“Well, at least now we know who she is.”
“She was in the story part that we had on Tuesday too.”
“Well, at least now we know who she is.”
“She was in the story part that we had on Tuesday too.”
he air took no notice of the foolishly brave villager as it drifted across the dusty gray hills. The morning was still and heavy with the soundless echoes of legend, like each day that had come before it since the Kingdom had fallen. His foot edged a ripped and tattered emblem still tenuously attached to its broken standard, strewn across the ground in defeat, a profound contrast to its once proud and ruthless meaning. Upon it was a vulture, its silver wings outstretched against a crest as gray as the abandoned battlefield it now memorialized. Perhaps its once great King still ruled. The marooned farmers of Thesia, first village on the Kings Road in the province of Kulnas, had no way to know.
Other than the heavy mist, his was the first presence to linger in this place since the battle, if it could be called by that name. He, like so many others, wished to understand what had occurred on that night so long ago, but only Ornas, despite the dire cautions of his fellows, dared set foot upon ground instead of road in Kulnas Forge.
Perhaps he was indeed foolish, driven by a youthful belief in his own invincibility to venture forth while others hurried through the land, glancing neither left nor right. Perhaps he could, despite the failures of so many others in the attempt, parlay foolishness into a destiny other than that of a tiller of soil.
The simple farmers of Thesia had believed that night would be their last under the stars. Families huddled in their hovels, dove under wagons and into granaries, and closed their eyes against what they never attempted to describe, fearing the very mention of what they had seen and heard would cause its return. The white fire in the skies was too horrible even for nightmares.
Ten regiments had been swept into history on that night. Under the banner of the King of Silver they had once threatened Kulnas itself, yet now their only legacy was an undiscovered tale of vengeance visited upon them by a being whose name was rarely even whispered, much less spoken. Even Ornas listened to that urgent advice. She was known as the Pure Defender of the Realm, yet many believed that she would bring destruction to any who stood before her. All but one legend were loath to speak the name LadyStar.
Will my name, Ornas wondered, be written into legend by my deeds upon this field this day? He stood only a few yards off the road, still apprehensive whatever his reckless courage. It was here that soldiers fought, he thought. Looking around he saw gray mists swirling over only slightly darker ground. The faded trees at the edges of the hilly fields leaned against the mist like rogues in an alleyway, their leafless limbs as sharp as daggers.
The air was cold. Those who knew Kulnas were accustomed to the chill of the morning. The trees and the road were his only companions, or so he hoped. Many of the villagers who still made their homes in Thesia believed this field was haunted: That any who stepped off the road here would face the same woman clad in ghostly white robes that had driven the Vulture Crest back. Stories of her victory had become part of their very culture, already cemented into the village’s traditions by the optimistic rhymes of their children, yet still careful to omit the name given her by legend.
Tales had reached many lands now that King Gaelen’s soldiers no longer obstructed the scribes of Isia, Chaer, Varcarel and Kulnas from their travels. Many wanted to know more about those legends, but only Ornas allowed his curiosity to carry him off the road and into the site of one of the most significant events in the entire recorded history of Aventar.
He walked slowly, making his way further off the road and further into the slowly swirling mist. To a more frightened eye, the wisps of fog might appear to be ghosts themselves: circling, fading, then reappearing in the corner of the eye only to vanish once again. To a more apprehensive ear, the sound of the wind might have been a faint cackling: a jeer or taunt to challenge a hapless fool’s search for nothing. Her eyes could be upon me right this moment, Ornas thought, turning quickly to look back in the direction of the now obscured road. His mind raced.
If the mist be a ghost, it surrounds me, he observed. Despite his practical way of thinking, the culture of superstition he had lived among his entire life in Thesia could not be ignored completely.
He turned forward once again and huge dark shape emerged from the mist. Ornas jumped back with a shout and gasped for air. It did not move. The young man remained, his hand clutching his chest, still breathing deeply and quickly as he slowly recovered from the shock. A blackened shape sat there in the now slightly bluish but yet darker mist. It was easily the size of a small dwelling with what appeared to be several columns lying flat across it. At its base were wheels, one to the right and one to the left, each with a diameter half Ornas’ height. His eyes widened. Perhaps I have found an engine of war!
Ornas was as excited by his discovery as he was frightened by its sudden appearance. Even to one unfamiliar with the mechanisms of battle, the huge device, whatever its former purpose, was as much a ghost as the imagined shapes in the mist. Ornas surmised it had once perhaps been constructed of wood, but now only a charred husk remained. He picked at the edge of one plank with his fingers, pulling a piece of the blackened remains of its outer wall free. It was exactly the same texture as burnt kindling. Ornas was amazed.
How many men, he supposed, must have manned this once fearsome war machine? How could it now be only a shadow of its former glory? What could have defeated them so utterly?
But defeated they were. So much so that only the machine remained. No man had stood to defend it. There was not one helm, nor even a shield or weapon upon the engine or the ground near it. There was nothing except its pulverized shell: abandoned, then destroyed by power beyond comprehension.
Even valor had been first to flee this engagement, Ornas thought. Yet, there was one oddity.
Underneath a small pile of rubble towards what Ornas surmised was the front of the machine he could see the edge of what he thought might be a thick metal chain. It was intriguing if only for the fact it was not burnt. Ornas knelt under the leaning planks and supports, reaching towards the chain. He could just reach it without crawling underneath the engine, and he slowly pulled it free. A length of tarnished links looped around his fingers, and pulled straight against his grip, apparently attached to something else still under the rubble. Ornas pulled harder and the entire pile of rubble moved as a heavy disc-shaped object emerged from underneath it.
Ornas gasped as he saw its color. There was an almost transparent light greenish-colored crystal disc attached to the chain. It slid along the ground as Ornas pulled it from underneath the war machine, then lifted it as he stood up. It dangled from the chain, slowly spinning in the chilled morning air. It was a perfect flawless crystal amulet nearly as wide as his shoe, and even Ornas could tell the chain was made of silver. It was as heavy as a large grain measuring stone, a treasure beyond his wildest imaginings. Surely now he would be as famous as the men who fought here!
The air took no notice of the foolishly brave villager as he hurried back towards the road.
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“Doesn’t sound too good to me.”
“Fury of the Venom Legion Page Seven has been published. Visit every Thursday for a new color page.”
“Now I’m sad for her because she looks like she’s really sick or something.”
“Page Six is up. Visit every Thursday for a new color page.”
“Ooh! Isian Badlands. That’s Isia! The same place from the trunk we found in my attic in The Dreamspeaker!”
“Good eye, Goofy Bird, good eye. I wonder how far that is from where we showed up? You think the Venom Deeps might be around there?”
“I still want to know who she is. Maybe she really is that Vicereine person from Call of the Huntress.”
“Well you’d be mean too if some guy was trying to stab you with a giant knife.”
“I’d zap him with my lantern like the Halloween monsters!”
“Little bit is fearless, isn’t she?”
“Page Five has been updated. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday with a brand new color page.”
“Okay, now I’m starting to wonder who he is.”
“‘Excellency,’ Cici. It’s a way of addressing nobility.”
“Page three is up. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday with a brand new color page.”
“Here is a preview of page three of Fury of the Venom Legion our all-new color LadyStar web comic. Fury of the Venom Legion updates every Thursday.”
“This is a preview of page 18 of The Varcarel Jade the free LadyStar web manga. The Varcarel Jade updates every Monday with a new page.”
I've been finding it really difficult to draw over the last couple of weeks. Or, at least, finding it difficult to like anything that I've drawn. Sometimes you just run out of steam - just like this bee. I think I'm starting to feel inspired again. I'd like to thank everyone from the Everyday Matters group - and everyone else on my blogroll - who provide me with inspiration on a daily basis.
(BTW, it is the same dead bee from the last post. Poor bugger.)
I wasn't going to post this but I've been in a right old drawing funk this week and have nothing else to post.
This poor bee had been on the floor for sometime - days in fact. I kept on thinking I should get rid of it but then never getting around to it. This was Flower's (my cat) prey. She isn't big on hunting - actually I think this is the only thing she's ever caught. Well, with a name like Flower you couldn't be much of a hunter could you? She doesn't see the point anyway not when she employs somebody (me) to prepare and serve her food.
I love the sepia and moleskine combo. What sepia pens do you use out of interest? The only ones I've found are the Zig ones which are too thick for my taste.
You've given this bee attention in death that he probably never gained in life. Somehow I find that rather poetic and sad...but at the same time exactly the reason drawing has become so important to me. It's really true what Danny Gregory says, when you draw something you really allow yourself to appreciate it and absorb it on a whole new level.
I'm sorry you've been going through a drawing rough patch. Those days are the worst.
Yuck! Dead bee! But, of course, beautifully done!
it's a stunning series, though, andrea! i never get tired of your work ... it's so unique!
I keep being awestruck by the attention to detail you achieve. Your drawings are always so beautifully done.
Going through rough periods of drawing is always difficult. That's when we doubt our abilities the most.From what I can tell by this drawing, I'd say you found your passion again.
Thanks for sharing!
Really stunning work. I'm a new fan! :)
Poor bugger is right -- but she (oh yeah, bees in French are a feminine noun -- can't get past that!) had the privilege of being drawn by you, so i say it ain't too bad. This is another stunning piece -- the fact you chose to draw 6 different angles of the defunct insect, and how it looks in the end -- it's all so brilliant.
Regarding the funk: i've decided that i need to nourish my life with other things (i.e. go see a movie, good or bad, instead of spending another evening drawing) -- so that these things, in turn, become sources of inspiration for drawings. I think my last funk was (partly) due to the fact i just drew and drew without noticing i was pressuring myself to do 'produce' drawings. Which, of course, goes against the very teachings (thank you, Danny Gregory) that got me here in the first place -- to enjoy the process of drawing.
Sorry about the short story. Good to feel you're crawling out of the funk, my friend.
Surfing around...there are so many people doing so many great drawings; and...I found myself here-at your site-again. I remember this site!
I really like your work. (I will not leave my return here to chance next time.)
you make magic with a ballpoint pen :D love the different views you've made of the bee.
you make me love this dead bee, he is very vulnerable looking and I cn't help but love him!
Yes, poetic. That's how I'd describe your bee drawings. Here's a little ditty in commemoration: There once was a yellowish bee, who came into Andrea's life, you see. It came as a gift, by a cat who was miffed, to remind us that "seeing" is key. Cheers! J (P.S. No presumptions about your cat's reasons for catching Mr. Bee, just didn't have anything to rhyme with gift. LOL).
Lovely drawings, and so nice together as a set. Bad drawing patches happen, I find the best thing not do is not to draw at all, and sooner or later the urge comes back, and usually there is a development in style. (Thankfully this has never happened in the middle of a job, that would be inconvenient!)
Cheers everyone.
I actually felt quite sad about letting him (her!) go as I felt I got to know the poor little thing so well!! It is about seeing things on a different level and I LOVEthat about drawing.
Re; the funk. I feel like I'm putting too much pressure on myself and then you do forget to enjoy the process. Hmmmmmm.
Rhomany, it's a Pilot GTec pen. It's 0.4mm - I'd like something finer too.
Thanks everyone and especially Joan for the ditty!!
i could stare at the lovely variations on this sweet bee for a long time. no bee was ever so studied and made so beautiful. he certainly gave you inspiration to make such loveliness out of the ordinary.
i am in love with the pen work. thank you
I'm so happy to hear you are coming out of your slump. Feeling uninspired is one of the worst feelings in the world and even tho it happens to all of us at some point I hate to think of this happening to you. I'm glad your little friend was able to help you recover. After I looked at him for awhile I thought it seemed less as if he was dead and more as tho you had sketched him during the night while he rolled over and over looking for a comfortable sleeping position. I thought, what he needs is a little blankie -no one can get comfy without a cover. And that made me giggle, picturing the little bee with one of your beautifully drawn blankets...
Thanks Andrea. I love my Pilot Hi-Techs so I don't think a leap to the Gtec will be too far!
I love all these different views of your bee. You have made him famous!!
Glad you are feeling better about, well, everything!
I can't imagine having the patience to draw not one, but many of anything. You always make me look at my life differently. I take so many things for granted. Thank you.
A great honor has fallen upon this bee...two posts dedicated to him, one more beautiful than the other!
I hope the feeling of slump is subsiding? What "Wagonized
is saying, is very true. To take some time off and doing other things, doing nothing, lazing, seeing a movie, reading, anything BUT thinking of producing good art. And WHEN you draw, it is just for relaxation, just for that "showing up at the page", nothing else. Good luck!
Ronell
Thank you for stopping by my blog Andrea. I hope your drawing funk is passing, you have such great talent! Absolutely beautiful work with this bee!
yup, I agree with Wagonized on her escape from funkness theory. You bees are quite poignant. Sorry you've been blue. it sucks doesn't it?
I had to view this large, there's something so sweet and touching and sad about it ... it's a great drawing Andrea! And no pressure, just enjoy life! Then draw it ...
Just absolutely love your style. This is great. I do hope you are getting the itch to draw again. Your drawings are so inspiring and beautiful. But, I have been where you are and know how difficult it is to get out of the funk. This bee is so sad and wonderful all at the same time. Poor little buzzer.
I've been struggling with inspiration too (but not so much as your poor dead bee). Your bee drawings are wonderful--almost humorous instead of sad.
I agree that you have honoured this bee with your drawings. She must be buzzing away happily in Heaven at the very thought of her portraits.
Thanks everyone.
I agree, Jana, they do see these more humourous than sad.