Airships of Marrakesh, Part 6

Author’s note:  I had a terrible headache all day yesterday, so I failed to get any writing done whatsoever.  This is what I’ve got for today, and I’d like to put up another post tomorrow as well, which should catch us up to the regular schedule(if my own mental math is correct).  As always, this is a rough rough unedited version, straight from brain to page.  Thanks for reading!

 

He threw a man into the room, a small man who cursed and stayed on his knees as he held a broken left arm close at his side.

“Who is he?” Mellira and Janus eyed the man curiously, while Fahn blanched at the visibly broken arm and looked away.

“A messenger,” Ibben spat, “and you’re not going to like what he has to say.  Tell him, snake.”

“The blonde man had a letter which I am to deliver to you, oh captain of captains.  He bade me wish you well as I bring it to your hand.  Here it is.”  He fumbled one-handed at his coat, pulling out a wrinkled letter that bore the seal of the Drake.

Janus took it and began reading, and his face turned grim and dark.  When he was done he threw the paper upon the table.  Mellira grabbed it and read.

“Ibben,” the captain said.

“I started at the marketplace, since that was the last place we knew you’d gone.  It was dark by that point, and I was trailed by somebody.  I found where you’d got hit.  Blood doesn’t soak up well in sand, unless you cover it well.  The body was still there too.  Well, turns out I recognized him.  He was an enforcer and hired thug, before you finished him off.  That led me to ask some more questions, and gave me a trail.”  He paused to drink and gave Janus an indecipherable look.  “I’m sorry, man.  You had no way to know.  We all trusted him.”

“I don’t understand,” Mellira said.  “We’ve all known Slyne for years and years.  He’s saved my life more than once.  Why would he take the Sky Drake and run?”

The captain was silent, so Ibben continued.  The little shopkeeper put a consoling hand on Janus’ shoulder.

“Money? Greed? All I know is that he took an opportunity, and made off with an airship.  Most of the crew is still here, by the way.  Turns out that he got them off the ship with a king’s ransom in booze and tobacco.  Guess he still had some sort of conscience.  Murdering an entire airship crew might have been too much even for him.  Len got his throat slit, though.  Poor bastard was on watch when they came over the railings.  And you know that Ben is still on the Drake.  He might have written the letter, but I know the kid, and I don’t think he had anything to do with Slyne’s plan.”

He didn’t.  I’ve always trusted Ben.  No reason to stop now.  Although I thought I could trust Ruther Slyne, too.”  Janus sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“So we’re stuck here in Marrakesh with our crew but no airship?  An airman has to fly, Janus.  We have to get the Drake back!”  The loss of the airship had hit Mellira hard.  The usually stoic and fierce redhead looked on the verge of tears.

“We’ll get him back, Mell.  I can promise you that.  The Drake will be back in our hands and I’ll send Ruther Slyne down to Hell at the same time!”  The table jumped at the impact of Janus’ fist.  He smiled at Mellira, and she gave him a grin in return.

“What’s the plan, captain?” Ibben asked.  Janus began to speak, just as everyone in the room became aware that the messenger was still there.  Ibben took two steps and slammed a fist into the man’s temple, knocking him out.

“We’ve got a crew,” Janus began.  “I think we can trust whoever Slyne left behind.  We need an airship.  Ford is still in the city, and he owes me a favor.  The Twilight isn’t quite as fast as the Drake, but we might be able to keep up with Slyne.”  Where would Slyne have flown, do we know?”

“I can ask, see if anyone’s spotted an airship leaving.  It’s not that easy to hide, and a lot of people are up before dawn,” said Ibben.

“The closest air-port is in Spain, and he’ll need to refuel, I think.  The Drake was low on supplies, so we won’t want to fly far without picking up essentials.  That might be our best bet,” Mellira added.

“Great.  Then here’s what we’ll be doing…” The conspirators gathered around Janus as he began to explain, and slowly a plan came together for the reclamation of the Sky Drake.

The Beast

Finally finished Beast-09, at least to a degree where I’m comfortable fielding him on the table.  The base needs snow and static grass, and a couple minor details need doing, but otherwise he’s done.  I decided to go with a similar color scheme to my Zerkova theme force, which means lots of Cryx Bane Highlight, high lit/shaded with Hammerfall Khaki and Thornwood Green.  The metals were Boltgun Metal, heavily shaded/washed with Devlan Mud and thinned Bloodstone.  Fun model to put together, I enjoyed it.

 

 

On a related note, here’s the transport bag I’m using right now.  High time to get a new one, I think….

 

 

 

 

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 5

Author’s note:  This is a rough, unedited version of something that’s been floating around in my head for a while.  I’m putting it up here as motivation to keep writing, and I’m aiming for an update every two days.  Sometimes the updates are shorter in length.  Feedback is awesome.  Parts 1-4 can be found earlier in the blog.

 

At the inn, the time passed slowly as the captain and Mellira waited for news.  Fahn dozed, and the woman paced.  The small room became uncomfortably warm, and the table acquired a collection of empty plates, half-filled cups, and empty bottles.  Captain Janus asked for paper and pens, and wrote slowly, eyes glazed in thought between each word.

“What are you writing?  You look like a poleaxed ox each time you take a break between words.  I know it’s not your strong suit, but don’t strain yourself more than you have to, cap’n,” Mellira said.  She grabbed a loaf of bread and tore off the heel, pacing again as she pulled off small pieces of bread between steps.  Half got eaten, and the rest littered the floor under her feet.

“Lists.  Of people I’ve managed to piss off over the last few years.  It can’t be coincidence that I got knifed today,” he said.  Another name went on the list.

“What if it is, though?  One of us should head to the Drake to make sure that things are in order.  I could be back in an hour if I left now.  It’s not far.  And the list can’t be that long, Janus.  You’re an insufferable oaf, but people like you for the most part.”

“Not everybody, Mell.  I’ve made enemies.”  He took a long drink from the tankard next to him.

“Oh yeah?  Give me a name.”  Mellira threw a piece of bread at Janus.

“Roberts.  He holds a grudge for that time we got the Kebel, Kebel, and Worthiss contract instead of him.”  Janus looked smug, as if Roberts’ name alone had won the argument.

“Roberts is dead.  The Flying Hare went down in that typhoon with all hands on deck, remember?  Dead men hold no grudges, Janus van Koonns.  I can’t fault him for that grudge, though.  You argued hard, and then worked us all to the bone to fulfill terms when it turned out that they’d snuck a few extra legalities in there without us realizing it.  We flew from here to the Americas more than once to earn that pay out, and I truly wish Roberts had gotten that duty instead.”

“Oh come on!  Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the World’s Fair!  It’s not like we were stuck in the middle of nowhere.  Philadelphia is a beautiful city.  I saw you with that man, what was his name?”

Mellira coughed. “Wentworth.  John Wentworth.”

“That’s right.  He was an accountant, right?  And you got to enjoy one of the best hotels in the city while the rest of us slept in tents and the Drake got fixed up.  Don’t tell me that wasn’t nice, Mell.”  Janus grinned up at her.  Wentworth had bumped into Mellira, literally, spilling a drink all over her best blouse.  He’d been taken with what he called her “roguish charms”, and immediately offered to buy her a new blouse if she’d accept his dinner invitation.  The crew hadn’t seen her for six days, and lost a day in the air when it came time to pull anchors because she’d failed to make it back to the air-port on time.  Janus loved pulling out reminders of Philadelphia.

“Ok, fine.  Fine.  Philly was nice.  That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want Roberts with the contract anyways.  Now, tell me again why it wasn’t coincidence that you got stabbed?  I’m sure the Drake is fine.  Slyne knows how to handle an airship, especially one docked safe and sound.”

“Slyne’s a dirty, belly crawling, backstabbing son of a whore,” Ibben said as the door flew open, “and I can prove it.”

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 4

Author’s note:  This is something that I’m putting out there in rough rough rough unedited form.  It’s a form of motivation to myself to keep writing and get somewhere.  I’m enjoying the process so far, and I hope you as the reader are as well.  I’ve started writing in a Moleskine notebook, and that seems to be somewhat productive.  This is Part 4 of the series, with the first sections to be found earlier in the blog.

 

“Wake up, boy!” hissed a voice in Ben’s ear as a hand clamped over his mouth.  Ben’s eyes snapped open, and he became aware of a sharp knife at his throat.  The mouth to which the voice belonged had atrocious breath, and Ben gagged as he strained against the hands holding him down.  A lantern flicked to light, blinding him.

“Time to get to work, little Benny-boy! We gots a lot to do and not much clock-time before dawn.” A calloused hand slapped across his cheek, hard.  “You try anything and you’ll be going overboard without the ropes and ladders, you hear me?”

Ben nodded and stopped struggling.  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw unfamiliar faces around him, readying the airship for flight.  Two men lifted a body to the railing, and Ben recognized Len, the old Scot who’d taught him his knots.  Len’s throat was slit wide, and left a smear of blood on the rail as he went overboard.  A soft curse came up from below.

The man who’d spoken grinned and revealed broken teeth.  A scar hooked down his face from his hairline, barely missing an eye.  The stubble on his chin failed to hide or improve the wound.

“Len…” Ben turned it into a question.

“He took objection to us coming aboard, so Slyne had to show him how wrong he was,  He didn’t object long after that, I tell ye that!”  He laughed an ugly laugh, and hawked phlegm.  “And speak of the devil hisself, we gots to go see him.  Come here!”

Ben found himself lifted and dragged aft toward the captain’s cabin.  He usually slept on the deck near the bow engines, and that was where he’d been woken.  Janus’ ship, the Sky Drake, was a smaller cargo runner, built for a good mix of speed and cargo room.  The design sacrificed some cargo space toward the bow in favor of an extra set of engines for speed.  Though all the crew quarters were aftward, Ben often slept in a quilt toward the bow.  The engine noise helped him sleep.

“Where is Janus? Mellira?  What are you doing to the Drake?”  Still disoriented, Ben was having trouble accepting what he saw.  He recognized none of the faces around him, though they seemed to be preparing the Drake for flight.  One of the cargo rigs was in use, and a number of boxes were being loaded onto the ship.

“What’s it look like to you, boy?  We’re heading for open sky soon as we got everything squared away.  Slyne wants to talk to you first, though.  Last bit o’ business afore we fly.  Yer captain’s dead, I reckon.  At least, that was the plan.  You’ll find none of Janus’ men on the Drake now, well, ‘cept for you maybe.  Best behave, you don’t want to fly overboard, do ye?”

The man kept mentioning Slyne, and Ben wondered what the first mate had to do with what was happening.  It had to be some sort of nightmare, and any moment he’d wake up screaming.  He ducked as they entered the short stairwell that led to the captain’s cabin, and was rewarded with a thump and a curse as the grizzled man slammed his head on the deceptively low lintel.

“Bloody bastard! You warn me next time, you hear? Else you’ll get my fist,” he said, and lashed out with a foot that caught Ben by surprise and sent him tumbling down the last steps.  Quick to anger, but also someone who didn’t know airships.  The boy filed the information away for later.  He was pulled up by a fist clenched in his shirt, and shoved forward into the captain’s cabin.

“Oh good, you’re awake.  I hope Mr. Grange hasn’t been mistreating you.  He can be harsh in his methods.  Harsh, but effective.”  Ruther Slyne stood behind the captain’s desk, flipping through the piles of maps that accumulated in any ship, air or sea.  Tall and blond, he wore a dark blue greatcoat buttoned to his throat, the collar framing his thin face.  “How are you doing, my boy?”

“Go to hell, Slyne!”  Grange raised a fist, but a shake of the head from the first mate stayed his hand.  “What do you think you’re doing, have you gone mad?”

“Quite the opposite.  I am in full possession of my faculties as never before.  As to what I am doing, I am assuming the role of captain and taking this fine vessel far, far away from here.  You may choose to stay, or come along.  First, though, you will write a letter.”  Slyne slid a sheet of paper and pen toward Ben and gestured him forward.  “The man I hired to dispose of the captain has not returned, which I choose to see as a sign that Janus is still alive.  Not what I had hoped for, but still an event that I can work into my plans.  Now, Mr. Benjamin, if you will, the pen…”

Ben stepped closer and picked up the pen.  The first mate began to dictate, and soon Ben’s hand started shaking as he recorded what was told to him…

Market Wednesday

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to post a quick reminder that in addition to my Etsy store, I also have a Zibbet storefront, for anyone who feels uncomfortable purchasing from Etsy. Both are under the Greyed Out name. The Greyed Out Facebook page is here. Alternatively, if you wish to go around using a store altogether, but see an item that you like in one of my stores, feel free to email me at greylikestorms@gmail.com to discuss it, and I can send out a Paypal invoice to help with your purchase.

I’ve recently listed several grab packs of dice bags, but I do have other items available as well. I’ve been wanting to find a good home for this crooked house for a really long time, and I do a lot of fantasy themed artwork as well. One of my favorites is probably this Monster Skull illustration.
The map of Wilderland from The Hobbit recently sold, and I’ve been thinking of doing a map of Westeros… or at least, part of a map of Westeros, considering how huge that world is.

A new Airships of Marrakesh update will be going up later today, so stay tuned for that. Thanks for reading!

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 3

Note:  This is a rough, rough, rough unedited draft of something I’m working on.  You’re essentially getting the fiction feed directly from brain to the word document with no editing or filter in between.  This is a continuation of a work I’m calling Airships of Marrakesh, and Parts 1 and 2 can be found in this blog as well.  Enjoy!

 

“This is bad, very bad.  You have lost much blood.  I have sewn up the wound, but you must take care, and move the arm and shoulder as little as possible in the next few days.” Fahn translated the doctor’s instructions, Arabic to French.  He was pale under his desert tan, and could barely watch while the doctor had passed needle and thread through Janus’ skin.

The trip to Fahn’s shop had been difficult.  Janus was a big man, and the wound had bled more than he’d imagined it could.  Makhi supported him, helped him stumble along, and cursed him in several dialects and languages when he stopped and refused to move.  Janus had passed out soon after reaching the little shop where Fahn sold his goods, waking up only when the doctor had started sewing.  Now he listened, Fahn’s face coming in and out of focus as he blinked groggy eyes.

“Time? What time is it?” They were scheduled to leave just after dawn, and the crew would be worried.  Mellira was expecting him.

“Several hours after dark.  Makhi has gone to find information.  He was worried about you.  You were quite a difficulty to bring here.”  A wet cloth was swabbed over his forehead, and Fahn stepped to the side as the doctor continued working.  A balm was applied over the stitches, followed by several layers of cloth bandages and a tight wrapping.

“I have to make it back to the inn.  Crew needs to know what happened.  Have to make ready for morning.”  Janus tried to stand, and both doctor and shopkeeper pushed him back down at the same time.

“No no no no,” said the doctor, Fahn translating as fast as the words formed.  “The more you move, the longer you take to heal.  You must rest and do as little possible until the cut scabs and closes.  Eat plenty of food, read many books.  But do not move.”

“I captain a bloody airship!” he roared.  All three men paused in shock.  “I can’t afford not to move until this thing heals.  If I did, I would be out of a job faster than my crew downs their beer.”

“Then move everything but your arm,” said the doctor.  “The cut is deeper than you think.  You move the arm, and you will damage your ability to move the whole thing, shoulder included.”

Janus scratched at his chin.  “I might be able to do that.  But I still need to get to the inn and make sure my crew is safe.  Can I walk?  Can we hire a rickshaw?”

Plans were made to hire a discrete rickshaw driver, and Janus ate while they waited.  The shopkeeper had set out a small meal in his tiny kitchen, and the table took up most of the room.  Janus’ big frame left even less space, and everything felt crowded too closely together.  Makhi still had not returned, and Janus was starting to worry.

“He will be fine, I assure you,” said Fahn.  He smiled and plucked a fig from the bowl on the table.  “I hired him because he is good at what he does – finding information.  It is invaluable in this business to know more than your fellow business owners. I will leave him a note to direct him after us.”

“How far is it to the inn from here? It’s been too long since I saw you, I don’t remember the distances.”

“A little less than two miles, I believe.  Not far to travel at all, under cover of darkness.  The city quiets at nightfall, and we will move swiftly.”

“Good.  I’ve got a pistol on the ship, exactly where it will do me the least good.  Teach me to leave the firearms at home before going out in a strange city.”

“Guns draw attention, much more so than knives.  You know this, Janus.  The government frowns on such weapons.  We will have no problems.  Ah, I believe the driver is here,” he said, this last in response to a furtive knock at the door.  Fahn dimmed the lamp, and went to pull open the door.  The rickshaw driver was small, but had no problems helping the shopkeeper lift Janus into the light conveyance’s seat.  A quiet conversation in Arabic passed into the captain’s ear, and they were off.

Marrakesh at night was empty and silent, shuttered and dark.  The residents had all retired, taking advantage of the desert’s drop in temperature to sleep, and very few lights remained.  The one exception was near the air-port, where inns, taverns, and brothels did their business through the night, and the air-port itself where crews caroused on their ships.  The airships’ lights lent a festive air to that district of the city, and stayed a constant reminder that change was here.  The old ways were going, and the new were taking their places.

The inn was still brightly lit, though by now it was nearly midnight.  The main room would be filled with crews from all over the continent, drinking and spending their last coins before heading back into the open skies.  Fahn had the driver pull into the innyard, then sent one of the stable boys to fetch the innkeeper for a small private room.  Half asleep on his feet, the man barely noticed them.

A short time later the shopkeeper and the captain were sharing a plate of olives, and the rickshaw driver had been dismissed with extra coins in his pocket for his silence.  The tread of heavy boots sounded nearby, along with a muttered tirade of profanities, obscenities, and slang filthy enough to embarrass even the most hardened whore.

“That’ll be her,” said Janus, just as the door slammed open.

“What’s the bloody meaning of this…” Mellira trailed off as she took in the room’s occupants and their midnight snack.  Janus grinned and waved, while Fahn looked slightly embarrassed to have played part in her anger, which must have disturbed most, if not all, of the inn’s sleepers.

“You son of a whore,” she said, and let go of the stable boy’s ear. He took his chance and ran.  “That one comes up and starts knocking on my door, quiet but insistent, and won’t go away for nothing.  So I talk with him, but he won’t say why he needs me to go down to the third dining room, or who sent him, or anything useful at all.  You’re lucky I didn’t bring a gun with me and shoot first, question later.”

“Safe is better than sorry.  I apologize if we caused trouble, but your captain felt it better to not pass names around after what he went through earlier.”

Mellira closed the door behind her, and gasped as she noticed the bloodstained jacket.  “What the hell happened?”

“I got knifed.  What’s it look like? I got the guy, but I’ve been holed up at Fahn’s shop while I got stitched up.  Came as soon as I could, wanted to make sure things were good on your end.  Are they?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘good’.  I sent Ibben out to look for you a couple hours ago, after you failed to show up.  He hasn’t come back yet, nor have I heard from him.  Who knifed you?”

“We don’t know.  Fahn’s assistant went out as well, and he’s not back either.  Maybe he and Ibben will meet in the middle after coming up with half an answer each.  All I know is that he knew what he was doing, it didn’t seem like a cutpurse.”  Janus shifted position in his chair and winced.  He reached up to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it and ate another olive instead.

“Thieves here are generally very good – the punishment for theft is loss of a hand, so the bad ones don’t make it very long,” said Fahn.

“So what’s the plan, then?  Say the word, captain.  Do we just wait?”  Mellira paced back and forth in front of the table, one hand busy with a knife.

“Best for now, yes.  I don’t want anyone getting into more trouble, and we’re already waiting on two people to come back.  The plan for tomorrow is still to fly out as soon as we’re loaded – that cargo is too valuable to leave sitting in Marrakesh for too long.  Once Ibben and Makhi come back, we’ll gather the crew and spend the rest of the night on the ship.  I’d much rather be somewhere I know, where I can see the knives coming.”

Airships of Marrakesh, Part 2

Author’s note:  I’m posting this unedited, unrevised, rough.  It’s a very, very rough draft, and things are likely to change when it’s all done.  That said, thanks for reading!  I’m going to try to publish a segment every two days.  

 

The tavern was loud, enough so that conversation was work, and Mellira was worried.  She tossed back the dregs of her beer, and immediately regretted it.  The beer was lukewarm to begin with, and the desert heat hadn’t improved anything since it had arrived at the table.  She raised a hand and signaled for a second round.

Janus had been due back hours ago, and the sun had gone down and the lights up with no word from him.  Soon it would cool down, but the heat would be back with the morning sun.

“Jackass isn’t usually late,” said the dark man next to her.  The big oaf is never late, she thought, but kept quiet.  Wiry and lean, Ibben looked like he could cut someone with his cheekbones.  He had the look of a weasel, a convict, dangerous and willing to bite.  “Maybe he finally found a girl to bed down with.”  Ibben’s grin showed small, crooked teeth.

“Not like him, when we have business.  You know that.”  The new beer arrived, and Mellira took a long drink.  It was better cold, but still an excellent brew.  “Did you arrange for loading with the porters?”

“I had Ben do it.  Give him some experience.  Has to learn sometime,” he said.  He was eating, and dipped another piece of bread into the stew in front of him.  Ibben was always eating.

“Ben?  You’re joking, the kid is fourteen! The porters will gouge us on labor costs just on principle!”

“Relax, Mell.  I was standing right behind him while he negotiated.  We got the usual rates.  They’ll start loading at dawn, and we can leave as soon as they’re done.  These spices are going to fetch good back home, I can feel it.”

“Bastard.”  She sighed and finished her drink.  He was good at what he did, and better at riling her up.  But he had a point – Ben, the youngest member of the airship’s crew, had to learn the ropes.

“So, where do you think he is?”  That Ibben was asking her opinion at all showed his worry.  He kept shoveling up stew, but Mellira couldn’t help noticing that his hand shook ever so slightly.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.  I’m worried.  If Janus isn’t here, it’s because something went wrong.  And the last thing I want right now is something going wrong.”  She picked at a callous on her thumb, thinking through the options.  Leaving without the captain was out.  But where could he be?  She ran a hand through her red hair.

“He was supposed to be finalizing the agreement with the spicers, right?  Maybe one of them took a dislike to him, and decided to argue for better terms,” she said.  The spicers were still getting used to the new routes, new deals.  Reaching new ports of call was now faster than ever, but airship transport was also more expensive.  The profits, though, were worth it…

“Find him.  They trust you more than the rest of us.  Don’t come back without him.  Deal with whoever gets in your way in whatever way you see fit.”

“As you wish, boss,” Ibben said.  He’d been part of the crew for close to a dozen years, but the desert culture was in his blood.  The son of a weaver, he’d left home before his apprenticeship started, eager to see the world.  He spoke four languages, and had traveled as far east as Japan, both by sea and by air.  Mellira trusted him.  He nodded at her, pushed the last of his bread and stew toward her.  “Eat,” he said.  She glanced down at the food, and when she looked up he was gone.

 

Artisan Dice, Kickstarter, Warmachine, Dice Bags, Writing

A veritable gallimaufry of topics.

 

The Artisan Dice Kickstarter has almost finished, and will almost certainly be done by the time you read this post. Originally asking for only $300, the campaign has exceeded all expectations, and is now at just over $80,000. It’s incredible. I emailed Charlie Brumfield, the guy who is running it and making all of these amazing wooden dice, and asked him if he would be interested in some of Greyed Out’s dice bags. He said yes, so I mailed him several, and they’re listed as part of some of the rewards levels. Being involved in the Kickstarter, even only very marginally as I am, is ridiculously exciting, and I really liked being able to see a project as cool as this one gain momentum. I’m really glad that it’s getting funded.

I’m posting another update to Airships of Marrakesh tomorrow, and I’m hoping to make it another 1,000 words or so. Stay tuned for that. I’ll try to post to my Twitter when the update goes live. (Find me at @greylikestorms) I’m excited about the project, and I’m thinking of delving into art with it as well, doing some thumbnails in a Moleskine and seeing if I can’t make a short comic out of Janus’ earlier adventure(s).

I’ve been working on Beast-09 the past few days, and I broke out my gesso and got to priming the Beast. He’s currently in 4 pieces – torso, legs, and arms. The arms will get put on last, since that lets me get into most nooks and crannies. I really like the model, and the pose ability, although I went with a fairly stock pose, nothing too action-oriented. Expect pictures as soon as he’s done, as well. The legs have been posted already, and I’m excited to see how the base will turn out once I have it fully painted. …on a random note, I literally just remembered that I wanted to try adding a back banner to Beast, and it completely slipped my mind until just now. I might have to dig through my remaining GW bitz tomorrow and see what I can come up with.

I’m also eyeing the Portable Warfare bags again – the Tactical Orange is very tempting, because it’s such an unusual color that it’s hard to miss, and stands out so much. The bag I threw together on the sewing machine to carry my foam trays is starting to show its age, and I’m afraid that one of these days it’s simply going to rip a shoulder strap and throw my miniatures across the concrete. I’d love to get a Portable Warfare bag with a full foam load-out, and those are priced reasonably at $85 for the load out I’m looking at, but even an empty one would be amazing. Unfortunately, it’s not an expense I can justify right now, so I just wanted to mention here that I sew some pretty cool dice bags, and have an Etsy store which can be found here. I have the Freestanding Drawstring Bag in Brown Suede up, and I can also make them in a smoky gray suede. If you’ve got a friend that needs a new dice bag, pass the word along! These hold a huge amount of dice, and by huge I’m talking upwards of 120 dice, provided that your collection includes some of the 12mm d6’s like mine does.

Tomorrow is going to be a writing/painting/sketching day, and I can’t wait. Thanks for reading!

Putting Something Out There

This is the first rough rough rough version of something that’s puttering around in my head.  I don’t know if it will go anywhere, or if it will simply go away at some point.  But I’m posting it now, with a warning that it’s rough and unedited and might go through tons of changes if I feel like it.  It’s something called Airships of Marrakesh.

The form came out of nowhere, and Janus felt a fist connect with his side as he slammed into the wall, knocking the breath out of him.   He gasped and grabbed his attacker, bringing a knee into the smaller man’s belly, then pushed him hard and sent a kick toward a knee.  His foot missed, and the man danced back several steps, drawing a knife.  Janus reached for his own weapon and stepped in, slashing at the man’s face. He looked like a bedouin, and ducked under the attack snake-fast, his own blade lashing out.  Janus slapped at the arm holding the knife and stabbed, leaving a thin line of blood on the man’s arm.  Another exchange of blows left both men with wounds.   Janus felt the spreading warmth of blood along his chest, and the bedouin bled freely from his knife hand.

It was time to make an end.  Janus feinted to the right, then dropped and kicked a heavy boot at his opponent’s knee.  This time he failed to miss, and the crunch of bone and gristle was audible.  The man dropped and began to scream, and Janus was on him like an angry bear, the knife in his hand a vicious claw that tore open the man’s throat.  The fight had lasted less than a minute.

The alley was still quiet, but it was hard to hide a body, and soon other market-goers would notice the blood.  Janus dragged the corpse behind a stacked array of spice baskets, then kicked as much sand as he could over the blood.  He shrugged at the mess, and tried to walk out of the alley as inconspicuously as possible, given the blood soaking through his jacket.

 

Marrakesh had grown considerably after the desert kings had allowed the opening of the air fields, the potential of unlimited wealth swaying even the most traditional of the area’s rulers.  Now it was a bustling air-port, and the graceful shapes of dirigibles and airships were a constant above the city’s skyline.  By decree the mooring slips had to be a certain distance from the market, allowing local porters to make a business of carting goods from the slips to the great market square, and also keeping the ships’ crews away from the potential trouble that such crews always found regardless of the port.  The inn district was always busy, and trade only stopped for the great sandstorms that rolled in off the Sahara and blasted the city clean again.

Janus wiped sweat from his forehead, and leaned against a red sandstone wall.  The market tilted around him, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  Damn the desert kings!  The inn he’d chosen was several miles away, too far to walk in his condition.  He needed a surgeon, and water.  A stronger drink wouldn’t be unwelcome either.

The locals ignored him, and a tide of languages surrounded him.  Arabic, French, English, his native Dutch, the desert patois.  Everyone came to Marrakesh, and they all wanted something.  The local people were as new to the idea of foreign trade as the foreigners, and habit was still to ignore the white men unless they wanted to buy or sell.

“Sir? Excuse me.  Sir? Please?”  The voice was accompanied by a tug at his jacket.  Janus opened his eyes and regretted it. The sun was near the horizon, and lanced into his eyes as he glanced at the boy standing next to him.

The boy looked to be about ten years old, and snatched his hand back as soon as Janus noticed him.  “I beg your many pardons for interrupting you, but you must come with me please sir.”

“Why?”  His throat hurt, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink.  Dumb.  Keeping water at hand was vital in a desert city like Marrakesh.

“Shopmaster Fahn, sir.  He has sent me to keep a watch over you should you need assistance, and has instructed me to bring you to him if necessary.”  The boy ran a hand through his coal-black hair.  His eyes stopped moving only when he spoke to Janus, and he began to look even more nervous than he’d been when he first spoke.  “It is not safe here.  You are drawing attention, and we must go.”

“What’s your name, boy? Tell me that and I’ll come.  I don’t trust strangers.”  He pushed himself painfully from the wall, and gasped as his jacket tore the drying blood from the cut on his chest.

“Makhi, sir.  I am called Makhi.  I have been helping Master Fahn for many months now.”

“Well, Makhi, it looks like you’ve got a job to do.  Let’s get going before I collapse.  And if I do collapse, get me there anyways.  You hear me? No matter what.” The first step was painful, slow, but it got better the longer he walked.  Fahn could help.  He was always resourceful.

 

 

 

Crafty Update

Hello my dearest readers,

 

Tonight I have just a quick update, but lots of pictures.  I’ve been doing some character sketches in my moleskine for an idea I had for a story/comic/something.  It’s about a crew of wayward airship pirates and their quests to glory.  Well, it’s more than that.  But it’s going to be steampunk-ish, without being too over-the-top.

 

The tree above is something I did with watercolors, and I was surprised at how much fun I had doing it.  Normally I prefer acrylics over watercolors, but whatever I did this time seemed to work, and I’m really happy with how this came out.

I’m also planning to try doing some cartography work on leather, using acrylic paints to do some maps, perhaps of Westeros or other familiar fantasy places.  I recently saw a map on Tumblr done that way, and loved how it came out.

In the Etsy shop, I have a new dice bag available – the Freestanding Dice Bag in Suede.  I made one version in brown suede, and was ecstatic when it sold just a few hours after I listed it.  It’s been re-listed, and I plan to make a second version in the smoky gray suede to list as well.  Those pictures are shown below.