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Seeking artist for darker, surrealistic webcomic--Gateway
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Enresshou
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Joined: 15 Aug 2006
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 15, 2006 2:50 am    Post subject: Seeking artist for darker, surrealistic webcomic--Gateway Reply with quote

(Quick note: I don't believe my summaries do anything justice, so I've put a sample of my work down below to give an example of the style of what I'd like and what I'm capable of. Figure it's only fair to show my stuff first before demanding others do the same )

Hello, I guess I'll start with an introduction of myself, seeing as I suppose I'm soliciting YOU

My name is Joshua, longtime fan of superheroes and comic books (Spider-Man eclipsing all else from the time I was about 6 till now). I'm more of a short-story and poetry writer, but I've had several novel-length ideas, and my idea is one of them. A rough outline of it, with more details if you wish, is as such:

the current avatar of Death is sick and tired of his immortality and wants to finally be laid to rest. The universe can't abide without death, however, and so Death chooses a new avatar--a human, a young man, who's always been close to death. At first the young man is resistant, but Death--growing weary--tells him he has two options. Either except his status as avatar, or Death will erase the existence of everybody he's ever known and cared for. He accepts.

As Death, he is immortal. However, immortality cannot exist without energy as fuel--and that fuel are the souls of humans. At first it is simply the souls of humans that a sense warns him are unfit and dangerous. Whenever Death devours a soul, he lives the memories and mindset of that person. Some of them aren't that bad--petty thugs, crooks who would only have lived to wound and spite others and procreated to create more who would do the same. Some of them he takes a sense of righteousness from--sick, demented women and men who take joy in torturing and murder. But the worst are those who he sees--an unwanted childhood, abusive parents, raped, mutilated; he hears their child's screams calling for help, and, just as he devours their souls, he feels the core of every one of them--a child, crying for love, begging and sobbing for someone to love them.

This is only at first, however--Death is the Gateway of energy into and out of this world, and balance is key in everything he does. When a soul dies, it exits through Death into the ether; an exchange takes place, and a new soul exits through Death. As the new avatar, however, he can only form a crude Gateway (the previous avatar impatient to exit the mortal plane and shoving his powers onto the new avatar). Souls begin to back up, and, as the story goes on, begin to gather to other people much like the current Death was before being imbued with these powers--people close to Death, close to the ether. Some are good, more are evil, and the conflicts arise as greater quantities of souls are allowed to remain free with Death still learning his powers.

(This next part is, of course, workable; as I only have a sketch of how he looks)
He looks like the angel of Death--a conceit, since that's how he's always envisioned Death. His 'costume' is a pure white hood that hangs over his face, obscuring everything except his mouth, that goes down into a triangle of cloth on his chest and back. He wears no shirt, but has heavy chains running from his wrists, winding around his arms, and around his neck. He carries a scythe, and has two enormous white wings. In my story, death is light--to quote Mary Oliver, "What if death is not darkness/but such blinding, aortal light/that we are instantly sleep/and washed, washed clean of our bones". When he removes his hood, he unleashes a blinding light to any within sight, but his eyes are so dark from the souls he devours that they are all that you can see in the light. So far I've gotten him mostly drawn out; I'm just working on the feathers on the wings, and I'll be able to upload a concept sketch.

I'd like parts of it to be funny; I'm of the belief that almost anything can have some form of humor interjected into it, even matter as dark as I like, and not compromise it's integrity. The core of it would, of course, be the avatar of Death; his own struggles and tribulations (just like any other character, of course); his questioning his loss of humanity with his transformation, his subsequent duties being thrust upon him as he not only has to kill people but entirely erase their existence to subsist for a certain period of time. I suppose, much like Spider-Man, it would be an in-depth exploration of character.

Stylistically, I'd prefer a darker aspect. I'm of the belief that sadness can portray immense beauty, and I'd like the visuals (as well, of course, as the linguistics) to reflect this. Send me a note, or reply here, and I'd be more than happy to send you additional samples of my work--my best work isn't displayed online, however, so noting/e-mailing me is the best option. Thanks, and I look forward to hearing from you!


Last edited by Enresshou on Tue Aug 15, 2006 2:53 am; edited 1 time in total
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Enresshou
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Joined: 15 Aug 2006
Posts: 2

PostPosted: Tue Aug 15, 2006 2:51 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

A mouth above me shudders, shakes itself free of its ethereal binding, and flutters towards me.
It snaps open and light bleeds around me. The mouth opens itself wider, wider, until it is wide enough to swallow me whole. It opens still further, ivory teeth and tongue glowing, until all I can see is the searing light issuing from its gaping throat.
The tongue reaches out, wraps itself around my legs, and pulls me into the mouth. The teeth slam shut behind me, close out the darkness, and the radiance grows and grows until I can feel my unseen body burning with light and memory.
I close my eyes against the light, shield them with unseen hands, and the light is gone. The mouths are gone. And, when I open my eyes again, I see a face from years ago etched into blackness—a girl; a young woman, really, with clouded green eyes and pale skin coated in a light sheen of sweat.
Her face leans in and kisses me, places my hands on her throat, her eyes growing ever softer as she breathes in, begs me to indulge her fetish. I bring my hands together and grip her small throat, squeeze her until she begins to gasp for breath, until her eyes slide shut, and she begs me to hold her tighter.
I hold her, clench her closer as the blue glow begins to suffuse her face and throat, as she loses consciousness with a beautiful smile frozen into her lips. I study her now, burning into memory the intricacies of her face, the scent of her hair, the glow in her eyes, the radiant smile she wears as she slips further into her fantasy.
I disengage a hand, run it across her cheek, and close my eyes, kissing her blue-tinged lips.


There is a shudder, and the memory splinters. The light bleeds away. I open my eyes and I’m in the blackness again, surrounded by smiles.
One mouth opens, and light begins to bleed from its teeth. It speaks in a voice that was once mine, one from years ago.
‘I once dreamed of her often.’
The lips do not move. The tongue is still.
The teeth clip shut and the mouth fades to the background, no longer smiling.
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CupidKeys
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Joined: 24 Aug 2006
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 24, 2006 10:50 am    Post subject: Writer or Artist? Reply with quote

Sorry, but I'm a little unclear on your want by posting this. I know you're looking for an artist, but it seemed like you may also be looking for a writer. I am also a poet and short story writer, but I've been on a long term project or two, but I've never made a webcomic.

I like the ideas you've come up with and I can see a lot of potential in the story all together. Before I make any comments or things along that line of what I could see or see different I'd like your permission and not asking for that on blind faith I'm pasting on one of my dark pieces.


Pointless

My name is Minerva, meaning “Goddess of Wisdom.” I am the daughter of Gabriel, whose name means ‘strength.’ He is the leader in the tribe of Alia, which means ‘all’. Though both my people and my history had been forgotten to you and your people, I know of you. Though the time between my writing on parchment to your discovery of this letter will be un-measurable by any means that you possess, I assure you that I know more of your world than you will ever know of mine.

You may ask how I acquired such knowledge. To best tell the tale, let me first explain that my people believed in purpose. Our names often depicted what we were known for, such as my father, whom was known for his tremendous strength. My people preformed their way of living according to the name given to them, so we had everything that we required to survive. Basically, we had it all, hence the tribal name meaning ‘all’.

My life was no different. I was raised to fulfill my name’s meaning. From the moment I had begun learning to read I was oddly addicted to it. My father willingly brought me book after book spanning on all that mattered to my people. When I had matured eighteen seasons I became the Gatherer of my people. I believe it is similar to those you call a Guru. My people would come to me with troubling situations, problems, and questions seeking my wisdom in hope for an answer. Though my answers were not always the most favorable, I always gave them. I grew prideful because of this. However, when the unthinkable happened, I did not foresee its coming.

A stranger came into the village seeking the knowledge he had overheard from countless others. He did what I had thought to be impossible. He asked a question for which I did not have an answer. In a little less than two minutes, according to your clock, he had removed many years worth of studying and a lifetime of growing in the belief that I had known all. Being one of knowledge, it was the most foolish thing I had done. What was even more devastating was the manner in which he had done so. It was so simple and innocent, and I will never forget it.

Man: So you are the one who claims to know all?

Minerva: That I am. What question might I answer of yours?

Man: It is something of a double question.

Minerva: One, or two, or twelve. It does not matter. Ask what you will.

Man: As you wish. Is the path that we walk on, known as life, paved for us to follow, or do we have to make our own way? Also, when we reach the end, be it by choice or preordained, what is the purpose of walking it?

The answer escaped me not long after the question had been asked. I recognized my voice, but the word we alienated, unfamiliar, and painful to me. If it had not been for the fact that the words had been true I would have thought that someone else had said it.

Minerva: I…I do not know.

With that, the strange man stood and left without so much as a second glance. When my fellow tribesmen had heard the news they arrived quickly at my side, asking if I needed assistance and if something should be done about the outsider. With my spirit broken, the damage had been done.

It is now two years after that day. Since then, I have learned far more that I had ever thought possible. I went on a journey to find the answer that the stranger asked and to find the stranger to relay the answer. I set out to find the only being who could give me that answer: God. Often I was told that my search was pointless; that in looking for Him I would only find air as if He did not exist. Over time, I even grew to believe that He did not exist. I continued my journey because even though my faith in the existence of God wavered, I knew for a fact that to every question there is an answer. One day I was told where I could find Him. I climbed to the top of the highest mountain, the journey took days and the bitter cold from the snow received me in the harshest way. The lack of oxygen made it harder and harder to breathe with every step, and still I somehow pressed on until I reached its summit. There I was, above the clouds. It seemed the sea of the sky stretched on forever and the sun was at its apex. I saw glory, but I did not see God. Tired from my journey, frozen from the mountain’s snow, hungry from lack of nourishment, and breathless from lack of oxygen I did the only thing left for me to do: I fainted.

I awakened warm, covered by a quilt made from an unknown material that seemed to draw the cold out of me while placing heat into me. I rose from what seemed to be a bed and walked hazily to the sound of a person humming. Surely I had found Him. Floating what you would measure to be a foot and a half off of the ground. His back was turned to me, and yet He knew my presence from the moment I had entered the room.

Him: Hello Minerva.

Minerva: You know my name?

Him: I know a lot more than just your name. I know that you have been searching for me.

Minerva: Do you also know why I have been searching for you?

Him: I do.

Minerva: Then please answer me. Does man walk through life with a destiny preordained or does he create his own path? Also, when we reach that end, what was the purpose of walking it?

Him: The path that man walks is the path that man chooses to believe in. If he thinks it is his destiny, he walks a path that I lay down to be walked. However, if he believes that he is to do of his own choosing, then I create obstacles on the road he travels to make him stronger and to make a path for others to follow. As for what awaits him at the end of his path, it is whatever he had set out to find or reach in his mind, but in truth there is only death.

I stood there appalled by all that I had heard, why would he create such an existence? Why give us such power in our own eyes and so little at the same time? Could what he have said been the truth?

Him: I do as I wish for I am what I am. You were created to be little more than entertainment for me, and such you have been and will be until times end. Everything I have said is true.

He had answered my questions without needing to hear them, and to further prove his point he showed me… everything. In flashes of light I saw everything, from the creation of the world to its end. I saw large creatures walking on a plane of existence that seemed too small for them. I saw creatures traveling on water carrying people to different pieces of land. I saw large metal birds fly into tall mountains made of metal and glass with wings that did not flap. I heard infinite soundless screams of children that would know death before they could take their first breath. In addition, I saw fire. The fire was taller than any mountain that ever existed. This fire would destroy any chances of any mountain growing to heights greater than this one. It covered and destroyed everything. With its blazing heat, it was bitter cold. I cried. Though no tears could ever convey all that I had seen, I cried nonetheless.

Him: See how entertaining you are.

At that moment he turned around and for the first time I saw his face. It was Him: both God and the man whom had asked me the question that had started my long journey for knowledge. He smiled.

Him: Now I ask you, little one. What is life?

Minerva: Life is pointless.

At that point, my journey ended. I saw His smile for the last time and suddenly had been engulfed in light. When all the light had passed, I awakened to find myself at the outer skirts of my home. Amongst all the visions I had seen I saw someone seeking the same answers to questions I had once sought after. So to you, I write this…




By: Kevin Joseph Keys Jr.


Well, feel free to email me your responce.

CupidKeys@aol.com

Later,

Kevin "Cupid" Keys
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