The Armor Games website will be down for maintenance on Monday 10/7/2024
starting at 10:00 AM Pacific time. We apologize for the inconvenience.
The Armor Games website will be down for maintenance on Monday 10/7/2024
starting at 10:00 AM Pacific time. We apologize for the inconvenience.
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Thanks.
Can someone remind me to draw the ChoCen one at some point next week?
ALL THE VIEWS.
To be honest, this thread does ten to get a few thousand views per day.
most likely in December this year...
That does seem like a proper estimation, though my current bets are on Halloween this year (again).
Being a deity sounds even less fun than having a fanclub.
I suddenly feel this is highly relevant to the WoM.
Generally the whole movie, though without getting the girl. And possibly without ever leaving as much as painfully trying to keep up the image of godliness.
The Danish version of the song was very well done for being translated! I need to watch this again. In my perspective, it's mostly analogous to a couple of kooks breaking into Frank's Open Air Brewery and, through deals of not snitching on The Man and helping with preparations, the others being allowed to participate. I knew that was a bad idea from the start.
I generally like the Danish version more, not for the language, but because the voices actually seem more fitting for the characters . . .
It happens sometimes.
Generally, people that can talk their way into things they weren't intended to be in... tend to be trouble.
Even more so than the people that just crash the party and pretend they have been there all along.
Well, if I had about 50 hours I would go back and fill in every detail of this extremely rudimentary sketch. But I don't, so... here's what's supposed to be the ultimate insanity of the Way of Moderation.
In mid-flight, Strop had half a second to wonder whether Flipski had miraculously resurrected as he had simultaneously shrunk to Lilliput proportions, before what looked suspiciously like Firetail's castle flew past him and directly into the face of the nearest mutant troll. The troll reeled back, losing its footing and flattening several dozen shops on the main strip as it fell with an indescribably loud, earth-shattering crunch. As if in slow motion, Strop looked at the castle, now much the worse for wear after the mighty impact, as it continued its path, seemingly attached to pylons and fences and girders and wires and bits of mortar fashioned to form an arm, an arm that was attached to a giant mech-like figure standing right next to the castle. Even through the pelting rain, Strop could have recognised bits of several of the other houses that used to line Aristocrat Alley in its structure.
Strop grabbed a loose piece of pipe now hanging off the arm, before pulling himself atop it. Dank's final request to him echoed in his head, and he had his suspicions as to how this castle-saving intervention had transpired.
Suddenly, the wires and structures started realigning themselves, wrapping around each other and reforming. With a giant lurch, the castle suddenly retracted along the arm, splitting into several sections and forming a crude fist. The pipe Strop was holding onto whipped back and sent him bundling along the arm up towards the shoulder, where he could make out a hulking head and, to one side, a light that looked very much like an eye. Except, when he got closer, it wasn't just an eye, but Moe, strapped into a command room, streams of virtual text whipping around his jar in a blur. Moe was concentrating so hard that the entire room had lit up with an unholy glow.
"Evidently I need more practice" was all he would say, before the mech gave another great lurch, pitching Strop off and into the air again. Below, the other trolls were coming back to their feet, leaping at the mech, arms outstretched in a tackle. A swathe of forest was felled as the mech braced, part of the body shifting and opening up until it stood on four legs, holding the trolls at bay. On the ground, the castle gates had opened once more, the citizens of AG charging across the moat to meet the hordes of invaders once again. And as he nocked his bow with a grappling hook, Strop saw some specks on the horizon, converging on the fracas on both sides. Friend or foe, he couldn't tell, but he knew that the final victory or defeat would be decided in this battle.
"**** just got real," he muttered to himself.
Okay sorry about the really long delay. Work is really getting on top of me so I'm taking advantage of the public holiday to get back on top of the WoM!
A couple of double-page spreads, click them to head over to dA so you can see them better. They're crappy sketches anyway.
Here come two old hands back to the fray!
On a Wing and a Prayer
Frank grit his teeth, thoughts flying through his head thick as the rain that battered his oilskin coat. Armor Games had been an interesting place, sure, but it was just supposed to be a holiday stop for him. Just another stepping stone while he gathered his thoughts about what to do next.
But then what? Where would he go after that? Somewhere else where his thoughts about unfinished business and unsavoury pasts would doubtlessly follow him? After this much time, he knew that it wasn't moderation that he sought. Or maybe it was, but not for moderation's sake itself.
Frank shook his head: that part still didn't make sense. What was moderation for moderation's sake anyway? The tournament itself was a distraction and good for some fun and some fights, at least. Fights that he could approach as a warrior, with no holds barred yet no complaints and a kind of justice. Yes, the justice that he felt lacking in his heart, because a community built upon working and living and laughing and fighting together was what he missed. Or so he thought. How could he have forgotten that these were the things that tied him to his old comrades from the air pirate brigade? Was it that his goggles had become so stained in blood that he lost sight of it? Or was it that he had lost sight of the reasons he once gripped with such desperate fury, to hurl himself from the heights of high society into the tempestuous storms of strugglers and mercenaries? No words came to mind to answer his questions, yet, in the very moment and place he inhabited, the answer already existed.
Behind him, there they were again. They were the lost three-hundred wandering the unruly skies. And after everything had been thought through and all the words had been said, they had forgiven his departure and his absence, their prodigal son, their prodigal leader. And it was only through the things that he had learnt and come to terms with that he was able to talk the brigade into coming along with him on this crazy kamikaze mission.
"On the condition", his first mate quipped with a toothy grin, "that there's sufficient compensation of the fiscal variety."
And that was what was bothering him. He had made that promise to his crew and off they went, but he knew nothing about how to fulfill that promise. He suspected, even from a distance, that Armor Games was ruined to the point it would have nothing left to offer them.
"You look rather lost for somebody whose destination is so obvious."
The voice was startingly close, making Frank jerk his throttle lever and almost spiral out of control. When he recovered, a familiar fai- pixie swooped into view.
"Steady on, ol' chap." Pixel quipped in his characteristically officious tone. "When I heard you bowed out in the semi-finals I thought you were gone for good."
"I guess we were both wrong," Frank shot back with a wry smile. "But I'm sure glad I ran into you."
"Oh?" Pixel looked quizzical. "If it's another fight you're after, maybe it could wait until, well, you know." He tilted his head to indicate the bedlam below.
"Yes, of course, but, well..." Frank trailed off before clearing his throat. "My friends here, they're, shall we say, business people who ordinarily won't have any business with these affairs, if you know what I mean, and, well..."
Pixel stared at Frank, slowly comprehending the air pirate's insinuations, before he burst out in a roaring, ungentlemanly laugh.
"Oh, you rascal!" he managed between laughs. "Normally I would say my money is my money, but in these circumstances, I suppose I could set you up with a loan."
Frank's relief was palpable. "Thanks, that's much appreciated." Pixel blinked at him, partially blinking rain out of his eyes, partially blinking in thought. "And here I was thinking that if I said no, you'd just fly away..."
Frank shifted uncomfortably in his harness before staring dead ahead. "Right now we have something important to deal with, so should we?"
"Indeed," Pixel simply said. The two slapped their mitts together, and the deal was sealed.
Frank triumphantly raised his sword, rallying the troops onward, and in a deafening roar of propeller engines and warcries, streams of air pirates charged towards the fray. Gunning his own engine, Frank set off, riding in Pixel's slipstream.
"By this way, I charge interest," Pixel reminded Frank.
"You rich *******," Frank countered, before pointing towards the battling magic stone golem and the giant mutant trolls pounding the mortar out of it. "Oh, by the way, it looks like something crazy happened to the Aristocrat Alley..."
Pixel peered down, noting first that Aristocrat Alley had completely vanished, then noting the suspicious composition of the stone golem.
His bloodcurdling scream continued all the way down to the battlefield.
---
I sincerely hope to be able to actually finish the material for this scene by tomorrow! ISN'T THAT EXCITING!!!
I sincerely hope to be able to actually finish the material for this scene by tomorrow! ISN'T THAT EXCITING!!!
He has to, otherwise he doesn't get sexy horse girls.
I hope you people are appreciating my sacrifice.
He has to, otherwise he doesn't get sexy horse girls.
I hope you people are appreciating my sacrifice.
The Best 543 pages I've ever read on here.
You should make a comic book kind of thing, sell it for 20 bucks or something. I'd buy it.
Alas, it has ended. Marvelous art, Strop.
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