like SPY VS SPY, usually at the worst possible tactical moment, and much to Silky’s exasperation. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 211px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494757334090302290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0al5DKy5cIcev4o0EHiI2eB8nPvFeqTZOu92d0oh1WagDT97La83K-q6y-42o-v3Pgb3r6WCF12vw1A7g04Sm2UVmaVMoXRx284VTCRKlfN7V6tfIZvkKHMug5sno03KcL_eCYPhrDLw/s320/Sturmsen+Final+Ink.jpg" /><br /></div><div></div><div>Sturmsen Sturmgaardsen: On the most remote, icebound fringes of the land of the Great City, there lived a race of pygmy Vikings. Now, I hear some of you folks out there laughing at the phrase “pygmy Viking” like you think it’s funny. But I can assure you, they are not a people to be trifled with. Ever been in hand to hand combat with a pygmy Viking? No, you haven’t. So shut up. It’s not fun. Anyway, fiercely proud and independent, the Little Vikings had long resisted the attempts of the Wizards of the Great City to annex their lands. And successfully so. That is until one night when Storgunn Storallfullson and Friedrich Sturmgaardsen got in a drinking contest. Long after all their booze-bedraggled followers had dragged themselves outside to spew their multicolored agony into the snowdrifts, Storgunn and Friedrich remained stubbornly upright, glaring at each other over their tankards of turnip beer, somehow managing to remain conscious of one another’s presence, and talk at the same time. Closing one eye with his finger so as to be able to focus on Storrallfullson, Sturmgaardsen proposed that they should gather their clans to raid and sack <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 218px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494757148220532802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN20GPEsqR4YBj65Yq3IdqCmw7yNvCj1foGLU06XKDKk8kZXFQoIGZgGirxMdwrndSvEQPw8IHq2m-a4W042Qt9oZvMufd158ZVXxR4jaj7H3FD1YaZOPmGbwGiwrcn8dkhb57VD0NhfA/s320/orlandosturmsen.jpg" />the Golden city of the Wizards. A number of witnesses too weak to drag themselves outside clearly heard the conversation which followed. It consisted mostly of small, violent men falling down and breaking things, and ended irrefutably in the two lords of the pygmy Viking nation swearing eternal brotherhood and also that on the very next day that they would assemble their hosts to attack the city of the wizards.<br />Imagine their horror when they awoke the next evening to realize what they had done. The mighty city was all but impregnable to their little fleets of dwarf dragon ships, but the blood oath they had made was taken very seriously in their culture, and to go back on it would result in a loss of face and social status which would be worse than the death which surely awaited them beneath the walls of the city of the wizards. Friedrich Sturmgaardsen’s young son, Sturmsen, already highly regarded in his community for having killed several of his playmates, stowed away in one of his father’s ships and was in the disastrous battle, which led to the destruction of every ship in the Little Viking fleet and their crews as well. Only Sturmsen was taken alive by the Cadres who defended the Wizards’ city, and this only after he killed several of them at close quarters. Petrucci naturally recognized the value of such a bersek young fighter, and brought Sturmsen up in his own cadre.<br />Sturmsen is squat and muscle-bound, and carries an absurdly large hammer, with which he does violence upon the world at large. He worships a collection of Dark and Sullen northern Gods who are pleased most when things are broken and fellows killed for no reason other than to make them happy. He is usually quiet and indifferent to the world around him, but oncve he gets started, he becomes a veritable hurricane of destruction which is hard to stop. In about issue #4, Sturmsen discovers a strange, ornate suit of armor which he wears forever after. The armor is haunted by a destructive spirit which slowly devours him, ultimately, after many many issues, Sturmsen is no more, and the suit of armor crashes empty to the floor, awaiting another occupant. </div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-61704335368142805992010-06-02T23:03:00.000-07:002010-06-02T23:38:17.863-07:00Brom Kah: The Children of Pallut N'Roone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYY-U74O2GMfOUfm7Wzb5EouCmOj6W11OWs_8qwqHal8xalRPsCl1BrdLg_uMtXmfMjeagbL_MFGIUTGs4H8Mr46h3NFCJ2T6rvP-rvbsrx2t9ObzNeTf3ZCoasVaGR4OKKJTR9YIm5cs/s1600/CHILDREN_OF_PNR.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 206px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478431075782119314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYY-U74O2GMfOUfm7Wzb5EouCmOj6W11OWs_8qwqHal8xalRPsCl1BrdLg_uMtXmfMjeagbL_MFGIUTGs4H8Mr46h3NFCJ2T6rvP-rvbsrx2t9ObzNeTf3ZCoasVaGR4OKKJTR9YIm5cs/s320/CHILDREN_OF_PNR.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Hey, Folks!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A good while ago I stumbled across Garrett Adderly's Brom Kah project. Like I have told Garrett, recently, there are some things you see and like, but which you forget about, and some things that sort of cling to you, and the imagery of the world Garrett created for his Brom Kah universe...<em>clings </em>in a peculiarly sticky and delightful way.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So...<em>for God's sake</em>... check out Garrett's site at <a href="http://www.bromkah.blogspot.com/">http://www.bromkah.blogspot.com/</a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Know, also, intrepid nerd, that yours truly has recently attempted to engage Mr. Adderly with two of my own stories based on his mythos, a short piece called <em>Hunt! Brom-Kah!</em> and another, much longer proposal based on his Inspector Vespero character, which we are calling : </div><div><em>The Children of Pollat N'Roone...</em> My great friend and co-conspirator Stefano Cardoselli recently completed an awesome splash piece for this latter story proposal, based on my concepts, the details of which I am still hammering out.</div><div></div><div>We are still in the springtime of our contributions to Brom Kah<em>, </em>so I want to say right now that both <em>Hunt! Brom-Kah</em>! and <em>The Children of Pallut N'Roone </em>are concept projects, and for some time, all script and art which Stefano and I complete for these projects will be subject to final approval by Garrett, but we will keep you updated...</div><div></div><div>Here is the Splash page Stefano completed for <em>The Children of Pallut N'Roone...</em></div><div>In this story, Vesperro and an apprentice inspector, Sapanno,attempt to uncover the facts behind the dissappearances of a number of children in their city. That truth is not pretty...but they do the best they can to set things to rights...</div><div></div><div>We will keep you posted as to how things are coming along!</div><div></div><div>Stay tuned!</div><div></div><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-18137978627049796892010-06-02T19:08:00.000-07:002010-06-03T01:57:54.471-07:00War Story<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UrCdo8cv277Zr8a5P4uUzqL8nIjOdB3uTd8KPvMynCLQaBtqnwRqd1k-bix2A4QlxMAD_AU2Of5LqqRH5eM_F7sQGWG3JjpiDBzzX2lnXYkV0Tsq9e_-oBPQDVpKxztrt68iyzJsliE/s1600/afghanistan+098.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478392981209901586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5UrCdo8cv277Zr8a5P4uUzqL8nIjOdB3uTd8KPvMynCLQaBtqnwRqd1k-bix2A4QlxMAD_AU2Of5LqqRH5eM_F7sQGWG3JjpiDBzzX2lnXYkV0Tsq9e_-oBPQDVpKxztrt68iyzJsliE/s320/afghanistan+098.jpg" /></a> On this Memorial day I am....<br /><br />...a day late and a dollar short, as usual.<br /><br /><br /><br />Nonetheless...<br /><br /><br /><br />I wrote this untitled piece, which I call "War Story" not long after I got back from Afghanistan, in 2005. I am still a little embarrassed of it, but I think now, that there is more to be pleased by than embarrassed at as regards it.<br /><br />Although I had three good friends who were killed by Improvised Explosive Devices, (sometimes referred to as roadside bombs or booby traps by our good friends in the media), and was almost killed by one myself in Iraq, the character in this story is fictional, although it should be plain that my own personal experiences, and those of some of my friends, are, essentially, HIS life.<br /><br />For a long time, I figured this story had no place anywhere but in my filing cabinet, but I am beginning to think that the story might lend itself well to the comic forma<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2ZWXxqzG_l3wU6t-7Is-EHysNhL3geoiMbqKATHZ-9aySw-Cv5CuC9Zv9ssudakIHC-gR4jnxohpKriICSJfAEgrnvQ-ABc0qwqPM6hRJJKsrtCCsFE1i2WncM62x1-kJKq8Ihk1sso/s1600/moebis.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 239px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478417184776555298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2ZWXxqzG_l3wU6t-7Is-EHysNhL3geoiMbqKATHZ-9aySw-Cv5CuC9Zv9ssudakIHC-gR4jnxohpKriICSJfAEgrnvQ-ABc0qwqPM6hRJJKsrtCCsFE1i2WncM62x1-kJKq8Ihk1sso/s320/moebis.jpg" /></a>t. Somehow, I was gripped by the the comic story "Les Yeux Du Chat" by Jodorowsky and Moebius, which I found in in a copy of "Taboo" in a local used bookstore some time after I came back. Moebius's magnificent imagery immediately made me think of my nameless "war story".<br /><br /><br />I'd like to do this story in comic form if I can find the right guy to pencil it...<br /><br />The illustrations I've added here are from Le Yeux Du Chat. The Photos are all my own.<br /><br /><br />War Story<br /><br />To what belongs his name? A man. A boy. No-one. He had a bright face, dark skin. His teeth were white, his was hair short and black and curly. He could remember sitting on a carpet in the little house, kneading its substance in his tiny hand. He could remember the grown-up girls striding down the walk outside, their laughter loud and high and alien and strange. He could remember the rain filling up the cracks between the bricks on the patio outside. He could remember a dog, his mother cursing, his father laughing…and then his father was gone. There was a school, with whitewashed walls, and silly posters and ball games, and there was music, with its thumping rhythm that made the girls want to move, and here were the girls again, still alien, but familiar, too, in an alarming way, and some of them he kissed, some of them he made love to, in little close rooms or outside in the Southern evenings, the breath of God washing though the trees above, and he thought “This is alright, if this is all that ever happens to me, then that is alright.” Because there is nothing more beautiful than this. And he said, thank you, God, for this, but he was afraid, too. He thought that God might be angry with him for it, like his mother would be, but he closed his eyes, and a girl’s cheeks was warm on his naked shoulder, and he thought “Thank you, God, thank you for this”<br /><br />Under the soil of the summer orchard in Ghazni, God was waiting.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDVO2mnIoxgDXApSOOGQp__a4nqnXQ5PIZpEW-WibU0BEmoCfg-aUbzeEHazsiY1UUW_g384xVZUbVxeggjpLiQU3HNuiKJW8mqAmYWjytRYwCXjp58uJg8Ni_dHPW0Go-Bg5tfQf5Ic/s1600/Crazy+johnson+take+cover+dummy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478399539959049442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDVO2mnIoxgDXApSOOGQp__a4nqnXQ5PIZpEW-WibU0BEmoCfg-aUbzeEHazsiY1UUW_g384xVZUbVxeggjpLiQU3HNuiKJW8mqAmYWjytRYwCXjp58uJg8Ni_dHPW0Go-Bg5tfQf5Ic/s320/Crazy+johnson+take+cover+dummy.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />There was a shiny, silken robe, and a diploma curled like a scepter in his fist, and cameras, and aunts and grandmothers that hugged and kissed him, and there was a tired seeming man in a green uniform, who was older than he looked, and who sat in an office full of posters, and the television was loud with the rumors of war. In a strange place, in another world, there were burning trucks on the sides of nameless roads, and pale men with wide eyes full of fear. And then there were shouting men in funny Smokey-the-Bear hats, pretending to be angry, and sometimes they were angry, but not often, and he his friends, their heads all shaven, laughed, and the drill sergeants were laughing, too, before the end. But with some of them you could see it, a soft movement around the mouth that was a little bit love and a little bit fear, showing through all the bluff and braggodoccio of the business. And it WAS a business. Or so it seemed, to them. And they all knew it. And that was the sad part. But no matter.<br /><br />Shoulder to shoulder they stood on the hot asphalt on graduation day.<br /><br />One behind the other they stood in the belly of the roaring plane, and the navel of the plane opened, and they howled together in defiance of their fear, and down they went, out they went, in a long chain, out, into the light, and you stand for an instant in the door and your heart is exploding with your terror and your joy, and you step out and place your feet upon the palms of God, and out you go, borne aloft like a bird, and the mad earth dancing eleven hundred feet below, and he thought, Dear God, get me through this, and I’ll never ask you for anything else ever again. And as if by a miracle, soft he landed, in the high grass, and heard the murmuring passage of the plane that had borne him passing away toward the east, and he watched a little red insect creature clamber up a stem of grass, and its back opened up and became wings, and it flew away, and he thought, thank you, God, thank you. You didn’t let me down. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuubiE2FkjIu-RghVANOBHPnFRO4Y4Zz-FYb9tD6HG7ctAu70MzsQaxBKroLErAVRBXb1Qc9vQV2LUzgrYpOinjxanpLm4J_yg_w9GWThfKFMojqNugAkDoE1yd74sjXdBymxNbobW-o/s1600/Through+the+mountains.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478386873892504978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuubiE2FkjIu-RghVANOBHPnFRO4Y4Zz-FYb9tD6HG7ctAu70MzsQaxBKroLErAVRBXb1Qc9vQV2LUzgrYpOinjxanpLm4J_yg_w9GWThfKFMojqNugAkDoE1yd74sjXdBymxNbobW-o/s320/Through+the+mountains.JPG" /></a><br /><br />In Ghazni, under the apricot trees, God was waiting.<br /><br />His mother was there, smiling and weeping a little, and praying for God to go with him.<br />There were goodbyes and there were “You’ll be allrights” and “Keep your head downs”…<br /><br />There was a long line of men out to the waiting plane.<br /><br />There were long lines of men threading their way through the mountains where no grass grew, where no stream sang. The sun was high and hot. Brown faces glared at them from out of mud windows. Great mastiff-hounds roared at them from out of the shadow of mud walls. They tried to think of home. They tried to think of girls, but all the women here covered their faces, as if they feared the eye of god might fall upon them, and they thought of the stewardesses on the planes, who smiled pasted-on smiles at these men who were so afraid and needed so much to be loved, who but shielded themselves, with their smiles, like the strippers did downtown, and the men knew it and hated them for it, and were all the more afraid.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnPta70FYkBN0aoUTbgKfYI-I9wvYEjeuMFVQGpKcUDMAU2fMJ6kJ1fKpuwoKuOr-URLgmsZUc31Sm0nnvjTLGUivf8sjsLgYfMR79Lbt9lhjAHp5sUnRqldHU0z3weIZEOpQvTKa8Dg/s1600/Iraq+the+fruit+of+the+tree+(1).JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478385975017374786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnPta70FYkBN0aoUTbgKfYI-I9wvYEjeuMFVQGpKcUDMAU2fMJ6kJ1fKpuwoKuOr-URLgmsZUc31Sm0nnvjTLGUivf8sjsLgYfMR79Lbt9lhjAHp5sUnRqldHU0z3weIZEOpQvTKa8Dg/s320/Iraq+the+fruit+of+the+tree+(1).JPG" /></a><br />There was never enough food, there was never enough water, but there were almonds and apricots and pomegranates in the shady orchards, and they came down out of the mountains after many days more ravenous for sugar and moisture than they were for love, for hunger is always stronger than love, and they plucked the fruit from the nodding branches. Great black birds, the only birds to be seen in all this cruel and unwholesome corner of the world, watched them with black snake eyes from the highest branches while they ate and sat and nodded and dozed in the scanty shade, and as they dozed death gathered close about them, and they awoke from dreaming of strange far places, and they shook off their darkness and shouldered their <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6B0kMb5mj37F6SLF9BUF4fOmqBmjxNMHBClnazxPQMgiZNVb4AjVVIJgyzJjh0e_7KhW5IaY6XNaS7yiFDwIA9DXUbYQ9Sd_IwvavblHT1p6U9qF6gEeeQx5o_NZ7d06K6w9BB_zi4F0/s1600/CIMG0362.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478468433987821442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6B0kMb5mj37F6SLF9BUF4fOmqBmjxNMHBClnazxPQMgiZNVb4AjVVIJgyzJjh0e_7KhW5IaY6XNaS7yiFDwIA9DXUbYQ9Sd_IwvavblHT1p6U9qF6gEeeQx5o_NZ7d06K6w9BB_zi4F0/s320/CIMG0362.JPG" /></a>black rifles, and set off through the shaded avenues of fruit trees.<br /><br />The boots of eight men scuffed the face of the trail, kicking it up in little clouds of du<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUq6OU5BWNbxvqJ6YfRQPRjtQ23_3PuY_T20S2m1HHCGpknYKgUjjXYV_e5BHkx902qptbsS4dO1HCXHazOZnkSHu1ECSaYfKMpVew79BVvAJXjvjIyEQpTS_leNuEGW0wI88An0cSvg/s1600/moebius1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 247px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478417445269699522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVUq6OU5BWNbxvqJ6YfRQPRjtQ23_3PuY_T20S2m1HHCGpknYKgUjjXYV_e5BHkx902qptbsS4dO1HCXHazOZnkSHu1ECSaYfKMpVew79BVvAJXjvjIyEQpTS_leNuEGW0wI88An0cSvg/s320/moebius1.jpg" /></a>st, but they all passed safely by the metal box in which God was buried. Joe was the ninth man, and it was he who stepped upon the box.<br /><br />God spoke from under the ground.<br /><br />The trees shivered. Black birds rose in a thunder of wings, driving themselves up into the sky, crying aloud with wild voices. His friends fell to their knees, but HE was lifted up. He turned into a tail of earth and smoke that was unfurled upon the breeze. He turned into a mist of blood that fell back upon the orchard floor in a gentle rain. He turned into a black bird that spread obsidian wings and lifted itself upon the wind…<br /><br />The bird flew high above the stony fields and dusty flocks, and over the columns of marching men, straggling over narrow bridges above dead rivers. It rose above the dust and haze, up into a clearer air. It flew over burning deserts, and dry rivers, over grey field and brown foothills and blue-skirted mountains, their caps sheathed in snow, winging its way toward the west, and searching, always, for the sea.<br /><br /><br /><div align="center">fini.</div><br /><br />Memorial day.<br />Big FUCKING deal.<br />Find me a day when I DON'T remember these three men, my friends, my comrades, my brothers, who fell in battle beside me...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc25dLMg5DzAnreQMHmIISPf_7x37nQXSnw00IPsTTMph9j2Qc2sjGuuIypJme58LyedyCy-PEg_nGMcC3rlkPsP8A_phAHo9FisjXVbAUX9_4vbEXU_58dVOaR5CYtEJodxjgOe7aZ4/s1600/Big+B.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478393860034759634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc25dLMg5DzAnreQMHmIISPf_7x37nQXSnw00IPsTTMph9j2Qc2sjGuuIypJme58LyedyCy-PEg_nGMcC3rlkPsP8A_phAHo9FisjXVbAUX9_4vbEXU_58dVOaR5CYtEJodxjgOe7aZ4/s320/Big+B.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Corporal Miguel "Bee" Baez<br />Staff Sargeant Sandy "Scuba" Britt<br />Sargeant John "Ski" Osmolski<br /><br />There are no better men than you, my friends.<br />I love you and I will see you soon.<br />-StephenMousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-37996396835451757162010-04-28T17:37:00.000-07:002010-04-28T17:42:00.586-07:00Rat's Tooth TeaserMy buddy Alex johns designed this sweet Teaser for me. He designed the logo with the nasty Rat skulls and hobbled together my text and the art by Stefano and Orlando together into a nifty package. Hope ya dig it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERES5iOh2I3qLCLCn3x92uA1Hv4aq6o9GF4Dg2g7VWM4Fz63psWeU-2HFu0rNMKzYEhabJOtzimyBR_YTCPYdcOhDSPIuf5vve0CdWFEySO4fs2QAvwCKFb6gaReltWxV_G0ArojZJlI/s1600/newhomepage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 98px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465352460648599362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERES5iOh2I3qLCLCn3x92uA1Hv4aq6o9GF4Dg2g7VWM4Fz63psWeU-2HFu0rNMKzYEhabJOtzimyBR_YTCPYdcOhDSPIuf5vve0CdWFEySO4fs2QAvwCKFb6gaReltWxV_G0ArojZJlI/s320/newhomepage.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-66127602466862547242010-04-27T01:19:00.000-07:002010-04-27T02:10:51.806-07:00Gently Down the Stream<div align="center"></div><div align="center">Although the character of Lennard Cromkow, the man who beleives he is Death, was created at least fifteen years ago, Gently Down the Stream was written just a couple of months back. It is a "Free Floating" story, quite separate from the Main Rat's tooth narrative. I'm beginning to ponder trying to find a pen and inks-slinger to try to turn it into a short comix piece. It may turn up as a back story in some issue down the road somewhere...I'm in no hurry, though, as I'm not especially fond of some of the verbiage in Lennard's freak-out...it still sounds a little off...</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">of course, Lennard IS crazy...</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJ7w1MKIdPyWsmQLLwIpN4wiEdkBukKY3fTLTOx8M91x35VrgsUOE4Xo6ui6qfCJID9Mtp0QCZjvPSNV5YKNPx_OANcACI0ETIimpG6W9UxH0n51Y5ZvjIwCfjw00O2xQccZbT2n2hrw/s1600/CROMKOW+Re-Animator(2).jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 209px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464729676641515314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJ7w1MKIdPyWsmQLLwIpN4wiEdkBukKY3fTLTOx8M91x35VrgsUOE4Xo6ui6qfCJID9Mtp0QCZjvPSNV5YKNPx_OANcACI0ETIimpG6W9UxH0n51Y5ZvjIwCfjw00O2xQccZbT2n2hrw/s320/CROMKOW+Re-Animator(2).jpg" /></a><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Gently Down the Stream...<br /><br />A Rat’s Tooth Tale<br /><br />By<br />Stephen Nelson </div><div align="left">with Jeremy Le Roque<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Scene: Lennard sits on a stone under an oak tree on the edge of a steam. The leaves of the tree are beginning to turn red and yellow with October color. He watches the water flow by. A leaf falls from the tree branches above and gently comes to rest on the face of the water. Lennard watches it spin off downstream.<br /><br />Lennard hears children singing somewhere close by. “Row, row, row your boat….Row, row, row your boat…gently down the stream…gently down the stream…merrily, merrily, merrily…merrily, merrily, merrily merrily….life is but a dream…life is but a dream….Row, row, row your boat…”<br /><br />Something like a smile appears on Lennard’s face. He sits up and looks off-panel toward the sound of the noise.<br /><br />The sound of singing continues to drift across the panels as Lennard stands up and walks toward the edge of the little wood the stream runs through. Where the wood ends, there begins a field of ripe harvest wheat, standing in gathered bushels. Lennard follows the sound of the singing across the stubbly field toward a cottage surrounded by a white fence. He looks over the fence. Two children, a boy and a girl, are sitting in a toy boat. Some white geese are walking around in the dirt near the boat. The boy is pulling at the toy oars, the ends of which are dug into the dirt of the yard outside the cottage. The girl is sitting in the prow with a toy parasol over her shoulder. The children look up suddenly as the shadow of Lennard and his huge scythe fall across them.<br /><br />Lennard: (rearing up above the fence and staring down at them with his crazy eyes, a huge and dark figure cast against the grey autumn sky) “I heard you calling me.”<br /><br />Kids stare up at him, eyes huge in their little faces, mouths open.<br /><br />Lennard: “And I have come.”<br /><br />Lennard leans over the fence toward the kids, cringing in their boat. “It is not a rhyme which I have heard before. Still, it is very fine. Yes…you know what it means, don’t you, poet? (looking at the boy, who stares back at him in awe…) How can it be that we spend all of eternity in the state of nothingness, and then, for just…a flicker…as if in the space of time a star takes to leap across the black eternity of the heavens, we…“live“? And then are swallowed up again by our true state of being, which is in nothingness? (getting excited) Verily…Verily, then, one can say…why does a man row downstream…???!!!! Is the river of life not already sweeping us irrevocably toward the black pit? (boy’s lower jaw has dropped somewhere down around his kness by now) “Perhaps, poet, you imply by this that, the harder we try to live, to strive, to achieve in this nightmare, this lie of an “existence“, the more we doom ourselves? That there is only one direction in which, ultimately, we can row, and is that direction not…The End???”<br /><br />(Kids stare at Lennard in growing horror)<br /><br />Lennard: (screaming, now, like Nietzche, at his own fist) Life??? Life!!! Life cannot be our natural state…(freaking out, his pale hands rising, claw-like against the sky) IT IS AN ATROCITY!!!! It is against nature and our true state of being!!!! It is in death, DEATH that we are truly awake…LIFE IS BUT A DREAM! And it is when we die that we truly awaken!!!!!!! This is what you were trying to say in your verses, poet, is it not???? IS IT NOT???!!!!!”<br /><br />Lennard leans, terrifyingly, over the fence and down upon the children, his face contorted, his eyes blazing and insane….<br /><br />Kids stare at him a moment more…<br /><br />Kids: “AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”<br /><br /><br />They vanish, leaving only an overturned boat, abandoned oars, and a few disturbed oak leaves hanging in the air to mark the spot where they stood a few moments before. Lennard stands alone near the white fence. His expression is unreadable. The autumn wind stirs his robes in a suitably melodramatic fashion.<br /><br />(voice from off panel) “HEY!!!”<br /><br />Lennard: (startled) “Hm?”<br /><br />A plump, middle aged woman and a mangy cur have emerged from the cottage. The woman throws shoes and pears and things at Lennard.<br /><br />Woman: “Get out of here! What’s wrong with you??? Why ye have the come around here mekkin miseries fer people?” she shouts.<br />The dog runs up to Lennard and bites him. A pear bounces off Lennard’s head.<br /><br />The woman and the dog chase Lennard down the hill toward the wood. The dog pulls at the hem of Lennard’s robe, trying to drag him back into the clutches of the woman.<br /><br />Back at the cottage, the children and a young scarlet haired woman who is probably their mother lean out the door and watch the proceedings…<br /><br />Old Woman: “Get out of here!!!! Why can’t you leave decent people alone, blast ye?”<br /><br />Lennard breaks away and vanishes into the autumn oak trees. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">End</div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-33741229908514471832010-04-27T00:33:00.000-07:002010-04-27T01:55:17.092-07:00Ramon Ignacio Bunge Joins Iron Head!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGLWjiSLlksx2ibCMq7oim0Sf7gYYj7Df_GagUbh1NyWtufsF0pK1Cf_WvOCzZIjaqVnqYmhm16rceZ7SiyPrSpW1Fw21LuH-O_8BAlgu5Dpt8j7sj1kbvWpjZma6NcQ5qNQxs0dyp6Q/s1600/ironheadtestramon.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 258px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464736256184275090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGLWjiSLlksx2ibCMq7oim0Sf7gYYj7Df_GagUbh1NyWtufsF0pK1Cf_WvOCzZIjaqVnqYmhm16rceZ7SiyPrSpW1Fw21LuH-O_8BAlgu5Dpt8j7sj1kbvWpjZma6NcQ5qNQxs0dyp6Q/s320/ironheadtestramon.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0d9aZgkEObqLCD5wQ2jf75gXjatuVV1GCcGz60d5OOK6rk7Ar91Bf_y3H3jIIxj_ZETq7Lmm7YLeIb2IBxmSTJqqRZ9c5rAn6aTZ_sF2yQwA5i7zOj4DpxR9jyvB2typTHYYXA3vUN4/s1600/--4.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464718328053470274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0d9aZgkEObqLCD5wQ2jf75gXjatuVV1GCcGz60d5OOK6rk7Ar91Bf_y3H3jIIxj_ZETq7Lmm7YLeIb2IBxmSTJqqRZ9c5rAn6aTZ_sF2yQwA5i7zOj4DpxR9jyvB2typTHYYXA3vUN4/s320/--4.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEqm58Jxywc6v1T4Fmh4f_7ouQsYA27MIA_Yg91sT7e5M8A6-BLh4ltUXdpIj0AqoZ-LtvEvTXjPJOt3wsPX7mS_9lGgjIxx2kFDGZxIxJZeqJd431TKuoX1ssSf3hi_OJ0N4iiZ2eZw/s1600/--3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 206px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464718169047715026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAEqm58Jxywc6v1T4Fmh4f_7ouQsYA27MIA_Yg91sT7e5M8A6-BLh4ltUXdpIj0AqoZ-LtvEvTXjPJOt3wsPX7mS_9lGgjIxx2kFDGZxIxJZeqJd431TKuoX1ssSf3hi_OJ0N4iiZ2eZw/s320/--3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>It's been a long, painful search, but I think we've found our man! Ramon Ignacio Bunge of Buenos Aires has begun laying down the colors for Iron Head, and I'm loving what I'm seeing! Thank you Ramon! Meanwhile, Stefano is pushing on through the last few pages of pen and inks! As of this writing, the tragic, blood-drenched saga of Duke Higer is proceeding right on schedule and should wrap by July, so you can spend a pleasant summer immersing yourself in the blood and terror which is Iron Head!</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div>Enjoy Ramon's samples! </div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-38248404192305212442010-03-05T11:18:00.000-08:002010-03-05T11:57:23.293-08:00Orlando Baez Concept Art!<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445236396156620258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb6IlafbAeogOEqRc5Snangx6FUQqcbtt89ezr95tiJDWsOIi4xONZrXOq6zboRAxzeuyueYFIxnn0FXVI_RhsFJBuSmAANxcQV0CiQmpZU8g0giZu7TZC_AjGbMNAabu0lShytlF4pfY/s320/Rat's+Tooth+Logo.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445238552352071458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7I5F21vz63wpSXqxxQJCRJ8xttem92JYlqSu8fIPhgeV22GQLzREq4whMdRuXV3mVNXQ5GWC-0Q6S1bgxp0OgPtGdCTH9eI3ND1_pyiZqbPEj5FThvRolTnn50uQP9KN4LTvOuyllAfA/s320/facesofratboy.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 188px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445237297457687586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DB4NgluyPvSP5DFvmOnpTiV_fOPWshlvBCLAEbKNew8QDNEt3Sc6Yk-elAg6b04iLHtRBffJkVyQ7jOaxbybmtmC41KLevhbQ6oE2Le8mI_yOjeaynm-SC7RTANbQaWfWUR2e9FkhXI/s320/severuspetrucciorlando.jpg" /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEXYiZCxdurjMwt_wT8pxyYKdNHTmZegYBRqI1OxrfZtgJqndKmeF7K_Jx5bd2z90COnyi7VOcvW4TTckA8huhI8A2NSxb49D3Rc9Iczdo37fetoRIB6SBYACmOvifg7lQghEBmr9cB8/s1600-h/wildhuntorlando.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445237880470635602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEXYiZCxdurjMwt_wT8pxyYKdNHTmZegYBRqI1OxrfZtgJqndKmeF7K_Jx5bd2z90COnyi7VOcvW4TTckA8huhI8A2NSxb49D3Rc9Iczdo37fetoRIB6SBYACmOvifg7lQghEBmr9cB8/s320/wildhuntorlando.jpg" /></a> Round about last Christmas, I got a great present from Orlando Baez, who dumped a huge number of fantastic character studies into my mailbox, all within the space of just a few days. This pretty much rounded out our Rat's Tooth concept art project, which Stefano Cardoselli had started with us. We were very happy to have Orlando climb on board with us and the mighty Azurek studios.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We currently plan for Orlando to pencil and ink one 12 pg chapter in each issue of Rat's Tooth, and we are searching high and low for a colorist to work on his pages. Enjoy Orlando's work and stay tuned...</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQ_KsLVaWSA4dfwlmdw31zYSpsNVLjVRmBanAFQyo66fP5MoaS80tMfPyMKMU_uf9d7RGwgPaJVL9TwUc44H1E-2sLDBC-XYv-JL5pxbFMKAxOhUZmATe6sGt1WYHux-PEnbso3jFv10/s1600-h/ratboyinhisprime.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 208px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445238230521246482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQ_KsLVaWSA4dfwlmdw31zYSpsNVLjVRmBanAFQyo66fP5MoaS80tMfPyMKMU_uf9d7RGwgPaJVL9TwUc44H1E-2sLDBC-XYv-JL5pxbFMKAxOhUZmATe6sGt1WYHux-PEnbso3jFv10/s320/ratboyinhisprime.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br />Ravvin the Ratboy, late in our narrative, when he is at the height of his powers<br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbteswWvXkAwXWOXNKxSrRuMMTDYEnU_PKFbqN51kxcXuwVYfqYMRXjABWE_vkJHOwHUPe5F_WAqUdBbcHQDQ7HE6AUYxnQDfHd8YJkoKuxUZ8tkxyGnCVfFAJVCMf4QYTnIwoGDb6zE/s1600-h/gigglesorlando.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 223px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445239222664408258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbteswWvXkAwXWOXNKxSrRuMMTDYEnU_PKFbqN51kxcXuwVYfqYMRXjABWE_vkJHOwHUPe5F_WAqUdBbcHQDQ7HE6AUYxnQDfHd8YJkoKuxUZ8tkxyGnCVfFAJVCMf4QYTnIwoGDb6zE/s320/gigglesorlando.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Giggles Happyfeet, The insane cannibal Gnome<br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div> </div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-159391902479044542010-02-28T12:30:00.001-08:002010-02-28T13:23:45.428-08:00Iron Head Teaser<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbf1yvu5Zo3ov0fU9xaJ6AfAhLzhfcVRtDaMgHOjeo5WtvgRctzY11dE7cckcIXm74oME6OcuVaM8TR7ZLRlMYOb7geatELKuPp_v8UwLIIGwUaT-f7pDhsR7XKhmC7wxmv2WZzYr5Bs/s1600-h/AlexIronHead.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443394897829896626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbf1yvu5Zo3ov0fU9xaJ6AfAhLzhfcVRtDaMgHOjeo5WtvgRctzY11dE7cckcIXm74oME6OcuVaM8TR7ZLRlMYOb7geatELKuPp_v8UwLIIGwUaT-f7pDhsR7XKhmC7wxmv2WZzYr5Bs/s320/AlexIronHead.jpg" /></a> Near the end of a lifetime of battles, Duke Higer, a peerless fighting man, wants only to return home to his wife and his ancestral lands. But the road home will be longer and more tortuous than Higer imagines. Going home again, may, in fact, be impossible...<br /></div><br /><em>Iron Head</em> is the brainchild of the formidable creative team of Stefano Cardoselli and Rita Gorgoni of Azurek Studios, Italy.<br /><div>A bonanza of graphic violence and imaginative storytelling, Iron Head is already well along the road to completion, and is due to wrap up in July of this year, when it will be ready for release through Hard Words for Hard Times!</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div>Iron Head Test Colors in Progress.....<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsYuDCAiNhhOL23C4dK7acB6WWFJ2cvTB1yHK_HhB6nTGrlz8n80QfvzD2xj0TA9SNB6rMh2-jyYNNwvza__uAQhUW5KDAps6syhJYS7FgQaL9ibvKfTouRZMDnbSeQOGCHcs-7Jy1yk/s1600-h/PAGE04%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 205px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443401102673187154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsYuDCAiNhhOL23C4dK7acB6WWFJ2cvTB1yHK_HhB6nTGrlz8n80QfvzD2xj0TA9SNB6rMh2-jyYNNwvza__uAQhUW5KDAps6syhJYS7FgQaL9ibvKfTouRZMDnbSeQOGCHcs-7Jy1yk/s320/PAGE04%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkfJ8OLzPvtcuOeCahrM5dGIb8la9RvVXmRGBE4dEe5ktL7_r5H_m0vX6BhN2KqYZKXsDvIUdVa4AIY5P2mNvooXV7t-sBHkL11uarZTSZli4TS5pWk0fnTRqU3qnLyiZZK3Q0Z1VwZY/s1600-h/PAGE08%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 208px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443405707983410818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkfJ8OLzPvtcuOeCahrM5dGIb8la9RvVXmRGBE4dEe5ktL7_r5H_m0vX6BhN2KqYZKXsDvIUdVa4AIY5P2mNvooXV7t-sBHkL11uarZTSZli4TS5pWk0fnTRqU3qnLyiZZK3Q0Z1VwZY/s320/PAGE08%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Some samples of Stefano's superb pen and inks----Enjoy!<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><em></em></div><br /><br />Watch this space, dear friends, as the story unfolds....<br /><br /><div> </div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-48704496861693631972010-02-28T11:13:00.000-08:002010-02-28T12:02:38.042-08:00Shawn Mafia<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDffrriDwvp3JkT_PqnsNhG7VFB5woEnw-92SFhSnf6kdbMT7HLeSwajbrFWgVKNvAqVtEAw-U9FdBa3l8gggEWDGOLvq9P92F046YNSkgpSC5YtMFTxh-axuEFjraDh2OS1GzxAEuJD8/s1600-h/mafia+plays+guitar.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 278px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443375036703448162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDffrriDwvp3JkT_PqnsNhG7VFB5woEnw-92SFhSnf6kdbMT7HLeSwajbrFWgVKNvAqVtEAw-U9FdBa3l8gggEWDGOLvq9P92F046YNSkgpSC5YtMFTxh-axuEFjraDh2OS1GzxAEuJD8/s320/mafia+plays+guitar.gif" /></a> It's nothin' to do with comics, but I thought I'd take a little space to plug my friend Shawn and his most recent record, <em>Dustbowl Anarchy.</em> I've known Shawn for many, many moons, and for most of them Shawn has been gigging all around the California Southland with his band of desperadoes, (when not attending to his undertaker duties down at the mortuary, or laying down in the bushes with a bottle of bourbon.)<br /><br />In the narrow borderland between the seething, unsleeping metropolis which is Los Angeles and the long, dark quiet of the Mojave, the Mafia tells his stories with aid of a speaking guitar, for he IS, first and foremost, a storyteller. And his stories are about real people and real life experiences.<br /><br />If you're into the whole Chuck Bukowski/Jack Kerouac/Tom Waits milieu, that universe of beautiful losers, bad lovers and threadbare souls, all dancing to the music of the mighty dope opera, you really must experience the mafia. Shawn's latest effort, <em>Dustbowl Anarchy</em>, boasts some of his smoothest numbers yet. <em>Walking to the Door with Jesus </em>comes off so so sweet and so natural, that when I first heard it, I assumed it was a redux of some old gospel favorite. I assumed wrong. Shawn wrote it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYoOFnZfCBXlTffxqPDMQGbNdrulrWOW6XCGrXO94vSy1Sn61vnicdRFRv4cycVirmLcySJ8vr6QoJqS0a2737Mkjs48s6ZRZD0bN8UzdoVQnNmiWYgrCBLxE8YA3syPx60rL3DNvDd4/s1600-h/mafia+pensive.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 100px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 100px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443378741861861762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYoOFnZfCBXlTffxqPDMQGbNdrulrWOW6XCGrXO94vSy1Sn61vnicdRFRv4cycVirmLcySJ8vr6QoJqS0a2737Mkjs48s6ZRZD0bN8UzdoVQnNmiWYgrCBLxE8YA3syPx60rL3DNvDd4/s320/mafia+pensive.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />If ya can't make it out to the Joshua Tree to see Shawn live, drop by his digs at <a href="http://www.shawnmafia.com/">www.shawnmafia.com</a> and pick up a copy of his cd, or look him up on youtube...he is happy to bring his stories into your home, and you will be happy to have him there.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 198px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443381497716867922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhceyRvdaX-AdxOvNNj3nQ_6CPu7J0KVTWiOASndibpQpEQPxZ5Ix7c1L1McZf2QeWCD6teAeZr5DKmVwhOOR_qG5MofCRM1bfBq5gWmxFuLgROHgVs_u3L9w_l1H0vJi1Ug9sXi_L2uXE/s320/mafiaanimation.gif" /><br /></p>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-43819279373537316692010-02-28T00:10:00.000-08:002010-02-28T01:25:08.769-08:00Impaler-<div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 59px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443204474231033810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLMXqfDOuRG5azAl6mkmlMXFRMLBS-C7aUngUfYr4MyYo-fgMdFB4jYSRSZU9c69RR-_oGBu02lQMiS-KSzsXvEj5jX1OZlaqE1MwsgpFZ6smn8VWecoXxo-wwSyKQIFxEqngWWUS0Dw/s320/Impaler+Logo.jpg" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xmplAuaOlfOYVhfJOvWVz05FAWx9d7KP1DM9du40X1kEGGm0GTbw9h1-ht7znbY20gRq_isJ865_zh3Sa8L6u-UxqkW_wSmcERvGiC3MpoxvfYPU5oobbyx7QSW2E6Q2jLvD_UbL8dE/s1600-h/mosque.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 234px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443208710083836642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xmplAuaOlfOYVhfJOvWVz05FAWx9d7KP1DM9du40X1kEGGm0GTbw9h1-ht7znbY20gRq_isJ865_zh3Sa8L6u-UxqkW_wSmcERvGiC3MpoxvfYPU5oobbyx7QSW2E6Q2jLvD_UbL8dE/s320/mosque.jpg" /></a><br /><div><em>"To each of us, God grants one right and one right alone, the right to call a land and a people our own..." </em><em>-From IMPALER</em></div><br /><div>Some of you may be pleased to know that despite a host of challenges and a few temporary setbacks, the IMPALER project is going forward again.</div><br /><div>Once more into the breach dear friends. </div><br /><div>We are very pleased and proud to announce that Stefano Cardoselli is joining the IMPALER team, helping me with the layouts and storyboards. His relentless enthusiasm for our projects and his staggering ability to conceptualize and deliver rough breakdowns all in a heartbeat are proving to be invaluable to our endeavour to bring the 700+ page story of Vladislas Tepes III into your local comic book shop. The first issue script is currently going through its fourth and final re-write, the overall storyline is being shifted toward a 30-issue format, rather than the twenty we had originally planned, and Alex is sharpening his pencils and beginning to skewer the new pages on them.</div><br /><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS0YS9JJffcoVJULCbXeF2xRV8XHWVNH734fKuccwuvS-_e_bfdNxQXA2C93quG3eut3bS8ubLVywIbu-Mw6U4TPrpxmybbYEUdPWdAmbEjnlelCbDUhRdR_Tv4hRbecXNnOqBAfeXZY/s1600-h/1_co__ver.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 246px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443212243981321474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRS0YS9JJffcoVJULCbXeF2xRV8XHWVNH734fKuccwuvS-_e_bfdNxQXA2C93quG3eut3bS8ubLVywIbu-Mw6U4TPrpxmybbYEUdPWdAmbEjnlelCbDUhRdR_Tv4hRbecXNnOqBAfeXZY/s320/1_co__ver.jpg" /></a>IMPALER, which may eventually be retitled for reasons I won't get into right now, is our retelling of the legend of Vlad Tepes III, "Dracula"...considered by some to be the founding father of Romania.<br /><br /><div></div><div>Better known as a folkloric ogre in Western Europe and America, his story is a curious and complex one, and demands great care in the telling. (not to mention great labors).<br /><br />Yours truly is striving to bring to bear all my resources to bear to tell this tale as it needs to be told, and I hope to God I'm up to it, for the true story of Vlad Tepes is incredibly complex...it is both sad and inspiring, shockingly repellent and exhilaratingly mesmerizing...like the stink of smoke and blood borne on a sweet mountain breeze.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I couldn't find a more perfect artist to help me tell this tale than my friend Alex Johns. Alex's work is riveting in its starkness, but it is invariably posessed of a genuine tenderness, a sensitivity which is an idyllic counterweight and complement to the hard-nosed grittiness of this story....</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmPJgNO-_QG3wlE4IiVBjmqDqgtV-AnaMlzOxZVTQ38U1LcLZRPfQx7BxxqmqBN8KzeLF-qwVTTmuWQUfv6SBWcvU2R2XL75Qhlf_LQKININf3jiqoGTJTtt42NCjmoScl_4U62Dk5ak/s1600-h/Forest+o%27+the+impaled.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 318px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443218512043956322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmPJgNO-_QG3wlE4IiVBjmqDqgtV-AnaMlzOxZVTQ38U1LcLZRPfQx7BxxqmqBN8KzeLF-qwVTTmuWQUfv6SBWcvU2R2XL75Qhlf_LQKININf3jiqoGTJTtt42NCjmoScl_4U62Dk5ak/s320/Forest+o%27+the+impaled.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div>Keep one eye on this space... </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>...cause we aren't quittin'.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Impaler Issue 1 is due for completion in the summer of 2010.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div>We shall issue regular reports to our faithful through this blog and through</div><div> <a href="http://www.infinitedreamsstudios.com/">www.infinitedreamsstudios.com</a><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAYy56asOmZuZMiIBCVsNoLsNvHsAoOmYRMx2N6N6UcUVEsPF6Ddpd-iXUHHd6tsc11BGGMjQZH7zwv2VPTu6J3cmUpPif5N8OqenprcsJKAFUh6540pu_FMeKI3MYmzImeEU6VgC-gQ/s1600-h/The+Transylvanian.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 347px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 99px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443220247258756994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAYy56asOmZuZMiIBCVsNoLsNvHsAoOmYRMx2N6N6UcUVEsPF6Ddpd-iXUHHd6tsc11BGGMjQZH7zwv2VPTu6J3cmUpPif5N8OqenprcsJKAFUh6540pu_FMeKI3MYmzImeEU6VgC-gQ/s320/The+Transylvanian.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAYy56asOmZuZMiIBCVsNoLsNvHsAoOmYRMx2N6N6UcUVEsPF6Ddpd-iXUHHd6tsc11BGGMjQZH7zwv2VPTu6J3cmUpPif5N8OqenprcsJKAFUh6540pu_FMeKI3MYmzImeEU6VgC-gQ/s1600-h/The+Transylvanian.jpg"></a> </div></div><div> </div><div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAYy56asOmZuZMiIBCVsNoLsNvHsAoOmYRMx2N6N6UcUVEsPF6Ddpd-iXUHHd6tsc11BGGMjQZH7zwv2VPTu6J3cmUpPif5N8OqenprcsJKAFUh6540pu_FMeKI3MYmzImeEU6VgC-gQ/s1600-h/The+Transylvanian.jpg"></a> </div></div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-35912937469343159832010-02-27T12:31:00.000-08:002010-02-27T13:04:31.156-08:00Rat's Tooth Concept Art- Cardoselli & Johns<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6dQS_7hI2qw35ae-hXA7beXoNSo3mXSJv7vU4h-epq4qh7n0yY5Whxu5g-7gE7aWvMtja2_T0k4AmJolUQVBvH_NNiW-_MUF41gVEsUiYNWgu11vH8caF_AwYYp87vqXa1KqzFnYmZQ/s1600-h/NEWHOMEPAGE%5B1%5D_crop_crop_crop.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443026723293278034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6dQS_7hI2qw35ae-hXA7beXoNSo3mXSJv7vU4h-epq4qh7n0yY5Whxu5g-7gE7aWvMtja2_T0k4AmJolUQVBvH_NNiW-_MUF41gVEsUiYNWgu11vH8caF_AwYYp87vqXa1KqzFnYmZQ/s320/NEWHOMEPAGE%5B1%5D_crop_crop_crop.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div>Hats off to Alex Johns and Stefano Cardoselli!<br /><div></div>These character studies were completed last fall, when Jeremy and I were doing the early work on the scripts. Stefano signed on for the Concept project and almost instantly began turning in beautiful work at a frightening pace. He picked up the feel of the world of Rat's Tooth amazingly quickly and really delivered the goods. Alex kindly volunteered some time to lay down the colors, and his soft and carefully chosen tones were just right, I thought, for Stefano's strong, European style. He also went a step further and added some creepy trees in the background, something that I really liked and which is becoming a Johns trademark.<br /><br />The glee which we felt seeing these old friends step out of the dim, dusty corners of our imagination and onto paper is hard to quantify.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Hope you like em too.<br /><br />(From top to bottom)<br />The Wild Hunt<br />Lennard Cromkow as novice (left) and master (right) necromancer<br />The Dark Knight<br />Ravvin the Ratboy<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewxJeT452dRy5jF1pc9WBNC4UOygKzCWDF37M1G5zvLdTejnVok1TmJxAqTLpxgEnOHr0Et_GzQJEuC5Rg9Q9O2hZ_SfNxZaJ38f-7pHgYixWypBYndiI1AKlTaLAmrX2w6Et1QEXxMA/s1600-h/WILDHUNTcolors%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 212px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443025433555750434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewxJeT452dRy5jF1pc9WBNC4UOygKzCWDF37M1G5zvLdTejnVok1TmJxAqTLpxgEnOHr0Et_GzQJEuC5Rg9Q9O2hZ_SfNxZaJ38f-7pHgYixWypBYndiI1AKlTaLAmrX2w6Et1QEXxMA/s320/WILDHUNTcolors%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5W7OG6cVEyD-sjrQ6WRONas8I6bocMFOF7iMyrfNOs9ITOtL-_1fUOjoXkpcMDZgrVXsRdBdZGBz5cQtaVkyQ7jDcTBwU40NXRC_VhLI8YFuMRGJw5HKzVYHoeZmFO93g2V_1slyQZXw/s1600-h/ECROMKOWrough+color+mock+up.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 201px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443025119683347266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5W7OG6cVEyD-sjrQ6WRONas8I6bocMFOF7iMyrfNOs9ITOtL-_1fUOjoXkpcMDZgrVXsRdBdZGBz5cQtaVkyQ7jDcTBwU40NXRC_VhLI8YFuMRGJw5HKzVYHoeZmFO93g2V_1slyQZXw/s320/ECROMKOWrough+color+mock+up.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmagb_Kj5NDf7JbNn6KoIBsBQi2pAbr_MWBtZyyr9aTNS_lxQ8Seq1NWax5fltagZYrJFg0B1B_Mb14KIDrUHKL4jvy2I2t1fjg798AxB_9ih5G1ywzY0p5DUYMUPRWm9rXG-UBEmOngI/s1600-h/THE+DARK+KINGHT%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443025792724127218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmagb_Kj5NDf7JbNn6KoIBsBQi2pAbr_MWBtZyyr9aTNS_lxQ8Seq1NWax5fltagZYrJFg0B1B_Mb14KIDrUHKL4jvy2I2t1fjg798AxB_9ih5G1ywzY0p5DUYMUPRWm9rXG-UBEmOngI/s320/THE+DARK+KINGHT%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3WSXoBV_3A3SDnjKdtbGWjWZNycyY5oC9H5ePW2tg4nCyPUly1Uitpzc9F545E9XTJ_x0lkNJjhyphenhyphensOTWRfWc1akA8pyOPhOEIDLISRfgIgj9J2c4KcNQqXLf1nHTM8kbVKMpWu5Jze8/s1600-h/RatBoy+Rough+Color.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 210px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443024489006673394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3WSXoBV_3A3SDnjKdtbGWjWZNycyY5oC9H5ePW2tg4nCyPUly1Uitpzc9F545E9XTJ_x0lkNJjhyphenhyphensOTWRfWc1akA8pyOPhOEIDLISRfgIgj9J2c4KcNQqXLf1nHTM8kbVKMpWu5Jze8/s320/RatBoy+Rough+Color.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443024092652456002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N2hBDLKb2IE_2KtGf5JMlvcIeimh7SJBW1Ul7pczE8DyzrtswjL4uwUUtFN56HFCJz41UYTp-N4gDK9MyUhObBsQ4AsHZ5qzDzLyP8fWCB3iF4Hca2UriHartr5xn7YHjGwjUYZPV_8/s320/NEWHOMEPAGE%5B1%5D_crop_crop_crop.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5529543277357255793.post-40663495584443100712010-02-26T20:07:00.000-08:002010-02-26T21:42:38.825-08:00<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 70px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442770114520078434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHEWpz0ptIu9U62zq3Q_KsPEJ5lRisNO2yp1AvDifAaWPJ3s9Y8bXLGtz0yByOcags9NgrImaHuqYYD0GgAbMUzU_N6tRznHiGYlGqf35SK8grS0FYNCf_J-eiNK0zuBWAswqkN5MBKE/s320/NEWHOMEPAGE%5B1%5D_crop_crop_crop.jpg" />(Tip o' the hat to Art Guru Alex Johns for the beautiful logos he designs for us......)<br /><div> </div><div> </div><div><em>Rat's Tooth </em>is an old story. Older than I care to think about, for if I think about how old it is, I must necessarily be reminded of the fact of how old <strong><em>I</em></strong> am. <em>Rat's Tooth</em> began when we were all in college, indigent, ignorant, and probably likeable in that way that a stupid but basically good natured dog is likeable. These were the days when Logan fantasized, (in a positive way, mind you,) about what it would be like to live your whole life in a closet, and Jeremy courted death by climbing across the roofs of cars as his friends drove at 80 mph down the freeway and swerved wildly trying to throw him off...it was when I couldn't decide whether I wanted to become a rock star or an army officer, before I ended up studying literature and becoming not much of anything. We all liked trashy literature. I was a big enthusiast of Poe, Tolkien, Howard and Lovecraft, and Jeremy shared my affection for the works of most of these writers. Logan tended to read a lot of Sci-fi novels which Jeremy and I sniffed at...They looked Star Trek and Cookie Cutter to us.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8iQ24oaG8jbg7uS2Uj-GuIDaxoGhaPcQoh73fNWk7FLk-iMyvkL1Xt8lEnehG0nAe-ORrStZXTwuznQBwNuua0rsA0rkTWVO5nis1TRebrFhrKBJWpV85pFP_tREDgAg3Cewzb9Z2gc/s1600-h/PAGE+04.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 208px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442773055601950946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8iQ24oaG8jbg7uS2Uj-GuIDaxoGhaPcQoh73fNWk7FLk-iMyvkL1Xt8lEnehG0nAe-ORrStZXTwuznQBwNuua0rsA0rkTWVO5nis1TRebrFhrKBJWpV85pFP_tREDgAg3Cewzb9Z2gc/s320/PAGE+04.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div>At some point, I can't remember exactly when, we found an economical way of entertaining ourselves in off hours...it involved a lot of top ramen and killer wine and the invention of weird stories that interconnected with one another in odd and spontaneous ways. Logan, always the closet-dwelling minimalist, was fascinated by the concept of an anthropomorphic Rat-hero who had no posessions but rags and a rusty knife, and who could survive by eating trash. Jeremy, who first introduced me to the exciting hobby of sitting around in a dark room loading guns, drinking bourbon and talking about whether snuff films were real or not, invented a mad necromancer named Lennard Cromkow. (Where he got that name, I do not know.) The best thing about Lennard was that he really thought he was death incarnate, clothed in a temporary flesh, come to earth on a mission to claim the living. Whether he was right or not, we never got clear on...we did know that every other character in the story just went on the assumption that Lennard was just some weirdow who happened to be crazier than an outhouse rat.</div><div> </div><div>The story went on for a long time, and ended up involving a lot of people, including my friends Jason Boesiger and John Ford. Others drifted in and out of the group, some staying for only a session or two...we have lost touch with most of them....</div><div> </div><div>Jeremy and I, however, never lost touch, and it was a funny thing that through the many years which followed, the characters of the story we had invented way the hell back in the mists of ancient days remained near the surface in so many conversations. Thier lust for gross, stupid violence was all too perfect a metaphor for the essential retardation which is youth. Their sick-humor deeds and attitudes represented us in better fashion than we could ever hope to represent ourselves in moral or in serious terms....I think we were all fascinated by evil, which we thought of then, as potential...</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>There is an evil woman who wears many faces, and she got to every one of us eventually...there were sojurns on Alaskan islands. There were horrific near deaths at sea. There were mail-order Chinese brides and dominatrices...There were panicky Hungarian border guards with armfulls of death and sweet old Hungarian women with armfulls of bread. There was some dumb guy who got so busted-hearted, he joined the paratroopers looking for death and almost got what he went looking for...and then, with a rude abruptness, it seemed, we got kinda old, and Jeremy and I were sitting around making a batch of beer one day in a haze of old fuck anger, and I started talking about some guys I'd seen online building what looked like a hell of a comic called <em>Brom-Kah</em>, and we thought of Lennard and Ravvin and in some weird way, life suddenly snapped back into focus and got interesting again...</div><div> </div><div>We went back to the old story and tried to remember and commit to ink everything we could...weirdly, we have ended up being blessed enough to work with two simply amazing artists, Stefano Cardoselli, and Orlando Baez...and so, if you're interested, we will bring the old story of warm-hearted depravity which is <em>Rat's Tooth </em>to you sometime this year, in the shape of <em>Rat's Tooth </em>issue #1...</div><div> </div><div>Look for it...................</div>Mousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16662424384597893661noreply@blogger.com0