I’m not sure how I feel about the execution of my freehanding, but I like the touch of personality that the premise adds. Still deciding how many of my remaining Gluttons to ink up… C&C welcome!
My most recent glutton. His head and face were the recipients of a little extra work with Green Stuff, because 1) I wanted to smooth some gaps around his neck, and 2) I figured it would be fun to put a little extra meat on his bones.
The mustache is longer on one side, because he accidentally chewed off the other side’s tip.
Given ogors’ knack for surviving the cold (and some of the new artwork in the book), I thought it would be appropriate for my Tyrant to sport a walrus mustache. It was a fun model to paint, and I was pretty pleased with how the new sculpts take a blue-skinned paint scheme. Still trying to figure out a good name for him…
A few months ago, I decided to take the plunge into Mawtribes and bought a few models from my FLGS (the Scrapglutt spearhead and a Stonehorn). I built everything pretty quickly, but have been procrastinating in actually painting.
With all of the gorgeous new models being released, I figured it was time to start chipping away at the horde of grey plastic on my shelf. Overall, I found the painting experience to be a treat (and a good change of pace from my Genestealer Cults for 40K)!
Once a day, he descends into the basement to feed me, change my diapers, and recreate scenes from his childhood with my limp body and the corpses of missing hitchhikers.
As soon as we entered the parlor, the psychic recoiled and spat, “That thing in her belly must never be born!”
Whatever said those words must not have realized that I could see my husband through the back window, dangling lifelessly from a tree.
As my vessel drifted along the gloomy seascape, I spotted something stranger than any leviathan: my name, scrawled in the sediment.
I couldn’t let her third eye see that I’m not actually a priest, or that the real one is rotting in a shallow grave outside the village.
At one point, it turned to me and hissed, “Before I met him, your son looked just like you.”
“I just don’t have the heart to part with my lifelong friends,” he explained, as I noticed my missing pug Frank perched stiffly his nightstand.
“Yet,” he responded, removing a pair of pliers from his toolbox.
As the first few drops struck his pallid skin, the boy bared his fangs in a grin and said, “I knew this guy was a fake.”
Today, I came home to find him standing between me and wife, gun in hand, asking me who I was and what I wanted from them.
Now, watching my father scuttle along our ship’s wing, I know she was telling the truth.
After a moment of bliss, I remembered that I cannot breathe underwater, and our once tender dance became the thrash of a drowning man.
We followed tracks in the snow until we reached his frozen corpse, but none of us could explain why the tracks led past the body and off into the horizon.
Our team retrieved dozens of coffins and a variety of burial garments, but we never found a single body.
He sank down, and down, and down, until the hungry trench swallowed his universe. Therein dwelled a darkness so ancient that the stars were but a passing dream by comparison. For eons, such darkness had remained unillumined by humanity’s curiosity… The diver’s torch flickered and sputtered, casting feeble rays through the murk. Though he did not know it, his flame incensed unnamed things, older than gods, who would never abide such glowing blasphemy in the temple of night. Limbs and tentacles swirled about the ink, dancing to tectonic heartbeats, as the scion of Prometheus learned that his little lights could not hold back the void.
Pen and paper, with digital editing.
Those cosmic dusts cascaded on Earth like glittering nebulae, and great spires sprouted wherever they landed. Their sublime psalms called us forth, to serve a purpose beyond the self. We fed our flesh into towers, and, with the fusion of offal, climbed our way back to God.
Pen and paper with digital editing.