Hitworm 47!

I was pissing around with lighting and learning away around rendering efects to sharpen up my images. And I was int he mood for Aliens apparently. You know, come to think of it, you could probably fit the title of Alien up at the top and make the green smudge of light the i in the title. Neat.

Having a really hard time this year already Trying to stay optimistic and keeping myself in positive vibes Little bit of shitty vent art. (By shitty I mean I'm not proud of anything in it but it's worth sharing ? ???)

Like last year I decided to make another Worms E3 piece. This is what I hope to see at E3. And then the worms will go crazy like that! Here's to hoping Fallout 4 will be announced and that we will get some footage from Hitman 6! :D

This is one of my favorites that I've done Sorry for the shitty photo, if you want a better one just ask lol

It's my roommates birthday so I drew on the fridge whiteboard I'll gladly remove this if it's not allowed I feel I'm pushing the boundary with this post

Just practicing a few things. Hoping to get better using my tablet

A portrait this time. Phil, a local Blues musician and family friend who passed away two years ago. RIP.

Something else I worked on a little while back. I'm particularily proud of this fight scene I wrote. I don't usually write fight scenes too often but I'm happy to see that they're on par with everything else that I write. I wrote it from two perspectives of two different characters during a simultaneous fight. Again. Maybe I write too much or this site supports too little. Will break it up into chunks. [spoiler]Snow and ice faded, giving way to vast stretches of forest, as the air warmed and the two traveled in the shadow of the mountains now, happily free of nights spent in cold and snow, now less worried about the freezing cold that gnawed on them in the nights. Since then Elise had grown more comfortable with Carver, and was always curious. For once, Carver was a bit of a tour guide on the journey, pointing things out to her and answering Elise’s endless curiosity. None the less a journey was still a journey. Carver never spoke much unless spoken to and silence often passed the time by. Silence was Carver’s friend and enemy. Silence meant the forges weren’t going. The feeling of swinging his instruments was absent. He was glad he’d brought his old friend along. Even just having it in his presence was good. But there were other worries than just old habits and routines. While Elise never ate or slept, Carver’s supplies were dwindling. They’d either have to trap something, or, gods forbid, travel the well-known roads to an encampment or village. In the silence of thinking about it, Elise was incredibly hard to work with if he was going to trap anything. Her armour clinked and made too much noise. And even then, Carver didn’t have time to wait for something to catch his snares. So it was with furrowed brows and a sigh along the roads that he decided they’d make for a settlement. It was a good thing that York had paid for Carver’s services. And better that he had given the gold to Elise. He had no care for coin and would have probably lost it by now. The forest grew thicker now, dense and packed over the sparse, snow covered pine of the mountains. Thick blankets of moss and ferns were beginning to appear and the old footpath was suddenly rather absent, the trail being oppressed by the thick trees around them. Carver remembered the way. Through these woods and this expanse, the forest would eventually thin out to wide plains. That was the destination. An old farming community. But for now the shadow of the mountains loomed over them on the old path. Carver’s eyes watched the forest as the two traveled, following the footpath alongside a shallow river and crossing it through some points. Carver didn’t like this. They were being watched. As the trail began to widen, Carver’s suspicions held true. The trail was wide for a reason. Carver slowed his pace and started walking alongside Elise. “So. Elise. Your suit’s battered. Patchwork and scars. Armour never looks like that unless it’s gone through fights. You know how to fight?” Elise turned her helmet. “Father taught me hand to hand combat extensively.” Carver nodded. “Because you don’t have to worry so much about weapons anymore right?” Carver winked, looking ahead down the road, hoping Elise would catch it. Elise’s helmet turned as she looked down the widening path. “Oh! Mister Carver. Do you know how to fight?” Carver chuckled. “Front lines were never any place for an old smith.” Through the ferns of the forest and alongside the shallow river, Carver caught something. Four legs, moving fast. Galloping. No. Pawing. Claws. Carver inhaled deeply, his hand resting on the hilt of his hammer. Ferns and plant growth exploded beside him and a large creature bashed into Carver, sending him flying off the trail and tumbling down the small gulley down towards the river. Elise had no time to turn as shouts and war cries could be heard. Through the growth of ferns and trees men stepped out, clad in the remnants of old clothes, sporting animal skins for clothing and adorning layers of bones in patchwork armour. Elise was surrounded from all sides as they brandished weapons, either traditional steel or more patchwork assemblies of bones. The ring of robbers boxed her in but didn’t attack, as one lone man, decorated in feathers and more ornate bones, skulls both Human and animal approached. Judging by the paint on his face and across bones this man was someone of importance. Through the visor of her helmet Elise spotted a sword in his hand. But it was no ordinary sword. It was…..a fencing sword? Her gauntleted fists curled and raised as the man approached her with his weapon drawn. The man smiled coyly, almost laughing. “An old man and an escort. A knight with no weapons but her fists.” The man spread his arms wide and spun on the spot, laughing as the crowd surrounding Elise laughed as well. “Truly, escort services today must be in a bit of a slum. That or we’re just robbing the poorest bloke in the land!” The man continued to laugh as Elise stepped forward with her gauntlets still raised. “Don’t you talk about mister Carver like that!” The man turned on Elise, still with a smile as his brows raised. The men surrounding her were doing nothing but laughing. The man kept his sword drawn but made no attempts of attacking Elise. “Are you serious? You must be out of your mind!” The man shook his head, looking around to the assembled crowd surrounding him. He turned his back on Elise once more. “Is she crazy or what!?” Elise stopped in her tracks. She needed to do something. Carver needed help. Bringing her gauntlets up to her helmet, Elise unfastened the straps holding it to her armour, removing her helmet and holding it in one hand. Father had taught her hand to hand but she had since discovered that her own body could be used in unique ways. Rearing her arm back she took aim, whipping her arm sideways as she let her helmet fly, watching as it curved through the air and struck the man in the back of the head at full speed. The man dropped to the dirt like a sack of rocks and suddenly the crowd around her went silent. [/spoiler]

I was going to post some of my recent works to this thread, but realized every last one of them is incomplete, and unfortunately very likely to stay that way. I'm thinking about making a thread devoted entirely to unfinished pieces. Would you mind if I linked it to this one?

I want to draw but I don't know how. I've got a lot of respect for someone who can draw something nice.

Another opening to a story I've started. Always been a fan of mixing things up. And always liked things that touch on the undead. [spoiler][i]To the inheritor of my duty, my work, and my life. This letter is addressed to you, whoever you may be. I have my assurances that I know who you are, but one can never be so sure after all. I, Cromwell Hume, now impart upon you the deed and title of “Gravekeeper.” You, who so reads this letter, are now part of a writ, a pact, and should always swear faithfully to your duty. As a gravekeeper, you now find yourself as the owner and caretaker of Coldshore Cemetery. Your job as a keeper is simple. Maintain the Cemetery. Keep its graves undisturbed and free of intruders. And, most importantly, when the dead rise, put them to rest. Be aware, that the dead are not to be treated and shuffled back into their rest like instruments or simple blunt objects. Sometimes, the soul forgets that it is dead, and returns to what it finds comfort in. The dead you deal with, are people. Some of them, like all people, will have different ways of responding to you. Some will not heed reason, will not listen, because they are mad. They’ve no sense left in them and so all that remains is violence. Put these souls to rest with a strong arm and a sharp blade. Some will be curious, returning to the world they’ve been away from for so long. Bribe them. Give them trinkets, offerings, and they will happily return to their graves to tinker, and then rest. Some will feel the surge of life in their old bones, and seek to flee. To run and escape. Coldshore is surrounded by wards, and so they never will. Chase them down and play their games with them. Eventually, they will tire, and return to rest. And, of all who are the most troublesome, are those souls who are lonely. Why they are lonely, it never has been known. Do not strike them with a blade. Do not bribe them with trinkets. Do not play games with them. Your job, as a keeper of the dead, is compassion and understanding. Listen to these souls. Give them comfort, if you can, for they are lost and have no one to light the way for them. Grab a lantern, and walk with them, all the way to their home. And then put them to rest. And finally, be aware of the strongest. Souls who do not need to return to their body. Souls that force our world to bend for them, if only slightly. These souls are the most detached. They will wander the grounds, or the river. They will scream a wail that curls your blood. They will yell in a rage that rattles your very bones. And they will kill you if they lay sight of you. They act as beacons for others, and seek to draw other souls to them, so that they may sustain their temporary life. Your best and most final option for dealing with these souls is to avoid them, and cut them off from their food source. Put the dead to rest that are drawn to them like moths to a flame. And you shall put out the wail and fire of the Banshee as well. I, Cromwell Hume, wish you the best of luck. The life of a Gravekeeper is that of being alone. But if you are succeeding me, then it shalln’t worry the likes of you no doubt, for a Gravekeeper is the mirror image of death in life. You shy away from others and likely led a shallow, tiring life before this job seemed like anything a sane man would do. Something to make you tired of the world. But take heart. The dead who walk Coldshore can have more life in them than you’d ever expect. There are days when they renew your faith in the people you’ve abandoned. In the world you hide from. Treat the dead with respect, and be kind to them. And they will take care of you more than you can ever expect. Best of luck, yours in confidence, Cromwell Hume, now, ex-Gravekeeper. [/i][/spoiler]

Not that should bother. But I feel like posting the rough idea of the opening to a story I recently started work on. [spoiler]Columns of smoke blew out across the horizon on the winds, on grey skies as the early morning sun dawned. Always, across the grey battered landscape, under the rubble of once towering superstructures which now lay sprawled across the ground overtop of each other in a great tangle like a fallen forest. Jericho stared up through the haze of grey, of smoke and fires on the winds. Up, up far beyond the scorched ground he walked on, to the immense blotch in the sky. He couldn’t make out the finer details. But it was always there. More light filtered in through the everlasting haze of dust and smoke that blew across the ruins of this world. The sound of gunfire in the distance brought his attention away from the sky. Jericho sighed. “Right. Go over this with me, one more time.” Standing in front of him, another man, as worn and dirty as Jericho himself, clad in rough and by now barely functioning armour for its intended purpose, smiled under a veil across his face as he held a small pistol up to Jericho, keeping it steady on him. The man pointed up to the blotch in the sky. “It’s a simple damn plan Jericho. You get up there. Find a way to smuggle some of what they’ve got on that ship down here. And if you can’t do that, sabotage the other side. It’s our only chance.” Jericho looked up the station that hung in the sky. “Do we even have any idea what’s up in that ship?” The man shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We need what they have. It’s the only way we’re going to win down here. It’s us or them Jer. That ship up there is just making everything a damn stalemate.” Jericho sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” The man raised his gun once more. “Hey, if it counts for anything, you’re the best man for this job Jer. I know you’ll get us what we need. You always do. It’ll be fine.” The man chuckled. “And hey. It’s not every day I get to shoot your smug ass.” Jericho rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up.” Jericho sighed, holding out his arms. “Right. Remember. I need to be dying. Not dead. Gutshot. Punctured lung. That whole deal.” “Jer. I’m a crack shot.” Jericho took a deep breath. “Right. Okay.” The man chuckled. “It’s gonna hurt Jer.” “I’ve been shot before.” “Not like this.” Jericho sighed. “Right. On three.” The man across from Jericho nodded. “Okay. Ready? One.” Jericho took a deep breath and spoke. “Two.” A bolt of energy discharged from the pistol, traveling clean through Jericho’s chest, vaporizing whatever the beam passed through and exiting out the other side. The pistol hummed as its power cells cycled and two more shots rang out, passing through him and burning clean through. The wounds were clean. Surgical in their mathematical perfection as the beams passed through him. But pain became a quickly arriving feeling as Jericho’s legs gave out from under him and all sense of balance was discarded as he fell onto the dirt and ash, now dying. The man walked up to Jericho. “Sorry Jer. Hurts less if you don’t expect it. I’ve gotta scram before the drones show up to get you. Best of luck pal.” The man patted Jericho on the shoulder as he was helpless to say anything as he clutched at the dirt and gasped for air as his vision started to fade. Footsteps rung in his ears as the man began running. Gunfire sounded out in the distance, a background noise across the entire planet like the forgotten and unnoticed thump of a heartbeat. And on the wind, as ash and dust blew across the remnants of this fallen world, the hum of engines could be heard. Drones, quickly making landfall from sub-orbital levels, which scoured the entire planet with nearly uncountable numbers, were now coming for him. Descending down to his dying form like vultures. But, to most, to simple people, simple minded or uneducated because this world had only known fighting for so long, these machines were not vultures. They were angels. Jericho’s vision faded to black as the last thing burned into his eyes was light. Bright searchlights and scanners. He had his ticket to heaven now. [/spoiler]

Hope you enjoy! :3

Was bored