I don’t have a lot to write about this week, as this is a minor update focused on concept art. I think I have Briar’s look down since last time, and she hits the right blend of attractive and cartoony. Ideally, so that people want to commission sexy art of the character. I’ve seen other artists do pinups of fan favorite characters they created, and I think Briar can get to that level if I work hard enough and make her appealing. Gotta have a hustle, you know?

Thorn has an additional design tweak compared to the last time I drew him. The triangular pupil helps to establish that he is an otherworldly presence, and I really like the look of it. What do you think of it, though? I also think the bigger ears are adding a fun feel to the character.

I’ll be writing some strips next month to start developing a backlog. I still don’t know where I’ll be posting these though, at least not yet.

As always, if you are interested in supporting what I do, you can do so through donations on Ko-Fi. I also take commissions.

The post 2026 Sketchbook #016 – Briar and Thorn appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Leaving comments and feedback on chapters unlocks new chapter images. Visit the chapter image gallery for more information and to see what chapter images have been unlocked so far.

Previously on Fang & Bone, Fang, Erryl, and Corea encountered a massive boar and were able to take it down. Back in New Gordhurst, Nathan Gorten and Corrigan Gorval dug up past family trauma to the benefit of neither man. Eghart, meanwhile, is waiting on a silver coating for his knuckledusters.

Nathan Gorten had not really visited his mother much over the past few years, even though she lived in the shack behind his inn. Circumstances within the family had driven everyone apart by necessity, and for the past nine or so years, her mind had clouded so much that she stopped recognizing him when he did show up. What was once there in Lavinia Gorten, formerly Gorval, before the collapse of the family, was a faint echo, and she became a stranger to him in her final years.

Though Nathan knew that to be a lie. He had become a stranger. Pawned her off onto her grandchildren, and he poured his time into a rarely-used inn, always second-guessing and undermining his brother. Doing what he could to mitigate the damage of the bastard who ruined everything. Now, as he saw her frail, pale corpse beneath piles of blankets, he knew he had failed her. The whole family had, except for Corea and Garen, who were now off – Garen missing, Corea in the shadow of two roadmen. It was only now, truly confronted with the loss, that he actually felt it and realized he could have been more present. But all that he could do now was stare silently at the corpse of Lavinia Gorten, formerly Gorval, and feel heartsick and angry at the world she had left him to.

A light knock at the shack’s door frame pulled him out of the developing mood, and he turned back to see Young Kent, his head bowed low, a hat in hand. The young man was always Young Kent – he was some distant relation, as were many in the town – and it did not seem necessary to know much more about him beyond that, and that he once tried to stretch himself by tying himself to a tree and a goat as a child.

“The pyre is ready, sir. I’m – I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Nathan said nothing. He bent over and began to peel the layers of blankets and sheets from her body. When he had gotten to the last remaining layer, he paused, staring at how slight her frame had truly been, and how small she was. Had she always been that small?

Of the blankets, he picked the most colorful one he could find – he felt it had some significance, but he could not recall much about it beyond some vague notion of it being attached to the faintest of childhood memories. He did not remember much of childhood, but the blanket, the color of a light rose with yellow ivy stitching, seemed appropriate. He thought she would have liked it. She must have. He was sad; he didn’t really know.

“Did you need help with her, Mr. Gorten?”

Again, Nathan was silent and began wrapping her into a bundle. He tucked in some wildflowers between her sheet and the blanket before wrapping her from head to toe and binding her with heavy twine. As he stood back, he took in the delicate shape and suddenly thought of a child – she was slight enough.

“The children should be here for this,” he whispered.

“Sir?”

“Nothing. Go to the pyre and prepare to light it.”

“Sir.”

And with that, Nathan was alone, kneeling before his mother’s body, wrapped in some blanket he barely remembered, but felt good about – he thought. It would need to be enough. He gently lifted her from the bed where she had spent her final years. She was so light, and yet the shape of her body in the straw mattress was so deep. He quickly rose to his feet and turned away, knowing that had he looked a second longer, he would have begun to cry. Tears were for the pyre. Tears were for the send-off.

…

Sandval had said the silver coating needed time to cool over the knuckles, and Eghart, eager to commence the hunt, waited with the intensity of a hungry child over the evening soup pot. He paced back and forth for a while in front of the forge until Sandval told him to leave – not asked – told. Eghart could have snapped the man’s fucking neck, easily, but that was obviously a rushed judgment that would have been more trouble than it was worth.

Merely an intrusive thought, of which Eghart rarely acted upon anymore. He’d grown more sensitive to these sorts of things over the years, since he had a position of authority. It wasn’t that he was softening himself; he learned to protect himself from his own mind, most of the time. He knew he was a sick man – it was something he’d always been aware of – and it probably also explained why he felt no pain. The frustration and anger present in his father’s fist at being unable to correct the boy.  Well, he did not feel most pain.  So when the bad thoughts came along, the really risky ones, he’d go to the widow, Elspeth. He’d pay her with food or copper for her children, and she would hurt him in the only way anyone could. A secret shame he discovered in childhood, when a farmhand cornered him.

He’d considered visiting her as he waited for his commission to be released into his custody, but thought better of it. He was still running on rage and desire, eager to get to the Wolf, and he wanted to be ready at a moment’s notice. Needing to dress again was an entirely avoidable delay.

Still waiting for his prize, he took to the center of town where the main roads met, and watched a pyre being erected. The turnout was surprising, with even Elspeth and her children in attendance. He wondered for a moment what had drawn so many. Then he remembered the old woman and ran as quickly as he could to the Mayor’s home. The spark could be drawn at any moment, and Gorval would take back all of the nice things he said if Eghart did not see to his needs.

…

As Nathan Gorten emerged onto the road from behind the inn, the sound of a Sanaran mandolin began to play. At first, it was a few hesitant plucks, but after a few moments, a melody began to wring out in the early-afternoon silence. Nathan saw ahead that Kanaeth Gaer stood at the corner of the crossroad, opposite the unlit pyre, playing the tune. Kanaeth’s mandolin was one of the few things the man had absconded with in the razing of Gordhurst, and it meant a great deal now for Nathan to see it out and about. Soon enough, as Nathan took slow steps down the lane toward the pyre, he recognized the tune of “The Light in the Shadows” and faltered a bit. He’d felt mostly in a daze since he left the shack, and now, aware of where he was, with his mother’s body in his arms, saw that many of the folk he knew were out and observing silently.

Nathan did not move for a while, just listening to Kanaeth play the tune. He felt something deep and indescribable in the moment, like he had to take this moment for her. On one of his rare visits, she had been mostly gone, completely frail, confused, and scared; a stranger he could not really comfort. But he recalled her humming the same tune, if only briefly. And here it was, playing in the silent town where people had gathered. When Kanaeth stopped, Nathan nodded to him in silence and continued to walk to the pyre. Kanaeth picked up the tune again – seemingly more confident than he had been moments before.

Eventually, the slow walk ended, and Nathan stood before the pyre, a raised bed of wood surrounded by stacked and laticed kindling. He laid the bundle that held his mother’s remains with great care on the bed and stepped away. He stood in silence, contemplating the moment as best he could, but a murmur of the locals drew his attention behind him, and to his anger, his brother, Corrigan, limped in with such an intensity that Nathan was shocked he could move so quickly. Shocking him even further was the haymaker that connected with his jaw, thrown by the Mayor of New Gordhurst.

“You have no right!” Corrigan shouted. As Nathan began to recover, Corrigan took another wild swing at his brother’s face, and Nathan fell against the pyre. “You have no right!”

Nathan rubbed at his jaw and stared his brother in the face. Corrigan’s eyes were red and watery, and his skin ruddy between bruises and fury. The man still had not cleaned himself up from their last moments together that morning. Corrigan pulled a fist back, ready to throw another haymaker. Nathan rolled against the pyre to his left. Corrigan’s first slammed into some of the kindling, snapping it, and Nathan recovered and took his own swing. But as soon as he threw his fist forward, The Egg was upon him, catching him by the wrist and squeezing it with all his might. Nathan felt like his bones were just about to crack and violently yanked his arm back, looking at the towering, pale man who had loosened his grip almost as fast as he had tightened it. His face was passive, except his eyes, which looked almost bored or distracted. Corrigan propelled himself from the pyre and tackled Nathan to the ground, grabbing him by his tunic and shaking him violently, screaming into his face.

“No right! She is my mother, too!”

At that, the murmurs and whispers of observers picked up. Not everyone knew about the family strife. Some did, but for most, all of this had been kept secret for decades. For many, this explained much. Nathan put his palm over the center of his brother’s chest and stiffened his arm, pushing him back a bit, and stared directly into furious eyes.

“Now? You want to do this now?” he asked.

“You will not burn her!’

Corrigan continued to press his weight onto Nathan’s arm, and the strain was beginning to hurt.

“She’s not just some carcass!”

Nathan had had enough. He released the tension in his arm, and gravity pulled Corrigan’s face close enough so that Nathan swung his forehead directly into his nose, breaking it and dazing himself. The two men rolled from one another onto their backs in the dirt and grass, breathing hard, dazed in different ways and yet united in grief. Nathan glanced around, and most of the small crowd had dissipated some distance, leaving only The Egg nearby, along with Selwick and Ewan, two of the town guards. They stood still, waiting for their orders from either the Mayor or The Egg. But it seemed The Egg merely observed in a detached way, not immediately concerned with Corrigan’s well-being. The fat, pale bastard was certainly showing loyalty, Nathan mused.

Corrigan rolled to his side, toward Nathan, just as Nathan did the same toward Corrigan. They locked eyes with one another, both grounded, mourning, and exhausted.

“Don’t do this. Don’t burn her.”

“We have to burn bodies now. We have to burn them because of you, Corr.”

“Don’t…”

“I don’t want to see her eyes, or nose, or teeth in some grotesquery, Corr. Nothing is sacred to that monster, and you know it. We’re parts. We’re all just parts. And you’re fine with that?” Nathan spat on the ground, but he was so tired that there was little distance, and most of it ran down his chin. It didn’t matter. He continued, “Are you comfortable with that monster defiling your mother’s memory? Is this part of some agreement?”

Corrigan said nothing, simply seething at Nathan

Nathan continued, his own eyes now red and watery, the floodgates open before the pyre. Not quite at the time he’d have chosen, but it could not be avoided.

“Why?” Nathan asked. “What hold does that fiend have on you? You’re a godsdamned thrall!” His voice was cracking.

Nathan had remembered the crowd, and the murmuring had picked up again, now, many in agreement. “What is keeping you keeping us here? You can send The Egg to clear a path. He’s strong, we all know this. He could actually be useful to us, but you will not do it.” 

Nathan pulled himself off the dirt and awkwardly got to his feet. Corrigan continued to lie on the ground, continuing to glare. “What hold is on you?”

There was louder agreement from the gatherers now. The Egg stood passively, merely balling his fists. His guardsmen shifted awkwardly. The crowd continued to jeer and comment, but Nathan had grown oblivious to it, simply looking down upon his brother, who in return simply stared back.

When Corrigan threw his hand up and outward, The Egg stopped forward to help his patron up from the floor. Corrigan’s heft was almost a triviality to The Egg, who did not seem to struggle in bringing the man to his feet. Corrigan patted dust off his already disheveled morning coat and then felt at his nose, wincing in pain and gingerly dabbing for blood with pudgy fingertips. He looked back at his brother.

“You will not burn her body, Innkeeper. I forbid it in my authority as Mayor of this town, and then the man who led us from the destruction of our old home. You may also be my brother by blood, but you are not in spirit.” 

Corrigan pulled out an already bloodstained handkerchief from a pocket and gently dabbed at his upper lip. He inspected the blood on the stained white silk for a moment and then crumpled it, throwing it to the ground between the two men. The Egg was watching this display with a curiosity that made Nathan nervous.

Corrigan looked back at Nathan, looking him over before locking eyes with him. He shook his head as he spoke to The Egg. 

“If he makes a move to light that pyre, kill him.”

The Egg nodded, but his attention was suddenly divided now, as the crowd of onlookers seemingly exploded. Nathan watched the blank face of the giant man suddenly furrow his brow in apparent surprise and caution. Several people in the crowd, Kenaeth and Young Kent included, began to press toward the Mayor’s position. Even the widow, Elspeth, wove herself into the crowd, her children nowhere in sight. Nathan felt a surge of animosity ripple out and grew fearful of what it could become. He raised his arms, spreading them out, trying to make himself a wall.

“Please, this is a family quarrel, I’ll handle it.”

But the plea fell on deaf ears. Young Kent, stupid, kind, Young Kent, shoved Ewan, the smaller of the guardsmen. Before anyone in the crowd could take in what had happened, Young Kent was crumpled on the ground, bleeding from his ears, eyes, and nose, as the Egg stood over him, his arms stretched out wide and his palms open and flat, with dabs of blood splashed across them.

The crowd suddenly grew silent, except for a lone scream from a woman Nathan couldn’t identify as everyone saw the young man on the ground. Kenaeth, his mandolin still in hand, knelt beside Young Kent.

“Kent’s… Kent is dead.”

Kenaeth looked up at The Egg, who had lowered his arms. The Egg was staring back at Young Kent’s body, his head tilted slightly, seemingly impressed by the suddenness of his strike – like he had done something admirable or surprising and not something utterly terrifying.

“You killed him.” Kanaeth rose to his feet.

“Stop,” Nathan pleaded. “Don’t…”

But deaf ears again, when it mattered most. Kanaeth got into the Egg’s face with an accusatory finger. The Egg grabbed the entirety of Kanaeth’s hand within his own and quickly squeezed. The sound of shattering bone was audible to all. Kanaeth fell to his knees, dropping his mandolin, howling. He would never play again.

The stunned silence gave way to yelling, screaming, and thrashing as the crowd surged toward the guardsmen. The Egg grabbed Corrigan, lifting him over his shoulder as the man thrashed his protests. The Egg threw his bulk through the crowd with no concern for them. Nathan heard one man’s leg break when The Egg trampled right over it. The guardsmen followed along, shoving away people and bloodying their noses and battering their bodies. Nathan stood at the pyre in shock, devastated at what had occurred. He watched his brother, slung over the shoulder of the pale giant, ineffectually beat at his protector. He kept glaring at Nathan, his eyes wide.

The crowd surged around the escapees, twentyfold and two three now, as Nathan watched helplessly. The crackle of a nearby torch, for the ceremony, snapped him out of his stupor. He glanced at it and back to Corrigan, who was still staring through the surging township.

Nathan plucked the torch and shoved the flame directly into the kindling. He watched the woodsmoke give way to small flames that continued to envelop the space. He looked back at the crowd following the guardsmen to the mayoral house.

He could not see his brother.

Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.

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The post Fang & Bone: “25. The Send-Off” appeared first on hpkomics.com.

I believe this is the first time I have publicly mentioned the full title, so my dropping it now is how you know this is a serious post. Let’s get into the cover, the project, the process, and the cover, shall we?

First, here is the sketchbook page for this Cosmic Dash cover image.

For this sketchbook update, I wanted to highlight the design process. This preview image shows that, but keep reading for even more details about how I developed the art.

Cosmic Dash: The Swarm

Cosmic Dash: The Swarm takes place a couple of days after the events of “Ladies Fight” as the crew sets out for the planet Cosaya, along with their highly illegal Kemezeckian colonist passengers. Little do the crew know, however, that the planet has been cut off from the wider galaxy by a secretive alien race hunting for a terrifying new species that wiped out a colony. With new allies and enemies in tow, the crew makes emergency landfall and endures an all-night siege from The Swarm.

The novel will be written and published in a serialized format familiar to anyone who has been reading Fang & Bone or The Dead Life. I don’t want to focus too much on the format right now, or estimate a page count. I’ll just note that I have three goals with the project:

1. Reintroduce characters and aspects of Cosmic Dash for possible new audiences
2. Maintain as fast a pace as possible without sacrificing too many details
3. Further lean into the sprawl of existing stories within the setting and connecting them to this narrative

Will I be able to accomplish these three things? I have no idea, but I hope so. That’s the nature of following that webnovel approach and my tendency to actively write and edit a narrative as a serialized project. It’s high risk, and it has not exactly been particularly rewarding yet, but I am having fun with it. It clicks for me and makes me happy.

The Process

The process of developing the image is covered in this little gallery below. My original concept (1) for the cover was more complicated and featured several more characters, including Mara and two “new” ones. I’ll explain who they are another time. It was a fun concept, but for a cover, I felt that it had too much going on. I felt like I needed to go simpler, and for lack of a better word, more iconic.

I ended up switching to a more shape-driven design for the second round, and also leaned heavily into the feeling of isolation and overwhelming odds (2). Additionally, I kept the focus on Dash and had a fun time adding in all of the alien creatures. It felt like that combination of cartoony, adventurous, and science fictional that I aim for with any Cosmic Dash project. I felt very confident about my choices and decided to move on.

Once the pencils were locked in, I went ahead and inked the image (3). Knowing that I would need to have two “planes” of lighting effects, I went ahead and pre-masked the swarm of creatures. They have a name, I just don’t want to reveal it yet. Pre-masking allows me to block out certain things for individual effects and adjustments, of which there were many.

Oh, and the total number of layers in the final image in the Adobe Photoshop file was 23.

It is not a deeply detailed rundown, but I figured showing off some of the stages would be a fun little expansion to this cover reveal. Speaking of which, here is the full reveal, including the textless version.

Please let me know what you think! I’d love to read your thoughts and speculation on what is going on. Are you excited to get new Cosmic Dash stories?

Support Me and My Work

As always, if you are interested in supporting what I do, you can do so through donations on Ko-Fi. I also take commissions. Due to a recent career transition, your support means more than ever.

A simple monthly donation opens up my ability to produce more stories, art, and more. And if you cannot swing that financially (I get it), simply commenting on posts like this or sharing them on social media is a huge help and costs nothing.

The post 2026 Sketchbook #015 – Cosmic Dash: The Swarm (Cover) appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Additionally, it was a lot of work for one person, and admittedly, I think I lost a bit of the spark. It was a lot of work for diminishing returns, essentially. Transitioning Cosmic Dash to prose, on the back of my positive feelings that come from Fang & Bone and The Dead Life, just made more sense for me. I feel I am a better writer than an artist.

But still, the story was left unfinished. So, I am sharing the remaining pages of the script so you can get a sense of closure as you need it. Anyway, here were the remaining six pages of the script. Be sure to check out the additional surprise at the end of the post.

The Script

PAGE THIRTY SEVEN

Mara and Illyana are at the bar. They each take their last shot.

MARA: I need to get back.

ILLYANA: Good working with you, ‘Shellshock.’

Mara steps away from the bar, takes a few steps, and turns back.

MARA: Look, I can’t promise anything if your boyfriend comes after me and mine again.

ILLYANA: I’ll do what I can to keep him off your trail. You promise to keep my secret, then?

MARA: Yes.

Illyana takes another shot.

ILLYANA: Good.

MARA: Good. Take care, ‘Ransom.’

Mara leaves the bar.

PAGE THIRTY EIGHT

Alix is leaving the outskirts of the colony, approaching the ship. She looks shocked. The sun is low.

MARA: Alix! Hey!

Mara jogs up. Alix doesn’t really pay attention.

MARA: You okay?

ALIX: Fine. Just… tired.

Mara looks at Alix suspiciously.

MARA: Yeah, I feel it. It’s getting late. Let’s get you back to the ship.

Alix continues walking, Mara just behind her.

ALIX: Yeah… Thank you.

PAGE THIRTY NINE
Illyana approaches a big fight with Vid, Quell, and Brik, tangled up with other pirates.

ILLYANA: So I take it the reinforcements arrived?

Nobody replies, still in their fight.

ILLYANA: Sigh.

Illyana fires her rifle into the air. Pirates pause mid-fight.

Brik bonks a smaller pirate on the head, knocking him out.

ILLYANA: So is this the jailbreak party?

Vid looks hyped and childish.

VID: Yep! We’re gonna go rescue Captain Crayd. LET’S DO THIS!

Illyana has her arms crossed.

ILLYANA: So what is the plan?

Vid looks annoyed at Brik.

BRIK: Plan?

Illyana face-palms.

PAGE FORTY

Dash is lying on the bed next to Guugel’s in the medbay. Mara enters, and she is pulling her shell from her back.

DASH: Oh, hey. How was your day?

Mara climbs onto the bed with Dash, gives him a kiss, and curls up next to him.

MARA: Fine.

Dash is lying back, staring into the distance. Mara’s eyes are wide, staring into the “camera.”

PAGE FORTY ONE

We are now in the garden area of Spril’s ship, Greensleeves. He is tending to the plants using magic.

CAPTION: Greesleeves, Ship of Spril Lazeleaf

A ping sounds. He smiles in response.

In the cabin, he slides into his chair. The vibe is very VW-Van.

He examines a data-readout, displaying “LUCKY STRIKE II – SIGNAL IDENTIFIED.”

Spril presses a few buttons.

SPRIL: It’s about time. Guugel, I’m comin’.

PAGE FORTY TWO

In a lavish room adorned with gold and ivory with crimson and jade highlights, a slauve sits in a massive tub surrounded by bottles of different fluids. We see a thick, hairy arm resting on the edge of the tub.

CAPTION: One Month Later, Undisclosed Location

Two thugs (modeled after the robot gangsters in Futurama) drag in Vomu, who appears to have been beaten to an inch of his life.

GUNTYR (OS): Vomu! It’s been a long time!

Vomu lies on the ivory floor, bleeding and coughing.

GUNTYR (OS): Imagine my surprise finding out that you were on the same planet as Yrian, and you just let him get picked up by the authorities.

We see Guntyr begin to rise from the tub, but he seems impossibly tall. We hear a mechanical whirr.

GUNTYER (OS): But to hear you were the one who helped my daughter run away, and then saw her again and didn’t let me know?

Dramatic panel looking up at Guntyr in his legged tub, dropping bathwater everywhere. One of his robot legs slams into Vomu.

GUNTYR: Where’s my farkin’ kid? WHERE IS ALIX?

CAPTION: The End

What did you think?

I have one more surprise, here. The only page I completed that was not published to the site before I decided to switch gears. Enjoy!

Perhaps I will complete the remaining pages in the future? I would very much like to ensure the entire volume is complete. Unfortunately, from a financial standpoint, creating these comic pages is a risk I can’t justify right now. One day, perhaps my schedule will open up, and my finances will be more open to taking time to draw new pages.

As for what is next, I should be posting the first chapter of the new novel near the end of the month. I will also be continuing to repost older prose here to help develop the central Cosmic Dash Project Hub. Lastly, I’ll also continue to compile the PDF archives so I can finally forward the Cosmic Dash site to hpkomics.com and have one less thing on my plate.

And what if people don’t vibe with the novel? Oh well, I guess. At least I’ll be happy.

The post Cosmic Dash: “Ladies Fight” – The Missing Pages appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Leaving comments and feedback on chapters unlocks new chapter images. Visit the chapter image gallery for more information and to see what chapter images have been unlocked so far.

Previously on Fang & Bone, Corea had obtained a new knife and a short bow from a corpse that Fang found. Since then, Fang and Erryl have been on edge about local bandits and have quickened their pace…

There was no sign of the bandits that Fang and Erryl were convinced were lurking in the woods. It wasn’t that Corea did not believe them, but rather that with every inspection she made of the treeline, she saw nothing but trees, shrubs, and the errant shuffling of small animals. She did not know what they saw, and as of now, she couldn’t ask them. Fang was on the alert, and she watched his ears turn and wiggle at sounds she could not hear. Erryl forced a quickened pace, pushing Corea into a faster stride that was beginning to get exhausting, nearly as exhausting as the barber’s continued utterance of “move.”

Whenever she asked for clues as to what she should watch for, the reply was always the same from Erryl – either “move” or “hush.” She dared not call out to Fang, yards ahead, for fear of making noise. Both of her guardians moved near silently, and she had quickly decided that should be her approach as well, outside of frustrated whispers that were met with, again, “move” or “hush.”

They had been teaching her things all day, for hours now, but now they weren’t, and it frustrated her. As she walked, she would periodically glance at her feet and stare at the toes of her boots as they swept over the roughshod path, conscious more than ever of her youth. She was small and something to be protected, to be watched over like a small child, and she hated it. She understood it, but she did not like it.

The awareness of the shift from contributor to burden made her face feel hot, and she clenched her fists so hard that her nails were on the cusp of breaking the skin of her palm. Realizing how tightly she had been clenching at nothing, she loosened up and flexed her fingers, trying not to let the annoyance and shame get the better of her. She wouldn’t be a burden, she decided. She was a hard worker at home. She could be a hard worker here. Soon the woods would clear, and they’d enter the field that surrounded the outskirts of Gordhurst. There would be less cover for all parties, which was probably worse than the equal cover of the woods. This was her chance to learn.

And with that, her focus shifted to the treeline surrounding the old road. She would glance between the trees into the darkened woods, despite the day. She took in the strange greenish tinge of the sky, subtle, but it had been growing more obvious as they walked along the road through the cracks of the canopy. She tried to hear beyond the sound of her steps, beyond the immediate area. She tried to discern scents. She did everything she could think of to be more aware of the woods, to reach out beyond the immediate. She was met with nothing beyond the immediate. She began to clench her fists again. She unclenched them, exhaling.

“Move,” Erryl whispered.

She began to clench her fists again. She released them, again. She picked up her pace and whispered back.

“How do I do what you do?” she asked.

Erryl was silent for a moment or two. Then he spoke.

“Surgery or swordplay?”

“Survive. See what you and him see.” She pointed to Fang up ahead.

“Do this for a while. My lupine companion and I have nearly a half-century of experience between us.” Erryl patted her on the head. “It’s time that hones the instincts.”

Corea said nothing, but felt a little comfort at the feeling of his hand on her head.

“Now, hush and move,” he added, spoiling the moment.

Corea sighed and picked up her pace, yet again.

…

Despite what Erryl had said, Corea was still seeking to pick up on little things in the world around her, trying to hone her senses for what was sure to be a trial within the old town – Trying to build up those “instincts” he had mentioned. It would take time, but surely there was some practice too, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just a passive experience; it was something that had to be honed to some degree. It had to be.

The repetition, the pace, and the focus began to come together, and before she knew it, something seemed different. A strange awareness that wasn’t necessarily of her worldly senses. She would find it impossible to describe in the years since. It was like there was a rhythm of the world, and errant notes would pique her attention, and she’d feel something, experience something like color in her head, though she could not quite understand what any of those colors meant.

But there was a familiarity. There was a blood-deep feeling about it all that she could not quite articulate..

There were blues and greens, which seemed to be the most common colors she saw, but sudden flashes of other, warmer colors would burst into subtle pops and sparks, vibrating and humming, fading in and out of the worldly rhythm. As she focused and fell into experiencing this strange layer to her experience, she found herself conscious of two worlds. She saw the road and her werewolf guardian ahead. But there was another world of color over it. It was like when she applied pressure to her closed eyes in the darkness of night when she was tired; the kind of sparks that danced in her vision after. But also not quite that, as those faded after a time. This experience persisted and only grew as she focused on it. It was like each of her eyes saw something else. She felt dizzy trying to make sense of it all, but not physically so.

This wasn’t entirely a new sensation, either. She’d been recognizing this feeling for a while now, before, in other moments, back home, back during chores, or spending time with Garen. She’d experience spells of rhythmic lights in the night, but this was different. This felt like something deliberate and something she was making happen.

She pushed further, trying to comprehend both worlds simultaneously. As she saw green and blue dancing, shimmering, and pulsing, she too saw Erryl to her left, looking at her with concern. As she heard the rhythm of the world, she also heard him speak. 

“Your nose is bleeding.”

She felt the sensation of the blood from her nostrils and over her top lip. She saw blues and greens give way to warmer hues, to yellows, golds, and oranges, and until bursts of red violently and continually tore at her vision. Her ears popped with discordant, droning sounds. She felt herself wobble and stared at the road, unsure whether the world was shaking or it was her.

Seconds later, there was a roar. She stood unsteadily and watched Fang draw his sword and heard the cracking of branches and the violent uprooting of earth and brush. An ear-piercing squeal tore through the woods, then, and the world of color dropped from her vision, as though someone had just simply pulled it away. In one moment, her altered mind snapped back into a violent, bitter reality. She felt nausea wash over her as a giant boar erupted from the tree line and dashed past the Wolf as his heavy sword swing missed it.

“Damn! Corea, hide!”

Erryl dashed past, shoving her body toward the treeline to her right, but she couldn’t move; the world still rocked, and she was having trouble getting a sense of herself. As the Barber pushed toward the boar, he turned his gaze back to her to yell, again, “Hide!”

She shook her head, trying to jostle away whatever bewitchment clouded her mind, and with an immediate burst of strength threw herself toward a large tree off the side of the old road. She pressed herself against it and slid down,, shrinking into the ferns that grew at the base of the tree. She still felt dizzy, and she swore at herself. She focused through the rocking sensation as best she could on the Barber and the Wolf. Erryl seemingly danced around the boar, looking for an opportune moment. The beast, dwarfing even Fang, the Wolf had given up his sword for his fists. 

At shoulder height, the boar looked to be a head shorter than the werewolf, but with the long, muscular frame of a swine – all front-heavy. She’d never seen such a large creature in her life, and suddenly she felt very scared. Hunters had told stories of massive boars, but this beast was larger than the surely exaggerated tales overheard by the hearth at the inn. Now, seeing this, she wondered just how exaggerated those tales had been.

Fang had not sheathed his sword, exposing his massive hands – or were they paws? – and the dagger-like claws at the tip of each finger. She’d not seen them this present yet, and he appeared terrifying and primal, barking and growling and slashing at the boar between dodged charges. Massive fingers flexed out from his hand, tipped by sickle-like tips, not unlike the knife she had found on the body less than an hour ago. The boar would take huge, striding passes while the Wolf and the Barber would strike in passing. Fang’s claws raked at the thin skin effectively, drawing red ribbons that sprayed out at each swipe, but Erryl’s sword seemed almost useless. The thin, swishy rapier did not seem to cut well, and she began to see the man wielding it lose his temper.

“Hold the fucker,” Erryl barked, barely dodging another charging swipe from the boar. It had been very close, and Corea was not sure if he’d been entirely unscathed.

Fang raked the boar across the face, barely dodging the strike himself. The boar squealed a horrible swine-squeal that bellowed from massive lungs. The boar cleared some distance and began to turn, digging its weight deep into the soil and kicking up a torrent of dirt. The boar stood then, panting, sizing the pair up. Two sets of tusks raked at the path, throwing up clouds of dirt and clods of musty soil along with clumps of grasses. It looked poised to charge again.

“Near a thousand pounds. Not that strong.”

“I need to get it in the eyes,” Erryl added, not acknowledging Fang’s point.

“Fine.”

She watched the Wolf widen his stance on digitgrade legs and leaned slightly forward, lowering his body to the earth. His arms were outstretched, as though he planned to catch the boar. He wasn’t planning on doing that, though, was he? Corea noticed him breathing hard, his fuzzy brow furrowed in concentration.

The boar kicked up more dirt and dust and suddenly charged forward. Erryl took a few steps back as Fang began to shift, crablike, along the path as the boar charged. She flinched when the massive beast came upon the Wolf, but then she saw the boar lift into the air, almost like it was in a flying leap, only back-first. Time felt slower now, as she took in the sight. The boar had not willingly gone vertical, but rather she saw that Fang had locked his massive hands around the larger set of tusks that were peeking out of the boar’s maw and had seemingly lifted the boar skyward by the head. The boar was at the apex for whatever this flip was as Fang twisted his body, holding the boar upright with all his strength for a scant few moments. As soon as the boar crossed that apex, the beast slammed down, hard, on its back, and Fang stumbled backward, either dizzy or exhausted from carrying the weight.

The boar, helpless for a moment, legs kicking skyward, wiggled its massive bulk as best it could to right itself. As soon as it had slammed, Erryl had darted forward toward the gnashing ahead and with great finesse threaded the shaking needle of a blade into the beast’s eye socket. He planted the rapier tip deep into a giant, pale yellow eye and swished and flicked, finally drawing the rapier free with a sickening thread of eye jelly arcing from it.

The boar squealed and gnashed and kicked with all its might, nearly knocking Erryl over. Fang, meanwhile, still recovering, began to claw at the kicking legs, nearly succumbing to two direct hooven blows to the face. Within the ferns, Corea’s eyes shone at the opportunity, and she arose, firing her small arrows at the giant, aiming at the guts where she knew pig skin to be weaker. Yet still, several of them bounced off the thick, bristled skin. But as the beast finally gained enough momentum to right itself, a single arrow hit its mark, finding purchase in the large testicles that dangled between the hind legs. The boar screamed and whipped its massive head in her direction as it steadied itself on its hooves, one eye little more now than an oozing socket running down a thick jowl. It snarled, drooled, and tried its best to scrape the arrow from its balls with a hind leg as it began to thrash her way, knocking Erryl over and swatting Fang with a heavy tail across the chest, sending him stumbling back.

What began as a slow lurch accelerated into a charge, and Corea fired an arrow that missed the boar entirely just as it crashed into the tree where she had sought cover. The tree fell forward and nearly crushed her as she scrambled into the low ferns, crawling as far from the boar as she could. Still enraged and sure the target of its ire was in the immediate area, it began to whip its tusked snoout in the ferns and shrubs, tearing up every single plant it hit, nearly catching Corea by the ankle or ass multiple times as she crawled as fast as she could. She tried to throw herself over the downed tree as best she could, but was not fast enough. The boar howled and began to thrash on the fallen tree, and she tried to crawl over. The tree rolled and bounced, tossing her back into the shrubs.

She was exhausted and tried to crawl again, away from the boar as it slowly approached. She had turned and was now pulling herself from it as she faced it directly. Only inches away, the jaws of the beast opened, and the scent of rotting meat hit her like a gust of rancid air. The heavy breathing belayed a frustration, and Corea was now the scapegoat for the massive swine’s wrath.

The head of the boar suddenly jerked upward, exposing the fleshy neck. She saw two massive, clawed and furred hands digging deep into the jawline and pulling the head upward. Fang’s grip was so deep and powerful that his knuckles were buried in the porcine flesh. The boar thrashed, but she could see Fang straddling just behind its skull, desperately wrestling the head skyward.

“Cut!” Fang roared, continuing to jerk the massive head upward and exposing the neck flesh. The boar continued to roar and shake, but Fang held on, gripping with all his might and digging his claws deeper into the fatty jowls that began to ooze crimson.

Corea drew the new curved blade and was relieved that it was still sharp. She rose to unsteady feet and threw herself forward and upward, toward the neck as the boar stomped and thrashed, jamming the knife as far in as she could. She had nearly sunk the blade to the handle; she struggled to keep her grip as hot blood fushed from the wound. When she realized she had gone as deep as she could, she threw all of her weight into running the full length of the buried blade across the throat, showering her in even more blood as she dragged.

Finally, the blade popped loose, and she collapsed, accidentally tossing it a few feet away as the boar began to die. Directly under the thrashing beast, she breathed hard and spat out what felt like an eternal stream of blood raining all over her. She tried her best to belly crawl out from beneath the boar, but the plants were slick with blood, and the dirt had become ruby mud. There was no hold to propel her along, and each inch was hard won.

As she crawled, she watched Fang continue to pull the head upward, the new neck wound widening further and further, like a fabric sack splitting open. The sound of broken bones and tearing flesh was eerily clear despite the earsplitting gargling and mournful squeals of the boar. Within a few moments, punctuated by his inhuman growls, Fang pulled so hard that the neck broke upward and ripped the boar’s head clear from its shoulders, just as Erryl swept in, plunging his rapier into the tearing tendons with a near frenzy.

Corea had never seen so much blood. She stopped trying to move and simply watched, in awe, at the sheer ferocity of Fang. As the boar’s body collapsed, he tore the head free of the last of the tendons and the remainder of the spine, and tossed the newly freed head, weighing at least a hundred pounds, to the dirt. He crawled from off the beast’s shoulders and began to lick away the blood from his claws, staring at her, saying nothing. His eyes shone with a bright yellow glow as the forest darkened around him and he seemingly fell into the shadows themselves, with the exception of those beautiful, horrifying eyes.

It was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. She passed out just after.

…

“You had no place in that fight, and you nearly got yourself killed, you idiot. You godsdamned child.”

Erryl stomped over to Corea, his rapier flexing as his wrist rolled. She flinched. He paused, whipped around, and marched back to the boar’s severed head and kicked it across its massive snout.

“Fuck!”

Fang glanced up at Erryl, as he was sitting by the trophy, and punched the man in the hip. “Don’t spoil the prize. Go kick a tree,” the Wolf said in his low growl.

Erryl sheathed his blade and placed his hands on his hips, fuming, staring downward, but not really staring at anything as far as Corea could tell. Fang sat, observing, patting himself with his massive hands and releasing puffs of dust into the air. He examined a claw and began to lick at it.

“You need to grow the hell up.” Erryl’s tone was curt as he looked back at Corea. “This is life and death.”

Fang said nothing, his eyes shifting between the two of them. Corea didn’t quite know how to make out his expression, but she had the distinct feeling the Wolf was annoyed. She was surprised how different he looked now, sitting casually by a grotesque severed boar’s head, seemingly fiddling with what would have been his nails had he been a human.

“If she dies, she dies. She’ll learn quickly or not. No sense in a tantrum,” Fang added. 

Corea felt her skin redden in embarrassment, and she quickly buried her face into some of the cloth Erryl had gathered earlier to cleanse the sticky blood from her face.

Erryl sighed. He glanced down at Corea, but she did not look back at him, pretending to be focused on scrubbing her face.

“We’ll keep an eye out for a pond or something so you can wash away that blood. Serves you right to be covered in it.” Erryl marched toward the boar’s corpse and began to look it over. He knelt and felt the thick, fatty skin. “For now, we take what we can.”

He drew a knife and plunged it into the back alongside the mane that ran down the spine. “Not the largest one I’ve seen, but a real hefty fucker nonetheless.”

Fang had shifted the boar’s head between his legs and was sawing at the flesh around the tusks. “Out west. Real brutes,” he added.

Corea couldn’t resist asking. “How big did they get out west?”

Fang continued to saw at the jaw. He paused and gripped a large tusk, trying to shake it loose. It didn’t budge, so he grunted and continued cutting into the flesh. He spoke then, “West Brakfel, furthest out I’ve been. Saw one nine feet at the shoulder. Several orc riders on it. We retreated after we lost three men in one charge.”

Corea said nothing. She watched the men work, harvesting different things from the corpse. Fang had grabbed his tusks and tossed them into a bag. He began to cut strips of flesh from the jowls and laid them out over the snout. Corea figured he planned to dry out the meat.

“Need the eye jelly?” Fang asked.

Erryl paused his work. He’d cut several large squares of thick skin from the back and was now inspecting thick bristles along the sections. He plucked at one, inspecting it carefully.

“The intact eye. Full thing, try not to break the sack, it’ll ruin the jelly.”

“Not very delicate, friend,” Fang muttered. He glanced at Corea, who had timidly approached him. She sat in front of him and gestured to the intact eye. Fang nodded.

She pulled out her kitchen knife and began to prod the socket, careful not to pierce the eyeball itself. She was so engrossed in the task she nearly missed Fang’s sniffing as he continued to carve at the jowls.

“You smell like an abattoir,” he muttered. Corea laughed under her breath.

Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.

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The post Fang & Bone: “24. The Boar” appeared first on hpkomics.com.

So, how about a quick update about the projects I am working on?

RGBots

RGBots comics took a week or two off, but are still going strong, for lack of a better word. I find it interesting that among the mirrors, the comic does most well on Bluesky,. Mastodon as a close second.

The comic has been a very, very helpful outlet for me to just tell jokes, and I think the archive is very solid at this point. As long as I keep updating, I think the project will find its fans.

While we wait for me to do another RGBots spotlight post, why not read one of my more recent favorites?

Oh, and Happy Pride.

Cosmic Dash

The outline for the Cosmic Dash novel is complete at 32 pages. This is going to be a pretty ambitious book for me, and I am still trying to figure out some stylistic choices. My two beta-readers seem excited by what is going to happen. I think the way to best consider the novel from my perspective is that it is like Cosmic Dash: The Movie compared to the episodic releases of the comics. There is a scale and ambition to this storyline that I feel is only accomplished in prose that has really sold me on moving on from the comic.

Of course, there will still be illustrations; Full color chapter headings, inserts, and things like that. Also, I am working on the cover this week. I’ll be sharing about the design process on my next sketchbook update, so keep an eye out.

More updates soon. I know I have some more archival material to repost here at hpkomics.com, for example.

Fang & Bone

With The Dead Life on a break, I am fully focused on Fang & Bone, and I will be posting the new chapter tomorrow. Now is a great time to catch up.

Part of some outreach I am doing to pull in new readers is a series of social posts that provide laconic summaries of the chapters with some details sprinkled in. You can follow those on Bluesky and Mastodon. Eventually, I’ll try that on Threads, though I have not been able to do much with engagement there. Nothing seems to break through unless it is video, it seems.

Also, keep up those comments on chapters. The more I receive, the more I am motivated to draw out chapter images.

Course Preparation

Not quite ready to spill a whole lot about this just yet, probably closer to when the class launches, but here is my shitposty class image. It’ll all make sense when I knock out another educational post in the near future.

It’s a six-week class that is meant to cover 18 weeks of material, so as you can imagine, I am pretty busy with that.

Anyway, that is about all I have for now. Sometimes these are going to be quick rundowns.

As always, share your thoughts if you feel compelled to do so.

Take it away, Paul Simon.

The post Blog: Projects Projecting appeared first on hpkomics.com.

I am fine, btw.

Broken Robot

I saw a broken robot on my walk home today.

He was in the dirt near the sidewalk.

He was broken and alone.

I wondered what his final moments were.

Was he a good robot or a bad one?

I don’t know why I care.

I have always loved the good robots.

I’ve even loved the bad ones, too.

But I think of the kid. And I think of myself.

How did they see the robot?

Was the breaking a noble sacrifice?

Or had the robot finally paid for their crimes?

Why is the robot broken?

Robots did not choose to be robots.

This robot didn’t choose to be broken.

I think of the kid.

I think of myself.

I don’t think I’d ever break the robot.

I do not know if the kid made the choice.

Why do I think so much about the broken robot?

I guess I didn’t choose to be broken, either.

Don’t look too deeply into this unless you want to. It’s just some writing. No questions need be asked. Unless you have them. SEO dictates that I have an outbound link, and I must fulfill my function.

Beep-boop. Follow me for more poetry.

The post Poetry: “Broken Robot” appeared first on hpkomics.com.

The issue is the theme.

My courses are designed around a unifying theme for readings and the topics I have the students explore. Previous classes have dealt with punk resistance, urban planning, and monsters. This time, I want to explore the enshittification of the internet. In simplest terms, I want to theme the course around the exploration of why the internet kind of sucks right now and how corporate, profit-driven thinking has influenced that.

As such, I turn to you, dear reader, for help. I need some suggestions for texts.

What Do I need?

I am looking for essays and think pieces to use as required readings and options for responses. I am conducting my own search, of course, and have some pieces I am looking at. But I also realize that an outsider perspective can be hugely helpful.

Structurally speaking, the six-week course entails:

• A brief introduction to the internet
• Algorithms and monopolies
• Grifter culture (Manosphere and the like)
• Online betting markets
• AI and data harvesting debate
• A possible refuge in the indieweb

Those are my target topics, and I am hoping that you all may have some suggestions on readings I could assign. With that said, I have some requirements; they need to be found online easily at no expense to my students. That means if it is published on a website with limited or no paywalls, that is perfect. If they can be found on a database, that’s great. I can check whether my college has access to them, and if not, I can request it.

They should be general enough to understand for college students, but I do appreciate pushing them as well. My criteria for “general” is that work is written toward a college-educated audience that is not entirely versed in specific disciplines like computer sciences or sociology, but can understand the key concepts through the essay itself.

They do not need to be limited to text form; video essays and podcasts are viable options. I teach that these are forms of writing with strengths and weaknesses.

They cannot be books. I’ll explain why…

Why No Books?

Long story short, I only have six weeks, and I get enough complaints about my text selections in general. Believe me, I would happily assign a book or two otherwise, but I’ve noticed my recent incoming students have had challenges reading things (there is a whole lot of commentary I want to make here, but will not for the scope of this post).

It is easier to assign weekly readings to deal with topics than to try to work through a single book these days. It is also harder to find a book that covers everything I would like to cover.

Also worth noting is that they will be working on a podcast as a final project so a book might eat up a lot of time that could be spent on the podcasting angle.

So, Thoughts?

So, that’s it really. I am already going through some potential readings, but I am eager to see what you might suggest. You can even pitch something you wrote as well if you’re so inclined. I am hoping to get some suggestions over the week to finalize the reading selections while I spend my time building the course shell.

That then leaves me a week after to read, analyze, and critique the readings for use in the lectures.

So, what do you have? You can comment here with your suggestions, or on the social post that brought you here. I really appreciate the help. Thank you!

The post Course Design: I need your help! I need reading options! appeared first on hpkomics.com.

My Full-time Year and Transitions

A major contributor to my feeling temporary was my year-long full-time teaching contract. I had one year of full-time scheduling and faculty duties and loved it. It was only for a single year in an interim position, and as it wound down, the feelings of being temporary began to really hammer at me. This is especially because the contract was not renewed. I will be transitioning from a busy but ultimately fulfilling role that I loved, back to being part-time and needing to supplement my income because I am limited in the number of classes I can teach at my current college.

This means a lot of job applications and freelancing in the months ahead. I am dreading it because when I look for work, I find myself particularly anxious. It feels like I am selling myself, and when nothing happens, it feels like an inherent rejection of me as a person, and always has. Nothing humbles a person quite like the process of job hunting or seeking out and taking on clients as a freelancer. I am sure I can find many people who read this who would relate to that concern.

And as freelancers, we know that contracts are only ever temporary. We have the work – until the budget is cut.

Writing Center Blues

Another contributor to temporary feelings is my role as a Writing Center Coordinator. It is a job I cherish, excel at, and have wanted for years. However, this also provides me with a hard dose of reality: my Writing Center role is still interim. This position must be offered to full-time faculty first. If no full-time faculty wish to step into the role, then it opens up to associate faculty, like I was when I applied, and like I am going to be again.

This means that if a full-timer wants the role, I am out. It also means that if the role opens up, I may have to apply all over again rather than maintain the current role. I know I am good at what I do and accomplished a lot, but would a little continuity be a lot to ask for? I am sure I’ll still be Writing Center Coordinator next semester, but after that? Who knows.

Let’s talk about something else, shall we?

State of the Site, Projects, and Output

It’s clear that my year of full-time brought with it more financial stability, but less time to update material here on the website. It was a tradeoff that I felt happy to make because I didn’t have to worry about the song-and-dance that is freelancing. The reality is that now I am going to have a schedule that opens up, and I need to fill it, or I’ll go crazy.

So, let’s take a look at the projects I have and the status of various things I want to do to fill the job between my teaching and job-hunting. I am only posting what I am focusing on and actively working on, right now.

Active Projects

• Cosmic Dash: The first chapter should be out at the tail-end of June. I am transitioning from the webcomic to prose, as I outlined a few months back. This is swapping in for The Dead Life, for clear reasons if you’ve been following the site.
• The Dead Life: The Dead Life is going on a hiatus for a bit, with the completion of the first part of the five-part novel. I am very proud of where that ended up, and I am excited about what the second part includes, but I need to take a break on it for a while. I will post some material here and there, including a short story, but I do not have a definite return date on this one.
• Fang & Bone: Fang & Bone is back after a brief break. It will be my primary project in June. Once Cosmic Dash begins updating, I will swap chapters each week. Fang & Bone is still my “breakthrough” piece, I think, once it finds its audience.
• RGBots: I took a couple of weeks off. RGBots is going to update again starting next week and maintain that twice-weekly schedule. Funnily enough, my most disposable concept has been my most consistent one.
• Thorn By My Side: This comic strip is still coming. I need to continue doing art tests because I am still not entirely satisfied with the art so far. The comic has some arcs planned, and I have a couple of other characters planned, but I do not want to overthink this either.
• Supernatural Selection: Still on it, still working on research and scripts. I’ll be editing the latest zine soon, for which submissions are open until later this month.

Trying to Plan Ahead

One thing I want to do less of, as I reach the end here, is neglect the site. I need more reliable posting schedules, and I just want to write in general. I’m going to do my best to do a weekly blog, but what I need is people bugging me about it. So if you read this and comment on the site, or have me on Discord and socials, please tell me to write. It helps.

I will also be trying to post more sketchbook entries. Will it be mostly development material for Thorn By My Side? Yes! Is it me trying to mine existing work for posts here? Yes, as well! But there’ll be Cosmic Dash stuff too.

Inspiration Track: “Exactly Where I’m At,” by Ween. I’ve loved this song for a long time, and it served as a fitting inspiration for this post.

The post Blog: Exactly Where I’m At appeared first on hpkomics.com.

Leaving comments and feedback on chapters unlocks new chapter images. Visit the chapter image gallery for more information and to see what chapter images have been unlocked so far.

“How long does it take for a werewolf to pee, honestly?”

“Child, do you not see the size of him? The last thing I would do is complain about the micturition rate of the thing that is getting us through these woods unscathed.”

Corea glanced over to Erryl. He was leaning against a gnarled old tree, with a small book, scratching something into it. She watched the featherless quill shift between his fingers.

“What is ‘micturate?’”

He glanced up from his writing.

“It means to pee.”

“I’ve never heard it that way.”

“It’s a  scholarly word, the kind you learn from studies among mages, surgeons, and doctors.”

“How did you get in with them?”

Erryl paused for a moment, pinching the featherless quill between the pages where he was writing and folding the small book closed. He crossed his arms, and she could hear him tap the book against his bony elbow.

“I went to school for it at my father’s insistence. Then he died, but I was already deeply into the training, so I continued. I had planned to open a shop, but war came to Tradewind, and I worked on the battlefield. Never really stopped.”

He paused.

“I suppose to answer your question: I went to school.”

“Is that where you get one of those weird little featherless quills?”

Erryl paused for a moment. His face screwed up into a pinch, like he’d not understood the question. But just as soon as he had done that, he glanced down toward his small book and extracted it.

“This is a pen. Virtually identical to a quill, but you can keep it much longer.”

He held the pen vertically with pinched fingers and glanced at it for a while.

“It was a gift,” he added.

He shifted his focus to Corea and held the pen to her. She had begun to teach out to pluck it from his grasp, but she held back. It had been important to the man. Upon his wiggling the pen in front of her, she gingerly took it from him and began to examine it.

It was mostly wood, but there were bits of brass. A small plate showed something engraved, but what it was she could not read. The pen had a heftiness to it and was much heavier than she had expected. What intrigued her most was the point that was something between a spoon and a blade. It was like the end of a quill she had seen, only carefully made from delicate metal.

She had been so entranced that she hadn’t noted that  Erryl had his book open to her on a page.

“Try drawing a line here, in the corner, where it’s blank.”

She could not recognize the words he had written on the open pages – they looked like scribbles – but there were pictures. There were local plants drawn in the gaps between the words, and she recognized several of them quite readily from her own experiences. The pictures were quite good.

She glanced up at him, and he nodded back.

“You have to hold the pen at an angle so that the ink will flow from the reservoir inside to the tip. Try it.”

The blank section was not very large, only about the size of a thumb, but she placed the pen tip near the top of the gap and began to drag the tip downward, angling the pen. In the first moment, there was nothing, but then suddenly bluish-black ink began to run from the tip to the paper. It was fascinating.  She rolled the pen between her fingers and was alarmed to see that smooth line erupt into a splotchy mess.

Erryl pulled the book away and reached his hand out for the pen.

“Aside from the blot, the line looks pretty good. Perhaps we can make a writer of you, yet.”

She handed the pen back.

“What is it you are writing in there, sir? I saw nice pictures of some of the plants.”

Erryl was fiddling with his pen for a moment. He tucked it, and his book, into a pocket inside his vest.

“A trick I learned from hedge doctors I’ve met. I take notes and observe unique things as I travel and make a record of different places and what resources I might use if I ever return.” He tapped the journal where it rested against his chest. “This is my third such journal. I may write a book one day.”

“What unique things have you seen?”

Erryl leaned back against the gnarled tree and thought about it.

“Many things. I find I surround myself with unique things. I’ve met a mummy. I travel with a wolfman. I’ve seen the cousins of dragons – not dragons, mind you. They’re gone.” He thought a moment more and smiled. “I can also say that I have never quite met another Corea Gorse out there. The gods blessed me with a life that helped me to learn the letters and use them quite well. It would be a shame not to use them to point out the unique things out there.”

Corea was quiet for a few moments, thinking about words – the written ones. She’d seen they were useful, but had never had a chance to learn them. There really wasn’t much use to them in a dying down.

Maybe after finding Garen, she could convince the Wolf and the Barber to take her and her brother with them to a town where learning to read would be useful.

“Do you think I might be able to read and write like you one day?”

Erryl said nothing.

…

Corea had been asking Erryl questions for quite a while, with no sign of the Fang. After a time, the conversation lulled, and some noises came from the brush. Corea kept her hands near her knife, but Erryl continued to lean against the tree, unmoved by any caution. It must have been Fang.

And it was. The Wolf took heavy steps from behind a tree and emerged onto the road.

“Took you long enough,” Erryl muttered.

He glanced at Fang. Corea could not tell what sort of expression the Wolf  had on his face, but Erryl did, and he moved from the tree and placed a hand on his rapier’s hilt.

“Come,” was all the Wolf said.

…

The corpse was, from what Corea could tell, a day or two old. She did not recognize him, no matter how many times Fang and Erryl had asked her or painted out some detail. She was just glad he was not Garen. She was content in the fact that she knew nothing of the man, given the state of the body. He was just a stranger who met with a grim fate and not someone she knew. The two roadmen spoke to one another in hushed tones, and Corea kept at a distance from the corpse. She couldn’t help but stare.

A rumbling question of “what killed him?” snapped her attention to Fang, who was staring at her. Not just Fang. Erryl as well. Their attention was upon her, and it appeared they expected an answer.

“I’m not sure.”

“Not good enough,” Fang responded. “Really look. Get closer.”

Corea felt she had seen too many corpses today, but stepped closer. They expected an answer. It was some kind of lesson, and this one was at Fang’s urging. The last thing she wanted to do was to keep him waiting.

The corpse was a man she did not recognize. He was against a tree, his head lolling down, chin on his chest. Blood had soaked through the top of his shirt just around the neckline. His arms hung loose, and his fingers twisted and curled over open palms that lay up from the ground where he sat. Before she moved closer to investigate his neck, she took in the state of the scene. He was not quite sitting in a camp, but it was apparent he had been sitting down and resting. His gear had been set aside, his weapons laid out within grabbing distance had there been an attack, but to no avail, clearly, given the fact that he was dead. She spied some rations that had yet to be picked up by a scavenger. Nor had the body attracted much beyond bugs and the ever-present maggots found around rotting meat. The denizens of the woods claimed the dead quickly.

This was beginning to feel like it was a matter of hours, not a day or so, since the man met his end. No slimes. No dismemberment. Just a dead man, alone.

Behind her came the sounds of muffled chewing, and she looked back to see Fang and Erryl observing the situation, clearly judging her, while eating some of their own packed rations. Fang had a rather large serving of saltpork and tore at it with vigor, and Erryl seemed to be picking at some croutons.

“How can you eat in front of a corpse?” she asked.

Erryl continued to pop croutons into his mouth. Fang looked down at her and shook his head as he chewed through his sizable bite of meat.

“You eat when hungry. You eat when you have a moment to spare.” He gestured back to the corpse with a nod. “Tell us what you see, girl.”

Corea knelt and paused for a moment. She took a breath, grabbed at his hair, and began to pull the head up from the chest. A sticky, unfurling sound made her uneasy and turned her stomach, but she continued to pull, shifting her gaze from dead, shocked eyes and staring at his neck. Several gashes came into view all over, just above the neckline. She’d thought, maybe, it had been a slit throat, but she hadn’t expected it to be so jagged. She was no stranger to butchery. With chickens, quail, and other birds, it was a quick chop. She’d bled goats and pigs for Mr. Gorten in the line of duty. You learned that a single, strong stroke was the way to go. This did not appear to be that. Those required a smooth slice at the neck to bleed them rapidly. The first time she was tasked to slaughter a goat, she’d fumbled it and got kicked in the face by a flailing leg. She didn’t let that happen again. The pigs still bothered her, though, and she was thankful pork was not something New Gordhurst had a lot of access to.

But this – this was clumsy and violent.

“He must have been resting, and someone snuck up and stabbed him several times. Would have been more proper to slice him.”

Fang grunted, nodded, and crouched beside her, still tearing at saltpork. He pointed to the wounds. 

“Not unusual for bandits. Touchy ones at that. Dangerous places make dangerous men.” He sniffed the air and peered around before he continued, “I doubt they’re far.”

“Idiots at that,” Erryl added. “Took his gold purse but left just about everything else that would be useful for survival. I doubt they are locals and know what else lingers in these woods.”

Corea has risen to her feet and taken several steps back from the corpse to take in the scene, visually sorting through the scattered belongings. She noticed a knife.

Within an instant, Fang was within earshot, having risen without her hearing him. His hot breath near her face was like the steam of a boiling stew. His massive, snouted face snuck into her range of vision as she continued to look at the corpse.

“Take the knife. Take the short bow.”

She would do as she was told and pick up the knife.

“Good. Learn as you go.”

The knife had an accompanying wooden sheath that could be tied on one’s person with a basic cord, and she did just that. She didn’t really care to think about what the notches on the sheath had meant. Knife secured, she drew it, noticing the blade was blackened. It was roughly an inch or two shorter than her kitchen knife, but also slightly curved. This was a bleeding knife, and the man’s killer would have had a much easier time with this blade.

“A good knife,” Erryl remarked. Corea nodded and sheathed it, turning her attention to the shortbow near the corpse. Erryl had already been picking at what arrows he could find and had found the small quiver. He finished slotting a pair of arrows and handed her the quiver. He turned his attention back to the corpse, picking through what had been this dead man’s few belongings.

The shortbow was a small weapon of stealth, as she understood it, talking to some of the town guardsmen, but it did not have the power of a longbow. But then again, Corea was shorter than those men, and in her own hands, the bow did not feel very small at all.

Again, Corea was caught off guard as the Wolf crouched before her, as she had studied the bow. She had heard nothing, again, only just catchingt a sudden, massive form slide out in front of her. He looked at her with his large, yellow eyes. She could read his expression here, one of concern, his browline raised and curious.

“Ever use one?” he asked in a low, soft voice.

“Never.”

“We practice as we go. You fire past me. I collect them. I’ll point out the targets. You don’t have the strength to kill with it. But you can maim if you attack the legs. Do not fire at me.”

Corea heard Erryl cast a muffled laugh at Fang’s words. Her face flushed, and she felt a surge of shame recalling that morning. She glanced into Fang’s eyes, but there was no sense of annoyance. There was a softness that felt odd, but reassuring. She nodded.

“But ghouls don’t really get hobbled by arrows, sir.”

Fang rose to his feet and looked down at her.

“Not ghouls that worry me.”

…

Erryl had scrounged up cloth from the man’s pack as well as his small, thin bedroll. As the party moved forward, he would tear up cloth for bandaging, wrapping the scraps into tight bundles, and then tucking them into the bedroll.

As for Corea, she and Fang had been at work training her archery skills, which were far from satisfactory. He would point out a tree, she would miss, and she would inevitably empty her quiver. Fang would fall back from his lead position and return, handing over the arrows he had collected.

The first time this had happened, she had cracked a joke about playing fetch, and Fang told her that he would eat her. She had not made that joke since.

She was hitting the trees more often now, after what felt like a quarter-hour or so, but the problem was getting the arrow to stick. She was strong enough to hit the range given her life of choring, but the arrows mostly bounced off the bark, barring one or two instances of the arrowheads finding purchase and hanging loosely. Hardly a true success.

After the third quiver of arrows was returned, she asked for a break. Fang shrugged and obliged, darting back ahead. Erryl snorted.

“Corea, how do you expect to be of any use if you don’t push yourself?”

She didn’t answer.

“Children’s games, I suppose,” Erryl mused. 

She felt a radiance of annoyance from behind her, the words lapping at her like a cold wave. It was just a break; what was the concern? She shrugged his words off and kept her pace. Besides, she had already contributed. She pulled the small slime bottle from a coat pocket. The pale green substance sloshed in the bottle, but the organ inside, the clear bubble, did not really move.

She had earned it. Sure, she was not as strong as Fang, nor as experienced as Erryl, but she was holding her own, and she was learning. 

She put the bottle away, pulled out a strip of saltpork from another pocket, and began to eat as she kept up her pace.

…

“Godsdamn it, Corea, I told you to stay inside.”

Garen looked quite funny, wrapped in blankets and wielding a broom.

“These bats can give you the sickness if you’re bit. Go back.”

Most of the local bats were largely harmless, but a new, larger bat had begun nesting just outside under the shack roof, pushing the old bats out. Garen had asked around, and from what he could gather, this was a type known as an Iskaran Wraith. It was huge with coarse black fur and giant red eyes. Some in town even suggested they drank blood and preferred children and goats, specifically. There were werewolves to the north, and this could just as easily have been a vampire, as he saw it. It wasn’t, but if a vampire were going to take the form of a bat, then the bat would be an Iskaran Wraith – at least, that is what he reasoned to her.

The local Red Furs ate the insects of the area, and their guano helped fuel fires all over New Gordhurst. Their local cluster that lived under the roof was harmless and helpful, and Garen had decided that the Wraith had to go, for their sake, and definitely not because it was probably a vampire.

“What’s a broom gonna do?”

Garen looked over at Corea and shook his head.

“The broom is just to knock it down, dummy. I’ll stab it once it’s on the ground.”

“I can help.”

“You can help by leaving me alone.”

“I can go tell Mr. Gorten?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t need him.”

“But he’s tall, he can probably get at it easier than you.”

“I’m tall for my age,” Garen chuffed.

“Kent is taller than you, and he’s nine.”

“Kent stretched himself by tying his feet to a mule and hugging a tree. We all know that.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did. Now hush. I’m gonna kill it.”

Corea watched her older brother awkwardly wave the broom around in the gaps and corners where the roof met the shack walls. Shit, twigs, and cobwebs clung to the broom, which would be up to her to clean. What wasn’t trapped by the broom had now fallen onto the blanket armor that he had swaddled himself into. Again, it would be on her to clean that too.

Garen’s yelp snapped her out of her grumbling as she saw him frantically flap and toss the broom as the black bat was darting at him, annoyed.

“My knife. Shit! I’m tangled!”

She watched his swaddled form practically dance, his bagged body unable to get a grip on the knife, wherever he had been keeping it. This would go nowhere beyond some kind of sickness for her brother. 

She dashed to her frantic brother and grabbed at a flapping corner of Garen’s blankets and pulled enough fabric free to arch it high above the bat. She pulled the fabric down and pinned the bat to the ground, trapped beneath cloth, as Garen lost his balance and fell, hollering and thrashing all the while.

The bat’s shrieks and chirps filled the air, along with Garen’s confused yelping. The creature would be going nowhere, and with all her weight, Corea hopped upon the rustling lump and felt the body shatter and squelch beneath her boots.

Garen saw what Corea had done and went silent. Then he vomited.

…

Corea swirled the substance in the bottle a couple of times, having fished it back out of her pocket, marveling at the remains of the slime she had killed.

She would have a fun story to tell Garen when she found him.

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The post Fang & Bone: “23. All Things Wicked and Wild” appeared first on hpkomics.com.