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Post by Batflunkie on Jun 29, 2016 19:30:54 GMT -5
This is something that I've been wanting to share with you all for some time now, a literary pet project of mine called "Zebra Print Press" zebraprintpress.tumblr.com/What influenced it's inception was a gross modicum of things, namely my love for comic books and hidden gems/trashy treasures that you used to find for 10-25 cents at your local bookseller (i.e. "Pulp" Fiction) I have three titles featured on the site so far, far more that I'm working on in private, and are listed below The Black Sacrab- Influenced by my love for Lee Falk's The Phantom and Egyptian Mythology, the story follows an archeologist who discovers the tomb of a lost pharaoh who worshipped Anubis. Late one night, he's suddenly transported to a far away island in the middle of who knows where. It's there that he finds a lost tribe of people, the direct descendants of the Mayans that were enslaved by the Spanish and left on the isle to die. The natives sense another aura encircling the archeologist and fear for his safety Parallax Spectrum- Inspired by more European approaches to writing and the mad artistic genius of Alejandro Jodorowsky, it's a hard science fiction/proto-cyberpunk tale of religion, faith, and the human condition set against a world with no hope for tomorrow. The lead is a disenfranchised technomancer who uses his own powers to manipulate technology in favor of the wealthy. He used to worship at the alter of an almighty being, a 70's style super-computer named Voxx. Centurion Nouveau- Inspired by Jack Kirby's boundless affection of "mortals seeking to do right", Carl Sagan's "Cosmos", and numerous other do-dads, it follows a dimensional limbo in the human subconscious where dreams and imagination meet called "Freespace". What exists there is a group of ancient beings who worship and even older one that refer to themselves as "The Cult Of The Shroud". They have seen great promise in a select few "beautiful dreamers" and train them to become "spirit warriors" who can fight nightmarish ghouls by projecting idealized versions of themselves for the sake of combat Please feel free to leave your thoughts and criticisms here~ |
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Post by hondobrode on Jun 30, 2016 1:07:26 GMT -5
These sound good !
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Post by Batflunkie on Jul 2, 2016 8:04:09 GMT -5
Thanks, I'm mostly writing these as a form of therapy and they seem to be helping in that regard. It's one of the few things that I enjoy doing that I've really stuck with and pushed myself as far as I can mentally go
I also plan on having another pulp-centric story (Bat-Atlas: Daredevil Of Science), a merc-for-hire based espionage story (AJAX-30: The Trials & Tribulations Of Dean Asher & Deathwish Company), a high fantasy/sword and sorcery story (Stargale), and a martial arts story (Sudden Blade)
Sudden Blade is one that I'm really excited about as it's something that I came up with as a teen while playing around with Lionhead Studios' "The Movies" game. Imagine Johnny Cage from Mortal Kombat suddenly thrust into John Carpenter's "Big Trouble In Little China" and that's about the rough gist of things. The name "Sudden Blade" is also something of a homage/reference to Mel Brooks' creation of the film title "Blazing Saddles" in that it means absolutely zilch, according to the DVD commentary at least
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Post by Batflunkie on Jul 5, 2016 13:48:22 GMT -5
New chapter for Parallax Spectrum posted
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Post by Batflunkie on Jul 19, 2016 20:03:07 GMT -5
I felt that instead of happlessly plugging away at my tumblr page, I might post something else that I'm working on. I wouldn't spoil anything or what it's in regards to. It features a silver age styled hero named "Blue Hope" who's something of an amalgam of Superman, Marvel Boy, Ozymandis, and Quasa. Visually he looks like something out of Flash Gordon with a very thin, angelic build and curly, platinum blonde afro hair sprouting up from his dark navy face cowl. His attire is victorian inspired, regal even, but still invokes the sense that he's a champion of the common man
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Standing at the very forefront of a definate end was Hopper Wilde, ace photog for the Wellspring Gazette. He watched hoplessly as a rabid monstrosity, who was once a former friend, savagely destroyed storied buildings rich in both in history and nostalgia. He charged head first into action, stripping himself bare of his suit and waistcoat. Wilbur, the gazette gofer, needed a friendly face; why not his? "Wilbur, it's Hopper," he said, fakely panting as if exhausted, this was not a time for the people of Wellspring , Minnesota to know his secret; not yet anyway. "Please, I know you're angry and probably confused, but you need to stop this. You're not only endangering the lives of people you know, but you're endangering yourself."
The monster who was once Wilbur Jones swatted Hopper Wilde away as if he were a petty insect. At near mach speed, Hopper collided with a building, rupturing the structure like a bulldozer. If not for his gravity powered bands that gave him his strength, he would have been a goner. Darting into the bathroom of the conveintly vacant building, Hopper stripped down further. Moments later, a stark blue blur darted out and struck the monster. It was Blue Hope, the humanoid being from another time. As a boy, he was on a interstellar cruise with his parents visiting then modern day Earth from the year five billion, until the ship collided with a black hole. Young Hopper managed to escape, but the rest of the crew and it's passenger were not so fortunate. Hopper spent the next three and a half years stranded on the moon, fending for himself, struggling to survive on plentiful foreign fruits and wild animals. With a slavaged periscope viewed the world below like ants through a magnifying glass. The more he saw, the more he grew to appreciate how much they were like him.
On the eve of his sixteenth birthday, Hopper was greeted by a familiar face, his Great Uncle Jacobe. After not hearing back from the Interstellar cruise ship for some time, a search party was sent out, and Jacobe was the first to Volunteer. As much as he appreciate the gesture, Hopper felt a strange urge to stay and guard his newfound friends on earth. Jacobe was not pleased, but understood. "These were found in the wreckage," Jacobe said, pulling out a large wrapped box, "I have a feeling this was intended as gift from your parents." In the box were two gleeming gold bands inscribed with powerful runes and glyphs from Hopper's culture. "Go to them Hopper," Jacobe whispered in parting, "make our people proud."
But to some folks, that was all hearsay, few believed such an outlandish tale. None moreso than Alecc Rasputin, local trillionare with a knack for drawing attention to himself in the most unscrupulous ways possible. Every crime in the past five years could easily be drawn back to Alecc in some form or another. Luckily for him, the townsfolk (the police especially) were easily overcome with amnesia at the sight of a large wad of greenbacks. Alecc had been experimenting with a radical new formula that, if all went well, would enable him to usurp Blue Hope as a the city's champion. With his keen brain honed by years of scientific understudy, nothing was too far out of his reach, except for one; Trina Tisdale, award winning reporter for the Wellspring Gazette. Unlike the other easily malleable women who waited with baited breath for a sliver of a chance at his courship, Trina was seemingly impervious to his charm, as slimey and uncooth as it may have seemed
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Post by Batflunkie on Jul 22, 2016 20:08:45 GMT -5
Really wanted to share this with you guys as it's something that I've had brewing in the back of my mind for some time only to have the gears suddenly start churning this afternoon. Imagine the classic british spy show The Avengers mixed with campy, spooky fun of The Addams Family & The Munsters and you have "Grave-Kickers". The family dynamic and the love between the mother and father were incredibly important to me in this and I think you'll agree that I'm on to something here (also please pardon the grammical errors as I wrote this on text document application that didn't have spell check)
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Grave-Kickers
Chapter 1: The Living Dead Girl and The Iron Doctor
In a swampland deep in the heart of the Louisanna Bayou, past the gothic chapel of the sisters of rue morgue, was a quaint victorian estate that was not at all out of sorts. It was well kept, with a manicured lawn, trimmed hedges, a near model home for all to aspire. But inside, there were far graver things afoot. Two bodies, caressed in each other's arms, sat by the fire and savoured wine of a curious distinction and vintage. It could only be discribed in layman's terms as a concentrated elixar from decomposing brain matter. With every sip, memories that were not their own flowed past them like cool, moist breezes of a summer's eve. The man who sat beside his eternal bride was clad from head to toe in an iron harness for his protection and others. He was Doctor Johnathan Robert Valquish PHD, a scientist, philanthropist, and explorer. In the 1700's, he was a renouned sleuth that saught to air the gievences of those who had passed on by seeking those who took their life. While experimenting one day in his lab, he struck unconcious. He entered another, a world beyond the mortal coil, where gods plotted the course of a trillion lives. He could not see clearly but was assured that he was playing a part in a much grander plan. When he awoke, he was bathed in a primordial fire that charred almost everything he touched to cinders. And so Valquish took to forging and reforging a proper garb to shroud himself with. After much care was taken to procure a metal that was both flexible and duriable in the southern isles where children of the brush feasted on lesser beings, he was made anew.
Regina Patricia Mortiem, his love, his life, was almost from another world entirely. Born in Scotland in the 1300's, and raised a druid, she was constantly fleeing from men and women of god that did not understand her pagan ways. She found a safe haven in France during the time of Joan D'Arc, where Regina was seen as a saint and a prophet to those who believed in a higher power. Joan D'Aric was very taken with Regina as they took long walks in the french countryside. There they laid in beds of thick grass alonside wheat ripe for barely and bails of hay talking of life and love and things beyond the worries of mortal men. In another time, the two could have been very happy, but they were different people fighting for different beliefs, different dreams, differenth paths. Regina had never wept harder than she did on the day Joan was burned at the stake. It was if someone had torn a part of her out with a demonic sense of glee. The dark ages, there had never been a term used more appropriately. Regina was no longer herself and went mad from loss. Oh how she wanted to lash out at those who had taken everything from her, but her heart, too tender with love for the earth, forbade her. And so Regina did the only thing that could ease her soul, she came unto mother nature. She became the flowers that bloomed and wilted, the trees that whispered, the birds that sang, she was one with all life and she was bliss. But what drew her back to this life dreariness? That isn't something she herself knows either, but she was called back by Gaia, the earth mother. Regian took life a new through mismatched limbs, cobbled together through the blackest of magics, and became whole. The pieces, through her own doing, meshed into a work of sheer beauty that would make men wilt in her pressence. She was Venus, the earthly madonna, made flesh.
The fire stirred, crackling as the wood grew less and less durable. Regina took a long sip of the Mandula wine and purred with gleeful exhuberance, "Oh goodness, such flavor, such body..." Johnathan's hands wrapped tighter around his beloved's soft waist, "We have lived and we have loved, spoilage should be savored by those such as we my dear Regina." Regina cooed, and stroked Johnathan's helmet, steam fumming to her every finger touch, "With a tounge as silver as yours Dr. Valquish, you could enrature any woman you wished into becoming a fattened calf to excess and desire." "We are all sinners to the cravings of the flesh my dear Regina, you know that more than most." She nodded, tipsy from the wine. Regina looked onwards to the adjecent loveseat where their adopted joy, Killian Bradford, sat. The boy giggled at the two fawning over one another like the first loves of school children. Regina and Johnathan could not help but be overcome with laughter themselves. After the bellows of joy faded from their bellies, Regina reached outward to the young boy of ten and a half summers, "Killian, come closer darling." The boy toddled over to Regina and sat down. With her immaculate and porceilan fingers, she combed Killian's hair. Johnathan, while her closest treasure, could not match the deep maternal love she had for Killian. While trekking through the Himalias, Regina and Johnathan found the boy shivering in the cold. The night before, Killian had encountered a vampire feasting on the blood of his mother. He fled in earnest to the townsfolk, hysterial that his mother was dying at the hands of a monster, but nothing could have been further from the truth. In actuality, the vampire was Killian's father. That night, the villagers slaid the vampire and Killian's mother, or so they believed. The vampire fled, but the mother was not so fortunate. Moments after the deed was done before the eyes of the child, Killian was deemed an outcast by the supersticious people and was warned never to return, lest he meet a similar fate.
But that was years ago, and a tale that did not encourage much visitation as the boy would often have fiendish nightmares that often ended in screams. Regina would coddle Killian in the bed she shared with Johnathan, who wanted to be there for the boy but did not have much in the way of a fatherly instinct. While Regina and Johnathan did indeed have a deep love and respect for one another, they did often have heated discussions over Killian and how he should be raised. Regina wanted to nuture his curiousity, and while Johnathan wanted the same, he did not want the boy to become to an overly effiminate ninny. So, in her love for her partner, she comprismised and suggested that they both be there for him. The two were indepently wealthy, and had their own means to facilitate their livelihoods, so Killian was given a tutaliage by two incredibly well-read people who had a veritable wealth of knowledge at their disposal that they were more than willing to share. And young Killian, being his adopted father's son, absorbed years and years science, history, art, culture, becoming the eshilon of humanaity.
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