Had a lot of fun making this diagram for the character.
Monday, January 30, 2012
CUSHIO... Concept to Character
When he was ten, he was savaged by a forest creature they had thought extinct thousands of years before. They killed the beast and put it on display in the largest museum of their world. The boy was taken to Regeneration and they rebuilt him with machine parts and soft things that had been flesh in other bodies. He grew up half-human, and thus never understood what humans wanted.
He killed his first when he was fifteen. By his twenty-first year he ruled the continent with a. guard of mercenaries as ruthless as himself. He went into space with an armada at the age of thirty and left behind him a route of road markers that had been lives and cities and thriving markets. The route made of embers and mass graves.
They stopped him near Aldebaran and space was littered with wreckage beyond the range of even the most sensitive sensors. They took him alive, and they encased him in amber and they imbedded him in the earth of the home world, with cameras that never shut down and never let him out of their sight. And there he stayed, forever. The Regenerators of his world had done their work well. He would live forever.
The mothers of the homeworld, who desired their children to go to sleep, invoked the name of Cushio. They said, “Cushio will take you if you don’t do good.” And the children were too young to know that could never be.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
This is the first time I'm taking a traditional painting class.
I'm okay with the digital, but I am a complete novice when
it comes to anything traditional. I'm going to post each of
my paintings this year to see how I progress. Hopefully I'm
a little better at the end of the semester than I am right now.
So far I've found myself thinking "COMMAND Z" a lot.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
“He is sick. He writes his books in the lowest level of a deep labyrinthine grotto. His books are filled with things no one ever wanted to know. Unsettling things. He became part mushroom many years ago, but even the small lizards who come and feed off his body never realize he was once a man. If he were on a desert island he would write his awful stories and send them out in bottles. But there, deep in the grotto, no one will ever read a word he has written; written with shards of sharpened stone in the blood of lizards; written on walls that go deep into the earth. But one day they will need fossil fuels, and they will break through a wall of his grotto, and they will find the books, written on endless walls. And they will find the thing with a tormented face, growing in the moist soil of the underworld.”