"Issue" #2

 

Unless otherwise indicated, all content is (c) Jonathon D. Turner; Alias Redundant Jovian Thor (R. J. Thor). Any similarities to persons, places, or things; living, undead, factual, animate, fictional, inanimate, dead, nonliving, holy, evil,  divine, or unholy are purely coincidental.  All Rights Reserved.

 

Issue 2:
Issue 1
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Up close facial shot of Satyr with subtle side angle; wide eyes, vacant jaw, dark red goat pupils as vacant as the jaw, which hangs loosely, lax.
Subtle energy emitted from pupils...?

An indistinct character's shadowy head behind, pointed ears, braided beard; back to back.

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Cover.

page 1 after inset.
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Odin descends from the clouds riding Slepnir, Gungnir in hand. Miles of gore and corpse beneath on the ground, few left alive, and fewer still fighting. Clouds heavy, dark, crimson. Lightning in the vast distance. A few Valkyries inspect the dead down below.
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A Saytr stands covered in blood, but unscathed; back to back with Loki. A Valkyrie not far behind the Satyr; inspecting a corpse on one side, a small group in combat on the other.
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Odin; proudly sitting atop Sleipnir, one eye, the missing eye, hidden behind the rim of his hood.

"You side with the Trickster? Are you willing to die for that Jester? For a simple life, Geone, you must slay yourself! You must awaken your spirit to the battles awaiting us all... Your conscious mind is expanding beyond the physical world..."

Everything fades to grey-green, then to black.

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A black-like haze of dark, crimson red clouds, deep shadoy green mists of olive green and indigo, subtly swirling together in places; yet, as though invisible throughout blackness.
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Swirling in and out, all around the edges; the center: a clarity forming. a flickering candle and shadowy figure facing away from it, both fading out from and into swirls of green smoke and water.
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More swirls on the outside, more vivid on the inside; a dank lair of sorts, perhaps even ruined sewers.
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Swirling in with greater clarity: Geone stands hunched before an electronic pannel overviewing a large sillhouetted being connected to many wires and machines. On the floor, in the center, where the large mass lies, are intricate runic carvings beneath all the equipment.
"Ye-eh-eh-euw will begih-ih-ih-in to e-e-e-e-eliminaa-a-a-ate yoursel-el-el-elf from your-our-our-ur-rself o-oh-oh-oh-ohnle-e-e-ey when you've ever fa-a-a-a-a-aced yourself."
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Matted and tangled mess of olive-gray fur curled into the fetal position in a grassy meadow.
"Ye-eh-eh-eh-ew wil-il-il-ill begin to eliminah-ah-ha-ah-a-a-ate yourself from yoursel-el-el-elf only when- only- faced-."
The ball of fur murmurs incoherently.

 

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The Satyr appears distressed.
"You-will-begin-to-eliminate-yourself-from-yourself-only-when-you've-ever-faced-yourself."
He stirrs.

 

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Close up of his eyes opening, quarter-crack wide.

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The view is panned out to see the meadow fading away to a fuzzy green carpet, kitchen in the background through small doorframe, sans door.

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Its a studio appartment with recent additions, specifically the tiny swath of carpet no more than 4 times the size of the previously curled up Satyr, who is now sitting up and yawning lazily.

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The perspective is now from the kitchen looking out the large empty room's windows, in the left side, the corner of a cheap folding table and an occupied chair can be seen.
He bleats out
"Wha-ah-ah-ah-hat an an-n-n-n-no-no-no-oy-oy-oying dre-e-ea-a-a-a-am."

 

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4

"Issue" #1

Unless otherwise indicated, all content is (c) Jonathon D. Turner; Alias Redundant Jovian Thor (R. J. Thor). Any similarities to persons, places, or things; living, undead, factual, animate, fictional, inanimate, dead, nonliving, holy, evil,  divine, or unholy are purely coincidental.  All Rights Reserved.

　

　

Issue 1
Awakening of a Sage
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An Incubus with large black pupils.
Face painted with an angry sneer.
Single-handedly wielding an intricate, runic, Double-Helix Executioner's Sword with his left hand. 

Wearing light, a silver, blood stained chest plate bearing 2 shiny, bloody onyx gems; bloodstained plate guards around his knees and shins; runic ruby gauntlets on his  hands.

A blood soaked and tattered loincloth covers his torso, flailing lightly in the air.

Bloodstained black hair, with a buzz cut around his long, twisted horns, and a long braid from the center of his head to his glutes.

His own crimson skin is stained with other peoples' blood, making his already dark skin darker in places.


Brooding skies with mournful, shadowy clouds.
Many corpses littering the ground, most decapitated, dismembered, and/or disemboweled; this fearsome scowling Incubus standing amidst it all.


   
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Cover.

page 1 after inset.
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    Odin descends from the clouds riding Sleipnir, Gungnir in hand.  Miles of gore and corpse beneath on the ground, few left alive, and fewer still fighting.  Clouds heavy, dark, crimson. Lightning in the vast distance.  A few Valkyries inspect the dead down below.
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    Not far before him, an Incubus stands, covered in blood but unscathed, as Odin approaches.  Valkyries not far behind the Incubus;  one inspecting a corpse on one said, a small group in combat on the other.
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    Odin; proudly sitting atop Sleipnir, one eye hidden behind the rim of his hood, the other aglow as if from an inner thunderstorm."You are not meant for a simple life, Jovithor.  You must awaken your spirit to the battles awaiting us all.  Your conscious mind is expanding beyond the physical world..."
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    Everything fades to grey-green, then fading deeper to black around the edges.
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    A black-like haze of dark, crimson red clouds; deep shadowy green mists of olive green and indigo, subtly swirling together in places, yet as though invisible throughout blackness.
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Swirling in and out, all around the edges; the center: a clarity forming.  A huge tree towering over billions of smaller trees that fade into swirls of green smoke and water.
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More swirls on the outside, more vivid on the inside; the tree is enormous: A giant amongst; men amongst mice.
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Swirling in with greater clarity:  Jovithor stands tall before an elderly Incubus clothed in sage robes."You will find your ancestral calling in the temple of the forest; your childhood home."
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    The bright light of the sun beams out from the edges of the horizon; and yet beneath the overhead tree cover: Prepared to shade the forest in the afternoon.  The sky is bluing, and very few, feint, clouds gently haze across the sky; carefree teal skies.  From the corner of this perspective, An arm and a wing can be seen outstretched in an early morning yawn.
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    Panned out; looking down at this camp site and the horizon from low branches: the small stony camp can be seen in its entirety; Jovithor, wearing little more than a simple leather loincloth, steps toward his campfire: with makeshift grill & cast iron skillet; near behind, his leather and fur sleeping bag poking out of a crude lean-to, a tabard laying on top the bag; plenty of evergreen trees all around. 
    The edge of a small wood-and-stone village wall can be seen in the distance, cutting across a corner near the camp.
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    The Incubus begins his day stretching out.
Stretching out-ways, arms, legs, wings, and tail
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    Stretching upwards. Then downwards.
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    Side to side bending and twisting... 
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    Yet, up close, he is scowling...
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    A panned out view from just afront the feet of Jovithor; up through the trees out a clearing in the canopy.  Jovithor's hooves bare, his tabard covering the front and back of his long legs, down to his knees, bare chested; and the early morning fog of his own breath gently spouting from his nostrils. Still grim of face.
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    Then takeoff; in a huff and a leap, up through the trees and out through the clearing above. Hair flailing wildly away from every side of his face; in his haste, too distracted this morning to braid it.
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    Flying through the phantom clouds in the sky. Free... Unfortunately, focused on less important matters than his cherished unbondable sky.
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    Forest; for hundreds of miles in front of the Incubus-in-flight, nothing but virgin treetops.
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    Same forest, about a few hundred miles later.
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    Same forest, about a few hundred, more, miles later; now a large tree can be seen-jutting out in the distance.
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    The huge tree, within one's width-wise field of view, at the canopy of the surrounding forest; seen below.
The underside of the bottom branches this behemoth tree bears are barely visible above; hanging needles obscuring branches and the trunk from whence these limbs came.
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    At the base of the tree: many small, crude, kiosks and huts, trashed cars, a rusty pickup, a few campfires, and one large bonfire in the middle of it all, surround the huge crotch at the bottom of the massive tree; feint lights seen within, appearing to spiral upward along the interior perimeter walls.
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    Closer up, but still panned out. Jovithor lands in front of the bonfire, now between the gargantuan crotch of the tree and the spatter of huts and scrap.
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    Up close, behind Jovithor. He looks upward, into the darkness within; the interior now appears to be better lit and the stairs can be seen running upward around the perimeter within the tree, the base of which are landing on the right hand side. The walls opposite of the lights are much darker.
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    Closing in on the same perspective; Jovithor is entering.
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    From the inside, looking out; on the left, Jovithor ascends the stairs.
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    A long ways up with a downward view.  The "lobby" seen below with a few shops carved into the thick walls, a few busy Cacubi going to and coming from their destinations, and one large counter top desk seen at the bottom.
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    A level view, farther up, a new floor with a hallway and many rooms on either side.  The stairs continuing up, ahead. Jovithor ahead of the view, above and around the next corner of stairs, by mere footsteps beyond the perspective. Only his tail cuing his heading.
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    Farther up still, the stairs become a narrow hall-passage, reminiscent of ancient castle towers, and just as claustrophobic.
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    A hallway on one side of the stairs opens up, a closed door on either side of the hall, with a succubus Priestess exiting yet another room, closing the door behind her; and an exit leading to a large branch on the other side of the stairs: Jovithor is exiting to the branch.
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    Seen from the inside looking out: On the branch are several rope-bridge access points to other nearby branches, some stemming from the massive branch itself.  Several stilt-homes are built in the thicker parts of the large branches, closer to the trunk of the tree; ropes lining most of the paths, ladders into each house, and many Cacubai sages. A few Gnomes and Faeries hidden in the scenery and crowd, one Sasquatch sits nonchalantly beside the entry/exit to this branch, only the back of his head, his shoulder and his right arm are visible.  Jovithor is continuing his journey, stepping around the Sasquatch.
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    Following close behind him: Jovithor ascends to a higher branch via  rope bridge to his left. Along the path he walks, two other Cacubai are headed toward him from the distance.
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    Panned out.  Jovithor is farther along the bridge.  Closer to the pair.
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    One sage, a succubus, looks up from silent prayer, and is surprised to see who is headed toward them.  The Incubus beside her is still bowed in prayer. Only his horns can be seen sneaking out from under his hood and hands clasped at his waist; sharp fingernails.
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    Close up of Jovithor.  Dissatisfaction and regret cast upon his expression; or a deeper scowl than before.
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    The succubus runs toward him, a happy, but sympathetic, expression on her face.
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    He deliberately brushes past her, trying to ignore her.  She appears disappointed and devastatingly hurt.
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    He passes the incubus."... and hear my prayer for the young; hear my pra..."
A faerie is quickly flying under the rope bridge, in a hurry and barely visible.
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    At last, Jovithor stands in front of a small "yard" in front of a stilt-home.
    The view is angled to show the corner of the porch, the ladder, and Jovithor facing the home.  Behind him, the young Succubus Sage is catching up to her partner, and the Sasquatch is getting up as he yawns.
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    We see from behind Jovithor: he is standing before the home with fists clenched.
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    He approaches the ladder, reaching for the rungs.
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    Climbing. Half way up.
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    Fist raised, ready to knock on the door.
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    Door open; ajar, angled so we cannot yet see in.
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    A view from behind: Jovithor's Wings nestled against his back, we can just see over his shoulder; an elderly couple welcome him in warmly, the pair are also dressed in sage garb, and appear to be higher ranking sages. 
    The succubus has long silvery bangs flowing from beneath her hood, and gentle wrinkles, smile lines, and crow's feet. Her skin is slightly lighter than her husband's dark crimson skin.  The Incubus is bald and with his hood drawn away.

    All three have the same style twisted horns."Son! It's been a while...  Come on in." From his father
"Are you ready to hear the calling?" From his mother.
Quiet growling from Jovithor.
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    From behind his parents, seated in elegant chairs facing a simpler chair beside a window, Jovithor's face is dissatisfied; parents' wings are covered by sage robes, his mother removing her hood; still covering most of her hair."I'm not here to follow in your footsteps, if that's what you're asking...  I don't appreciate my dreams being meddled with!"  Jovithor says angrily, but calmly.

"Dreams... being meddled with?" His mother asks with concern.
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    Seen from side angle: all faces; Mother has beautiful, wavy, flowing, silvering crimson hair and elegant features, she looks confused.  Father seems stern of face, of personality, of posture, but infinitely gentle of eyes. 
Jovithor is just anxious to leave."I'll ignore your hair, but you know we dont meddle with dreams son.  It goes against our calling, there are severe-"
His father starts
"Severe consequences to the spirit and mana, yada, yeah- I geddit, I get it.  It wouldn't concern me:  I'm not a sage!" Jovithor cuts in, finishing off for him, and reminding his parents why he left, all in one breath.
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12
13
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    Close up: Mother and father exchange concerned looks; Mother's with empathy, father's with shame.
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    same point, reverse perspective; Jovithor flicks his tail,,,
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Stands up,,,"screw this..." He mutters.
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    And walks out."I don't need your excuses, dunno why I even bothered comin' here..."
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    The 'Squatch is long gone, fewer Cacubi traveling in sight, and less than a few hidden Gnomes in the foliage.  We can see Jovithor on the porch overhang, looking out a moment. 
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    ... then flies away, down through the branches and back up into the sky. What few Cacubi can be seen are shocked and/or pointing at him.
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13
14
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    Scene pans around his camp; everything is everywhere except where it belongs.  The fire pit is stomped in and through, ashes scattered everywhere, the lean-to in pieces, leather-and-fur bag missing, and many scruff marks.  Obviously there was a fight.
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    Jovithor lands in the middle of it, extremely angry.
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    He looks around at the site, gradually growing angrier.
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    Close-up view from behind, of his knee to his thigh; and lowered arm:  Fist clenched tightly, his normally foggy crimson knuckles now tensed and whitened."what..." His words quieter than his anger and yet just as terrifying.
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    He looks up; the view is from behind him, facing the small near-by village:  The wooden and stone wall is torn apart in places and a couple huts are smoldering.  2 huts appear untouched.  Bodies hang over the wall like damp towels. Blood everywhere."why?" deep and distorted, spoken as though gravel's first words were as smooth as water.
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14
15
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    Huge ("Artistic") scene of the broken village wall, huge holes smashed through it in places; dead bodies, many of which are draped over the wall; some litter the area around the gate - which is now useless in its former function. 
    One young, broken, Succubus in light metal armor is still alive, barely clinging to a thread.
A former gatekeeper...
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15
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    Jovithor approaches the girl, gashes all across her body, especially her mangled face and scalp. One horn bluntly torn from her skull, jagged edges left at the base; the other cracked in half, the WRONG way, from tip to scalp,  curving as elegantly as the rest of the horn, into her skull...  The other half sticking out of her side as a malicious dagger, uncomfortably close to her spleen.
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    She is barely able to speak, and beckons him closer;  lying utterly still, as to minimize her excruciating pain and blood loss.
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    He nears and she very suddenly reaches out to pull him nearer her lips. Cringing as every movement taxes her very being and exhausts her remaining life.
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    Close up of her mangled face, one small bloody lock of hair limped over her left eye, one of 3 locks left on her bloody head.  Lips seemingly flawless in spite of her injuries, one fang missing...  Whispering into Jovithor's ear;"hhhhh- bu..r...nhh    hh...ev...ery...th...i.......nh.....n......gh... compl...-" *hegh-huh-uh* -ending in a feint gasp.
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    Kneeling beside her, her own grasp releasing, Jovithor can only watch as she goes limp; slumping into place before his kneel.
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    We see the view from behind as he stands slowly up...
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      ... and looks around to face us: Every muscle tensed and vascular, wings spread completely.
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16
17
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    The scene is panned out as Jovithor is surveying the razed village with a stern, curious look in his eyes; rage suggestive, body still incredibly tense. 
Unseen by him as yet: 3 corpses are shifting their weight and beginning to rise about behind him.
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17
18
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    4 more corpses are seen awakening behind, // the perceived power in Jovithor's eyes waxes slowly// ... as he is surveying,// panning,// turning...
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    A panned out view of a surprised Jovithor, catching sight of 1 of the 7 corpses.
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    Closeup of Jovithor's face.  A mix between sorrowful regret and enraged mourning etches into his lips, but his eyes... His eyes show only acute joy for the coming, satisfactory...... Bloodlust...!!!
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18
19
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    Seen from the side: view of dead succubus at his feet, Jovithor's hands tense further, his finger nails prone to kill. Words lost on him; the dead woman silently muttering to have her killed before she, herself, turns.
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    Jovithor dashes ahead toward the nearest undead Cacubai. His claws flashing past.
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    As his fingernails dig deep into the Zombified Incubus' eye sockets and throat, another pseudo-corpse catches Jovithor's eye.
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    As his target's skull slides off his fingers, and brains ooze between them, Jovithor sees his opponents' numbers growing... 3, 5...
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    8 living corpses... 12 zombies...
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    Closeup of his intensely focused brow, narrowed eyes, mirthless smirk.
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20
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    An overhead view of 21 corpses, at least 5 of which are 'too close for comfort', all of which are scattered about the area around Jovithor who is standing over one freshly reslain body.
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    "Panned out closeup" of 2 Succubus zombie gate keepers dashing toward Jovithor
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20
21
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    One of them is armed... with the other corpse's arm! Lashing at Jovithor, jaw loosely hanging open, uncontrollably flopping from one hinge.
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    As he blocks the 3 armed zombie's swing, the second tackles him from aside, bruising up his left wing folds and spraining the connecting joint on his back. He is briefly in shock from the pain and thoroughly enraged by it, the same.
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    Wincing hard, he grunts angrily, his voice deepening eerily.
Gravel grinding behind his throat.
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    In a guttural, twisted, dark voice; he utters: "come on."
Deep, physics defying anger, yet so plainly spoken; it only makes his demeanor even more terrifying.
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21

22
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    Jovithor lashes out, fang and claw, snaping his tail through the neck and severing the skull of one hapless Incubus zombification behind him; as a rash of claw marks are painting several others: re-dead; the undead in his hand: at the end of it's second rope; with his body separated from his head, which Jovithor now holds.
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    Stomping a hoof through an eyesocket here
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    Stabbing a chest with all 5 claws there
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    Bearing fangs, chest, claws, and torso; issuing  into the world: a challenge; and delivering in it: defiant taunt
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    Another panned out view, as Jovithor drops the head of his last opponent; what he doesnt see is the succubus near the gate is now...
also, undead... and right, near, behind him.
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23
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Poised to strike, arm raised, eyes cocked into her skull, the succubus zombie is abruptly decapitated by the flicking tail she was supposedly sneaking up on.  Jovithor simply cocking his head slightly enough to watch.

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Her head plops in place in her hands, a grim smile on her face.
"you forgot to burn it all..."
She sneers and cackles.
"Ah ha...!!!"
Something catches the corpse's attention... eyes alight with glee.

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An evil and twisted smile puts unsettling weight in Jovithor's heart as the head continues
"We dont even have any reason to fight! with one so full of hate, himself!"
Cackling, while at the same time decomposing rapidly: body rotting into the ground, dropping the head and falling backward.
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Rotten head meat and face flesh, mostly bare skull, a grim skeleton smile.
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26
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The End?
The end of the beginning...

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ISSUE #1: The awakening of a Sage.