BLUMIU'S PROFILE

The Unfamiliar Pt.I

“Outta’ the way, urchin!” bellowed a swollen, beady-eyed man.

The child hopped off the road as the rickety cart plodded along with a wiry ass under its yoke. While the churlish man scowled at her, she could only but wonder what a curious features he bore. Such encounters were hardly worrisome with feet to carry her where so ever. The word “freedom” the girl did not know, but learned it to be a precious thing.

With freedom however, came the responsibilities of survival on her own. She had left behind those that had raised her, mostly in the fashion of ser-vitude, however. From whence she came and though a prison, shelter was provided. She learned to forage through trial and error; brown mushrooms growing by moist rocks were edible while the spotted, flat-head type caused deliria and irritable bowels. Nimble enough to snatch a trout from the stream and fast enough to chase down small critters, all of which was for the husband and wife that gave her their log shed.

She had run far away from that place not because of their neglects and abuses, rather it was their constant assertion she did not belong. That in-stilled the thought perhaps there was somewhere she did. The child was left little choice the day the man decided to pull her fangs, seeing how they had grown noticeable. Held down on the kitchen table with his wife clamped open her mouth, a burst of strength wrest her from their hold. Seeing her husband knocked aside, the woman recoiled in shock as the little one pierced her finger through with her fangs. This presented the child oppor-tunity of escape through the open shutters.

The girl walked, ran, hopped and skipped to her heart’s content to the point of exhaustion. The next day was spent resting in a hare’s nest between two tickle bushes. Early the following day, she discovered a dirt path carved across the grassland. Unsure of which end lead where, she chose where pheasants flew, knowing enough that they always head somewhere they call home. Thus it would be the same for her.

After an afternoon of unbroken pace, she finally retired to the roadside to give her bare feet a rest. Before coming into view from the way traveled, rattling of wagon wheels and beastly breing reached her keen ears. Before long, an overwhelming multitude of scents accompanied far off shapes. Slowly by the way came someone driven by a horned animal she’d seen occasionally.

As it drew closer, the driver turned into the tented wagon and a woman’s scraggly head came through the covered cart. For an instant the girl thought she had been found, but calmed her nerves in that her senses did not recognize it to be them. Someone else climbed out from the tented wagon as it came to a stop.

A sense of excitement and worry came over the girl as she the stranger, a young woman, approached.

“’Scuse me? Are ye a’right?” the young woman called to her in concern.

It did not seem good to mention the fact she had ran away. At the same time, they couldn’t take her back if they did not know where; this left her in silence as she debated a reply.

“Ye lost?” the stranger asked, stooping near eye level with the little one.

She admired the woman’s eyes; bright and blue. The woman smiled at her to which caused the unfortunate return of the expression. This caused the young woman to leap back in alarm.

The girl only then began to realize there was something apparent in her that caused this reaction. Perhaps it had more to do with the fangs she quickly tucked behind her lips, worried another might try and yank them out. Or it most surely was the long scar across her right cheek that began at the corner of her mouth. It had been there since she could remember.

Spinning on her heel, the young woman dashed back to the wagon. Once the child’s stomach began to knot up, it was a sure sign to flee as well. In the blink of an eye she vanished beyond the clearing into the wood.

An ember sky bruised with blue began to set over the trees. The girl spied a village and patchwork land of squares and stripes in green and yellow. Woodman rested from their labor close to where she skulked. Needing to relieve herself, the girl found an undercropping further within found suita-ble. She kept her ears sharp to any movement beyond the creeping among the leaves and stir in the high foliage. Twice she had encounters with der`angars when out with her chores, caring not for another.

Strange fire came from before her and preserved her life, but she could not hope such a thing to happen again. Finishing her business, onward she went on little but intuition. Surely the more people there were, the closure she came. And yet, this worried her. She had not much luck thus far in her encounters.

Stepping out from the shelter of the wood, the girl saw over the great loaf shaped hills a sight she had could compare nothing to. Mountains bigger than she had ever see beyond the glen. Curious of these great walls with great towers sitting on high, she followed by the road leading toward before spotting a group by the wayside. Camped a ways into the plain was a party of numerous sojourners.

Keeping her distance from the roadside, she watched men, women and other children like herself. She wondered if they too were traveling with all their belongings about them, then smelled the irresistible. Its scent she in-haled deep, beckoning her belly to draw near. Perhaps a little closer would not hurt?

Taking her place on a stone on the other side the road, the little one watched the women about a mound of stones, one of which prodded a rod or stick within. Off a ways from them were the children and elder of them, keeping the rambunctious away from their mothers as they cooked. The contrast was great from what she experienced and strange, yet welcoming. A group of the men were gathered a ways into the field while another con-versed much further up the road; their eyes were set toward the great walls.

Not long seemed to pass before the sky dimmed to a rich apricot. The girl adjusted her eyes to keep the group’s activities in clarity, before noticing a sudden change in routine. The women paused then stood or froze in place with a fluid yet unnatural unison. Everyone’s attention had been caught at that point, the child’s gaze also followed up the road where the one group stood. In the greater distance she could see another party approaching by way of the great wall.

Whatever they were wearing reflected in the setting sun being cast down behind the shadowed mountains. The girl kept her distance as the devel-opment unfolded, but had been spotted some time before realizing. At that time the women working the makeshift oven began passing out the con-tents inside. One of which had the baked goods in hand and began to ap-proach her, calling out.

Giving herself over to hunger, the child gravitated steadily toward the nar-row figure that gracefully crossed the plain. Still a ways off, the girl noticed something akin about the dark clad woman. The eve’s tint brought out the crimson glow of her eyes, surprising her. No one she had met thus far, not even her caretakers held this attribute; none but herself.

They always made sure she was in the shed before dark fell, often referring to the fact she possessed “wicked eyes”. She knew what eyes were and so she discovered their meaning while staring into a small bowl of water. Had she found what she was looking for so soon?

“Ce faci?” said the thin woman, a cloth wrapping in hand that perforated succulence. The woman held a welcoming yet domineering presence the child never experienced so approximately.

Tall, or at least much taller than the child, something about how her slender form and unyielding posture reminded her of the ‘lonely tree’. Sitting alone in the glen, it was still the most striking with bright olive teardrop shaped leaves with red blossoms in warmer season. Its branches mildly wavered in storm, having found equilibrium none of the other trees mastered.

Despite the initial impression, the girl knew not a word she spoke. Very strange tones and words never known before, even of the few visitors of her caretakers. However, her eager eyes became apparent to the woman with them locked on the cloth bundle.

“Ia-o.” she said kindly, holding out the bundle, aromatic steam rising from the cloth.
The child took it with a gleeful smile and allowed the woman to look upon her. She made sure to not let her get too close a look at her scar by tuck-ing her head. The concern of the woman’s expression grew with her mal-nourished condition and lack of response.

She tried again to communicate. “Ce ai păţit? De unde ai venit?”

It seemed likely she wanted to know whence she came. If they gave her this food and they seemed kin to her, perhaps it was safe to say. She pointed back the general direction she traveled.

The woman looked back at the others behind her, and then to her again. “Vino cu mine, copil.” she said taking her by the hand, leading her toward the camp.

All were silent and fixed on the engagement of the men and the visitors. Even she could sense the tension heavy upon them, but their countenances held stoically. Her escort came to one of the other women, also with dark hair braided down the length of her back. She knew they referred to her from the glances directed her way.

*The language used her is like bad Romanian that I intend to use as a basis for the Penumbra language. Haven't begun to create it, but know it's a place holder for now. So you aren't confused!

Transients: Blitz Pt.II

For a moment they stopped then began again, close by the mound he lay under. A voiceless shriek echoed through his mind and ran down his spine. What if they knew he still lived? Parts of him were likely exposed and he couldn’t hold his breath forever; in fact, less so in his condition. The more he thought of it and the close the scraping of metal on stone came, the tighter his chest became by the second.

Suddenly there was a skidding on cobble. Had they turned about abruptly? Which direction? Had they noticed? A flood of thoughts filled his head in an instant, but before he could act on any, the footsteps raced off until they disappeared. Balen exhaled and the weight of the bodies above became unbearable.

Fresh screams and battle went out toward the battlement. Taken this chance, Balen pulled his body out from the fresh corpses and floundered his way to the only escape left; a secret passage behind the kitchen. D’Minataur, the band which Balen belonged, made this fort their home some time ago and sniffed out all its secrets.

He nearly screamed like a girl when he heard racing down the corridor behind him. Other survivors like himself, faces he knew well.

His throat was parched as he tried to gulp down fresh air in relief. “Correnth, you live.” his hoarse breath croaked.

“We must give up this place. Now!” his friend trembled, eyes wide from terrors still fresh in his mind.

Not that they needed to tell him, why else would he be heading this way as well? He removed his hand from gape in his armor and their expressions stiffened and turned away.
“Come, we’ll patch you up once we reach the grotto.” Correnth insisted, the kind fool.
“He’ll slow us down!” growled one that looked as if one side his head had been painted red.

Balen threw off his brother’s hand, painfully pulling himself from the wall. “To hell with you. I can make—“

His words cut short before he even knew why. Something told him to move, now. Just as he shoved himself from the wall and into the torchlight before the next narrow hall, he saw it before anyone cried out. Already it had one of them dangling in its grasp, his body dropping to the ground. He but barely made out the lissome black limbs and glistening talons, a flash of yellow orbs as it tossed something to Correnth.

Such a shrill sound pierced Balen’s ears as he ran for dear life, not bothering to look back. One other shoved past him, but Correnth never made it, never screamed. He was sure it was the hairs of a head he caught in the flame’s light before darting away, so awfully sure.

Almost free, almost out, almost over. He noticed his pace was sluggish at this point and his knees about to give. Too much blood lost at this point, but he had to keep moving. Better to drop on your own terms, he told himself. He tore a makeshift banner some of the younger fellows made and shred a length. Should have done this with his tunic in the first. Binding it tight about his waist, he winced in pain as it clutched tight to the gash.

Exhausted from the slight exertion, he ducked into the mess hall and hugged tight to the corner, avoiding the open windows to the outer arcade. If there were more of them, the one in pursuit was not all he need be mindful of. About now would be around meal time. Not the best slop, but plenty of meat and barley to be had. Balen would be lucky to have any of it again if he survived this.

He could smell gruel still bubbling in the pot over the fire. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled as he took a step forward, causing him to swing around as his hand went for his empty scabbard. He had lost it when he fell from the window, nor could he find the dagger in his belt. By now he was wise to know the presence of these things, sniffing out fear. He saw no one across the long stretch of benches nor standing in the entrance whence he came.

Backwards Balen went into the kitchen and searched about for something sharp. Wasn’t hard, a cleaver left in a chunk of rump. With some form of defense he crept to the back of the pantry where he found the passage wide open. Doubtful he could blame them in their rush, but pursuers would certainly find it. Hypocritically, Balen had no time himself to close it, let alone the strength and clumsily made his way down crudely shaped stone steps.

Before even reaching the bottom, he froze yet again. This time the eyes upon him were evident. Slowly he turned with the cleaver tight in his sweaty grip to the white of his knuckles. The corner of his eye made out a form distinct over the darkness, human of shape though not in presence. What was clear as he came about face was what looked to be a mask; porcelain, feminine, like those in Isalmian festivals.

As it but barely started into motion, Balen was in flight. This was a game, a hunt. What if it was simply the bosses’ cleaning up the refuse, bringing in better fits? It all certainly seemed to match the rumors of how ruthless D’Minataur could be. His butcher’s knife seemed more like a child’s play stick at this point. As he bounded down to the bottom of the stairs, he slid off his feet at the sight greeting him below.

It was one of his brothers, the one that fled before him. Dead with a large whole in his back.

“You there!” a booming voice called out from down the torchlit alcove. Stern and commanding. Wyn, youngest of the brothers Song. “Fight, or die like the cowardly sworl before you.” he boomed, shouldered his large glaive. Even before him in scattered array were many others that had tried to desert.

Balen’s heart sunk into the depths of his stomach. Wyn earned the title “the golem” after taking a stone mallet of a barbarian to the chest, shattering it. He was trapped on either end and there were no words that could deliver him from either. Certain that every excuse must have been thought of by each that now lay dead, Balen searched in vain for another passage, something to hide away in and let the invaders and Wyn fight it out.

The shadow of his pursuer overshadowed Balen and his soul without his knowing, the same impassive masquerade mask bearing down on him. Only now he could see the eyes that burned liked white coals within the darkness. He could have sworn the lips cracked into a faint smile, but his fright drove him forward into a desperate plea of mercy from Wyn.

In an instant the thick golden brow of the man bunched in disgust, slamming his pole to the earth, splintering it. Balen fell to his face, prostrated and at his limit. “I assure you, these are not the best we have to offer. Dogs are good for the scraps, not the meal,” Wyn’s steely blue eyes then set upon the interloper, poised, but ready for anything. “I’ve heard rumors of you, not so different than ourselves. I take it you are from Ramone? He is one that doesn’t take rejection lightly,” A moment of silence passed to which Wyn grunted, shaking his head. “More dogs.” Then directed his attention to his subordinate.

It was all Balen could do to shift his eyes from the giant man’s perception. Much less he could barely keep his head raised. All he desired now was a warm bed to sleep this nightmare away; that small, creaking bed of his boyhood would do just fine.

“Serve me better in death than you did in life.” With that, Wyn thrust his hand toward Balen and the dying man knew what was to come. He had seen it enough.

A smoldering grew within him, incomparable to anything he had known. The masked assassin took notice as steam poured from Balen’s wound and his body began to swell and inflame, fluids oozing from every orifice.

Balen cried out as flames consumed his vision. All pain diminished in an instant. Emptiness remained in totality, there was some peace to be found at last.

Transients: Blitz Part I

Balen lunged his body against the unflinching furn door, adrenaline dulling his mortal wound. Exhausted, he slipped on his own issue of blood and collapsing against door face. The sounds of a siege not so far away now kept the sweat rolling thick down the gruff of his face, aside from the sun being at its height in Aral. He removed a bloodied hand to examine his wound again, a clean cut slicing through the leather cuirass’ stomach into his gut. He could feel the blood run steadily beneath his trousers, only made worse by reckless efforts.

It took great efforts to just undo the fastenings of his armor, the burning in his muscles making them the weight of lofty stones. For the first time in twenty-five years he thought of his parents. They always told him things would end up this way if he continued the ways of a brigand. How he would meet an early grave and they the ones to bury him. Well, they were dead now. Least he outdid that expectation. Anything was better than breaking your back on your own land to fill someone else’s stomach.

He had fallen from the parapet window as a force struck him at his center, only enough time to witness an obsidian blur streak past, Federic or his own cry ringing out. The fort’s only warning was a sentry shouting of a single armored outsider approaching the stockade before confusion within spread. Jarred to consciousness in the bailey below, the wailing of Balen’s band of brothers in his ears. Searching about for the invading force, all that could be seen were the rest of the gang rushed into the open with the same bewildered and panicked expression he wore.

Trying to gain his bearings, a small pool of his own blood started to form around him. Immediately his mind went blank and body grew numb. A strong pair of hands pulled him up just as the upper level exploded above their heads. Down again he went, flung to safety as he cursed in agony as his belly skidded the hard, uneven ground. Where some had charged for the gate quickly turned to meet the hail of fire that echoed a mile from Tres Valentes Hill.

Bodies were above and beneath the rubble, yet the screams kept sounding as their invisible enemy continued their rampage. One man called to the top of the guardhouse, but neither of the sentries were to be seen or heard. Balen crawled from the dust that had settle about him, tripping on rubble as he stooped. Now with only flight in mind, he pounded the cobblestone in retreat among those that flooded the gate to engage the decoy outside.

Just strides away from the old arched gate, the sun that beat down into the open area became radiant against the stone. A white light surged forth, even his brothers before him being consumed in it. The air stilled and staled as every hair on Balen’s body stood on end. A bolt of light shot through the guard tower in an instant; the booming thunder broke like a hundred cannons at once. Large stones blew apart from the mortar as if fabric being rent from the seams.

Balen only realized he had left the ground once he met it again with a crushing force as he tumbled into a pillar. He shielded his face as a hail of debris and wind stinking of ash blew over him. Deafened to his own moaning, it was only after the dust settled that he noticed the bodies scattered about the court. Some floundered, others lifeless, burned black while their souls escaped in vapors of their remains.

Magik, powerful magik too. Balen had only experienced it from the bosses, yet nothing like this. The sight of hens and cocks darting in every direction of their pen in vain to escape the neck ringing flooded to mind. At this point it seemed everyone had broken into retreat with no one to maintain order. Many fell from one side to another with execration and the bosses’ names last on their lips. Right when they needed them most, the duo had departed nary an hour ago.

Elder Toal and Younger Wyn Song, blood brothers that demanded unity and discipline even from ruffians and the worst of sellswords. It had all been a great opportunity when an acquaintance in the same line of work made a connection with the notorious band. Balen hadn’t been hungry since joining with them, but he had never had to work harder in his life. Rumor had it the brothers belonged to a society of assassins and were building their own branch as instructed by their brood. Now that Balen thought about it, the departure and attack couldn’t be coincidence.

This agent of death rode the wind, bodies falling round Balen, himself unflinching even as their warm entrails ran down his face. Soon only the crackling of scorched wood and stone were left to fill the heat of the day, an unease accompanying Balen’s battered state. He could hear through the ear planted to cobblestone the footsteps of the assailant. His breath cut short and only his heart pounded against his chest against the blood-soaked ground...

author=MadJak91
Oh! More like I am just surprised at what you are capable of!
All kinds of designs from demons to muscular giants!

Thanks! I love when people start talking to me with lore and stuff. Feels like I should know all that lmao but it is always interesting!

Since I've experimented with different styles more than developing one (intentionally), I can do a few variations and practice at others again. A lot of my ideas range from fantasy to modern, so keeping myself open to fitting themes is a must.

Well, I'm glad I don't bore you to death by talking about them lol! I tend to do that and people are nice enough not to say.

I've noticed I've skipped a few or blind while searching my gallery for certain pieces. If you don't have time to search out my DA, this makes it easy for you ;)

Lost Children Illustration B

A more manga-like shading style to this, though didn't quite know I was going for that when starting. I like building an atmosphere with as little color as possible for some odd reason, perhaps because mastering with color hasn't come so easily. Another though is minimalism can do some things full color cannot.
Still working towards it, but this is one attempt.

-NSFW Notice-
Somewhere Down the Crimson Sea, You and Me

Tried my hand at water/water effects. I did...better than expected, but more practice is in order.
And yes, that is supposed to be a tiny baby lol! Going into detail would depress as well as trigger some, but infant Sorrow never actually appears in Innocenza except briefly and possibly in flashbacks as far as planning things out.
Very much an illustrative piece as not a scene depiction.

Resurrection of Knight

One of a few pieces from Season of Endall, a short story and offshoot of Lost Children. I'll admit it has various influences that made me decide on doing something surreal and even a tad psychological.

I'll post new and finished works soon!

author=Luiishu535
Good stuff, mate. Reminds me of Castlevania and Persona a bit.

Why, thank you ^^ Awesome compliment, especially when going through an off-day haha