New Image Game

[Quackhell]

9 minutes ago, Michael Struck said:

Thanks, Quackhell, for the conversion, and Stanley Teriaca, for the info.

 

No problem. Glad to be of help.

[Stanley Teriaca]

4 hours ago, Michael Struck said:

Thanks, Quackhell, for the conversion, and Stanley Teriaca, for the info.

Wish I was more help.

[DentArthurDent]

Jen.

 

Her full name is Jennifer 6-100417.

She is a genetically enhanced clone, originally assigned to the off world slave mines. She managed to escape and hid in the under-city vaporator tunnels. She was soon found by a group of escapees, most of whom were missing limbs or organs. Various mechanical and crystalline devices had been implanted in place of the missing body parts.

 

Several days later she awoke in an off-grid laboratory, bolted onto an operating table. A small team of bio-engineers used the lab to experiment on illegal cybernetic implants. Jen’s hands and forearms were replaced. The implants included industrial strength manipulators, universal computer interfaces, and laser cutters and dazzlers.

 

Before the electroptical nerve patches were completely healed, a group of slave-soldiers guarding the mines staged a revolt. Twenty-three people were killed and Jen escaped in the confusion. The nerve patches never completely healed and periodically Jen suffers intense pain throughout her arms and shoulders.

[Michael Struck]

My thanks to everyone who played; all the entries were good, but I'm calling @Stanley Teriaca the winner. 🙂

[Stanley Teriaca]

Ok. What is this fuzzy flying cyclops?

[Michael Struck]

Poor Jimmy Smithson. He'd always had an incredible imagination (think Calvin of "Calvin and Hobbes"). Jimmy's imaginary adventures usually involved him turning into something; a T. Rex, a lion, a shark. Anything that could get rid of poeple he didn't like.
So it went for a goodly while. And then his grandfather played a song for him. A hit from 1958, A "novelty song".
"The Purple People Eater" by Sheb Wooley.
Fascinated and scared in more-or-less equal measure, Jimmy Smithson could not get the song out of his head. Too bad he missed the part that goes:
"I said Mr Purple People Eater what's your line
He said eating purple people and it sure is fine"
That is to say, the line that says most people are in no danger. Unfortunately, all Jimmy noticed was "people eater."
More unfortunate was Jimmy's powerful imagination.
Most unfortunate is that Jimmy had a mutation. A mutation that could make his day-dreams come true.

His violent day-dreams.

[Duke Bushido]

On 9/25/2024 at 7:09 PM, Stanley Teriaca said:

Ok. What is this fuzzy flying cyclops?

 

 

Cornelius surveyed the scene below.  There were easily forty armed soldiers, several of which appeared to have had actual training and were outfitted with expensive weapons and metal armor.  That wasn't so bad; he could hide out here in this cave, well above the field filled with soldiers, and none would be the wiser.  At least, none would be the wiser if his camouflage spell had held.  For some reason, it had simply winked out of existence, its energy no longer palpable, and the cave up here was now clearly visible to any who cared to look up.  Of course, these men would look up.  Maybe not immediately, but eventually.  After all, Cornelius  Havermeade was a wanted man, and the soldiers in the field below wanted him very badly, and the king of Teleraiz had sent men practically assured to find him.

Cornelius Havermeade-- "the Shadow" in certain whispered conversations in back alleys and taverns of ill repute: the Shadow; the uncatchable sneakthief so skilled and with a touch so ephemeral that not even the members of the Thieves Guild had been able to meet their promise to end his unlicensed string of successful and high-profile thefts.  "No," chuckled Cornelius to himself.  "No; the Shadow is a force of nature, an unstoppable thing!  None would ever catch him.

 

That was all well and good-- the Shadow might be a truly intangible nightmare, but Cornelius Havermeade was flesh and blood, and with his hiding place open to scrutiny, he may become the first shadow to be treated to the gallows.

 

How had the magic failed?  He had been so _careful_.  He was _always_ careful.  Cornelius had no magical aptitude of his own, no matter how hard he tried.  He had spent two fortunes on buying apprenticeships to a number of mages (fortunately neither fortune was his), but always to no avail.  Pity.  Magic was such a _perfect_ aide to his chosen profession.  Still, personal ability was not the only source of magic.  Enchanted items and wands and rods and potions abound, and with careful planning and careful purchase, one could find himself nearly equal to any of the king's elderly spell slingers.

 

The men in the meadow below stirring toward their horses brought the desperation of his situation back to mind.  They had finished breaking camp and were looking to resume their hunt.  He had planned to simply lose them in the wood, make his way to this cave halfway up a steep stone face, and seal himself from prying eyes with a simple spell applied by his rod of camouflage.  He knew it still contained significant magical power, and he had repeated faithfully and perfectly the ritual that restored it to full potency.  At its most powerful, casting the camouflage spell upon a herd of spooked horses would allow them to race through the busiest marketplace in any kingdom completely undetected.  Obscuring a split in a rocky bluff should be no trouble at all.  Still, no one seemed to have noticed his cave just yet....

 

He picked up the rod of camouflage-- literally a short bough from an elm tree, leaves still affixed to its branches, concentrated upon the opening to the cave, chanted the incantation that would activate the spell placed inside the branch, and began to ceremoniously pass it top-down through the air in front of the cave mouth, touching the topmost point, and slowly tracing this way downward until the leaves brushed the sand and wind-blown detritus on the floor of the cave.  The air shimmered as through radiating great heat, the view of the cave's interior began to distort and the stony cliff face on either side seemed to draw closed like heavy drapes---

 

and then nothing.  The shimmer stopped; the stone remained where it had always been.  Cornelius watched in shock and dismay as the soft green leaves upon the branches drew upon themselves, turned brown and brittle, and broke apart into dry shards, rattled away down the cliff by the morning breeze.  The limb itself was lighter, dried out, and the bark ill-fitting.  Astounded, Cornelius tried to remember having ever heard of anything like this.  He had paid top dollar for that rod, and under the guise of an honest man, to boot!  He had been using it for years now, and never failed to obey all the rituals to maintain and refresh the rod so that it was always in perfect preparedness.  Yet now it was before him as useless and any six-year-old elm limb might be.  

 

Curious, he fished in one of his tunic's many hidden pockets and fumbled his lens to his left eye.  He rang the edge of the monocle with a sharp snap and thump of the nail of his index finger, and for the briefest moment a tiny crystalline hum floated on the air, too delicate to survive even the gentle morning breeze, and the glass came to life.  Cornelius could see the signs of magic inside the cave, illuminated in his view by the magic of the monocle (one of the first and most favored of his prizes; the ability to actually _see_ the magic in an item saved a considerable amount of searching for hidden cabinets and such).  He knew the large glow behind the wall was the small collection of magical supplies he had brought for this job, then he noticed the softer, nearly non-existent illumination deeper in the cave itself (which had been how he had located this cave late yesterday-- the magic signature piqued his curiosity enough to take a chance on investigation even while he knew the king's men were at his heels).  He made a second reminder to himself to explore deeper into the cave to see what that was all about.  Even if the cave were merely home to mana stream, he could use it to make his items incalculably more powerful-- perhaps even find other ways to profit from such a thing.

 

Now he was busy, though, and he was deeply perplexed.  Even through the glass, the dead and half-rotten elm limb at his feet was a dead and half-rotten elm limb; there was no trace of the magic that once flowed through it.  He was not going to get himself hidden using that.  Moreover, he had no additional draughts of invisibility: he had used all six of them sneaking into and out of the king's armory three days prior.  Were it not for a particularly tenacious hound, he might not have ever been found out, but the hound had his scent, and had wounded him, and the blood showed where his boots left tracks and eventually, the guard was upon him.  He hadn't stopped running yet, though he had slowed enough to steal a horse and, in case it should help, give it the last two draughts of invisibility.   It was a brilliant (if expensive) idea, and if it hadn't been for the hounds already having his scent.....

 

The cliff face was too bare, too exposed.  At this distance, he would be seen scaling down the stony escarpment to the woods and his now partially-visible horse below.  If he did not move, they would surely find the cave and dispatch at least one man to investigate, and likely two should an alarm need to be raised.  He began to recall his entire inventory, magical and otherwise, and tried to formulate a plan.  He had a wood and brass knob for a wizard's cabinet.  He had a charm of animal totem that would let him change shape once, assuming he could find some hair or feathers or something to use with it.  Surely some forest cat had holed up in this cave at some time or other....

 

He had a ring of featherfall and four wands of fireball.  He had two potions of restoration, a pair of giant's form bracers and a spell carefully torn from a grimoire that would grant him the ability to fly for a limited time.  Not much to work with, but he decided to search the cave carefully for any sort of animal hair or feathers he might turn up.  He knew that even were he fortunate enough to find an entire bear's pelt, he couldn't simply carry off his supplies and his ill-gotten gains.  It wasn't even a matter of strength.  It was a matter of "hey, look at that crazy bear!  He's got sacks full of clothes and supplies and all the missing treasure we have been dispatched to retrieve.  Say, that seems kind of suspicious when said aloud, doesn't it?"

 

Well, so long as he kept the knob, he could always use the wizard's cabinet and return for this loot at a later time.  Carefully he fished the small knob from his pack and cleaned it up.  He buffed it twice upon each side of his tunic, then upon the three sacks of loot and supplies he wished to hide.  He picked up the first sack, pressed the knob to the stone of the cave, and carefully pushed the sack into the stone wall, steadily pushing and tucking in the folds and corners of the sack until it was completely sealed within the wall.  He did the same with the second sack.  The third sack he picked through, pulling out a few items that might come in handy before this sack, too, was pushed into the wizard's cabinet.  Fearful of having the cabinet taken from him should he be captured (even if they did not know what it was, the odds are that he would never see it again), he put the round and polished knob into his mouth and swallowed hard.

 

He touched the totem of animal charm around his neck and for some reason felt relief that it was still there, even though he didn't so much as bathe without it on.  He worried it absently with his fingers, preparing it for use even has he cast about for something with which he could activate the change.  No luck so far, though.  All he could see of animals were hundreds of little... bugs?

 

That was it, then.  He was going to have to fight his way out.  He scooped up his wands of fireball and got his hand bit for his trouble.  He took a closer look (he really didn't dare to move closer to the opening of the cave, where the lighting was better, but the odds of being spotted were absolute) and noticed more of the strange beetles crawling about on the wands.  They were on all of his stuff.  He kicked his stuff, scattering it slightly, but hoping to dislodge the beetles.  he sucked the first joint of the finger that had been bitten and tasted blood.  He kicked his stuff about twice more before stopping to collect it.  Then he saw the flash.

 

it was small-- brighter than flashpaper, nearly as brilliant as a white coal, but very small, like the flame of a candle before finally guttering out.  Then there was another, this one more in his field of view.  It was close to the floor-- on the floor, really.  Then another, shooting out from the stone wall before him.  

 

This was new.  Carefully, he drew one of his wands of fireball, unsure what he was going to find.  Then he fished his monocle back from his tunic and put it to his eye.  What he saw confused him at first-- two dozen little lights crawling across the floor-- magical energy.  There were eight or nine more drifting up the cave walls-- oh no....

 

He looked at the wand in his hand.  There was no light.  He grabbed the others, seeing that only two showed any magic at all, and he was again bitten for his trouble.  Angrily he smacked the wands against the cave wall and heard the crush of chitin---

 

Thaumapahges!  Oh Gods, no!  The magic he had detected deep within the cave?  Thaumaphages!  Apparently a whole colony of them!  strange creatures for whom magic was a necessary part of their diet, able to literally _eat_ the magic from any enchanted item (and, rumor had it, in large enough numbers, from any wizard unlucky enough to find himself amongst a horde of them).  His mind raced as he tried to assess the damage to his wands of fireball   Two were completely dead, and the other two were very weak.  The tiny sparks shooting through the cave-- that was the damned Thaumaphages!  In addition to growing larger, they would temporarily manifest whatever ability was granted by the magic they consumed.  Every time he moved he would startle the creatures, and the would discharge fireballs scaled to their size as a defensive measure of a sort.

 

One, maybe two good fireballs left.  The odds of fighting his way out of the cave suddenly looked even bleaker than they did earlier.  He cast his eyes about again, desperate for any sort of trace of animal-- preferably one that could fly, given the presence of these accursed thaumaphages!  He swatted one from his shoulder and felt a tiny blast of flame blister his cheek.

 

Maybe he could make a better showing of himself.  He still had the bracers.  Nothing would even the odds like twenty-four foot colossus armed with wands of fireball!  He tore his tunic free to expose his upper body so that he might strike the bracers together.  He bought his arms swinging across his body, striking the bracers one against the other--

 

except there was no familiar metallic clang.  There was no ripple of light spreading throughout his body--  

 

Instead, there was a crack, then a tiny gout of flame, then a ripple of light that grew between his forearms, so bright as to make him step back and shield his eyes and even with his dazzled eyes, he could make out the silhouette of what must surely be the largest thaumaphage ever to exist-- caught up in the magic of the bracers even as it dined upon them, stood a ridiculous looking creature, a single eye in a gigantic head whose whole purpose was to house a far-too-large mouth with far too many teeth.  It drooled slightly as it looked at him, and for a moment, Cornelius could swear he saw it smile....  Then it chewed.  Then it smiled.  Then it chewed some more.

 

"To the Hells with all of this!  I will choose my battles, and this one is not one for which I will make a stand!"  He fished under the wrist strap of the bracers for the tiny scrap of paper he knew was hidden there, and his heart sank when he could not find it.  Eyes wide, nearly dry, in abject terror, he listened to the smacking chewing noises of the three-foot-tall monstrosity standing before him.  It stood there, eyeing him with that same hungry, slack-jawed toothy grin.  Cornelius felt the blood drain from him as the creature's saliva carried a small heavily-masticated scrap of paper from its mouth and down its face.  He realized there was no way out when the creature began to shake and bob rapidly up and down and grunt unhappily as it sprouted a pair of ridiculously undersized bat wings....

 

"Not today, foul thing!"  Cornelius bellowed, deciding to take his chances with the king's men who he could even now hear milling about the base of the escarpment.  He ran and dove over the massive thaumaphage, the muscular power of sheer terror carrying him well-clear of the cave entrance.  Hands before himself as he fell, his right hand pinched the ring of featherfall on his left index finger and twisted it.  There almost wasn't enough time for him to fully appreciate the horror of the situation as he leapt head-first an easy seventy feet to the broken rock piled below, or to understand the significance of the ring crumbling to bits of dried and paper-thin flecks of leather....

 

Almost.

 

 

Edited September 27 by Duke Bushido

[Quackhell]

Grakzlfizzztk is a chaos imp first summoned to this plane of existence by Eishexe(Ice Witch) in 1940 to aid Germany in the war. It wrecked havoc on the Allies, particularly the RAF, causing a wide variety of malfunctions in aircraft. It's activities were attributed to the mythical gremlins. Quickly Eishexe lost control of the imp as it began afflicting damage to both sides in the conflict. It was thought to be banished by British hero Airacobra when she defeated Eishexe in battle.

 

That was not the last trouble caused by the creature as it reappeared in the 70s in the UK under the sway of Father Fear and Mother Motherless of the Church of Unholy Agony. This time it was used to manifest fear and terror. Fortunately young mage Kiera Knightsbridge was able to foil the schemes of the Church and once again banish Grakzlfizzztk.

 

Recently it was bound amongst other mystical creatures in a spell by wizard Desmond Dark to use the combined mystical energy to create the Ebon Gate. It took the combined efforts of the Convocation in Light to break the spell. Now freed Grakzlfizzztk was adopted by Desmond's daughter Dahlia Dark who has tamed it as her familiar...or so she thinks.

[Stanley Teriaca]

I'm going to go give it to @Duke Bushido. Duke thought outside the box.

 

So Duke has the next picture.

[Duke Bushido]

My apologies, Stanley.  As much as I would love to, I have too much going on right now.  I am sure you are all familiar with the almoay unprecedented path of hurricane Helene.  The path took it dirwctly through Vidalia.   We lost everything.  House.  Truck.  Five of my bikes.  The only things surviving  are my favorite Valk, four project bikes (non-runners) and the wife's now-severely-battered Suburban.

 

 

Thank you for the vote, but I just wont be online regularly enough to participate.

 

I am sorry,

 

 

[Stanley Teriaca]

Whoever post anew image gets Duke's slot.

[Duke Bushido]

Reckon nobody wants it, so let's try something else a little different:

 

 

[Stanley Teriaca]

This is The Fingerpaint Angle. It was originally a fingerpaint drawing created by a young child who was killed in a superfight. Now the Angle appears when it senses a fight and does all it can to stop the fight before it gets out of hand.

[LoneWolf]

This is the Red Hand of Death.  The Red Hand of Death is a magical entity that possesses innocent children in order to further its mysterious goals.  The child shows no sign of being possessed until it encounters its target.   Once it finds the target the child will touch its target which causes the target to die, leaving a bloody handprint where it was touched.  After the target dies the Red Hand of Death possesses a new host seeking a new target. 

 

Many of the targets of the Red Hand of Death are those who have harmed or otherwise abused the innocent especially children.  Some suspect that the Red Hand of Death may be an angle that is charged with protecting the innocent.      

 

I tried to come up with something less morbid, but the red hand looks to creepy.  
 

[Quackhell]

Excerpt from Tales of Artisia by Reinhold Halifax:

 

The small village of Craftsburg enjoyed a joyous and prosperous time under the leadership of the magnanimous Mayor Margaritte Macramé. However dark times arrived in the person of Papermeister Gaston Glu and his paper mill. Glu began ravaging the resources and gutting the land while poisoning the air with foul pollution. Macramé would then fall ill under mysterious circumstances and all looked lost for the future of Craftsburg until an unlikely hero emerged.

 

Pascal Piedbleu was a humble young man whose joy was painting. Seeing the townsfolk he loved suffering his art began taking a darker tone as his spirit lowered. However an image kept appearing in his head over and over. He became obsessed with capturing the perfect representation of the image burned into his dreams and nightmares. Finally the day came when he did it. As he laid his brush down the bright red image seemed to flow and move and then lept from the canvas. It enveloped Pascal and at first he was terrified, but his fear turned into a feeling of power and of hope. That day Craftsburg had a hero...La Main Rouge was born.