Lady Blade Gwuenevere - Updated for Artfight

Very late for Artfight, but here's updated art of Gwuenevere with her magic Thread and her Woven Blade.

Gwuenevere prepares an attack with a flourish of magical splendor. Sprouting from her fingers are thin thread, flowing together into long cords of crystalized ichor which is then molded into a blade. Woven by thousands of magical Threads, the blade takes on a piercing shape. Like that of a sewing needle, it displays an eye by which Gwuenevere's Thread flows through.

It seems to be made with precise attention, but it is short and deceptively brittle. While Gwuenevere 's Woven Blade does not cut well, it is made to puncture. To quickly dart and dig into the enemy's core and out again. The blade carries her Thread into their wounds, which its strands then burst into a painful cluster of metal crystals. With their interiors made from Gwuenevere's ichor, these crystals bleed themselves deeper and grow more of themselves from within. 

A devastating sight to witness. Yet many witless War-Fitted would find themselves bearing ichor scars from their battles with Gwuenevere. Some, if very unfortunate, would face their demise by her blade. Those crystals creep deep, damaging the integrity of one's ichor structure, leaving a wake of destruction that corrodes throughout. 

A ruination that finds no cure by any measure.

Hoping the worldbuilding pays off ahahh

 Writing Gwenny's backstory draft rough:

...But, alas, the thronewolf sensed something nearby and turned its massive mossy rusted head towards Gwenny and his curios. Gwenny ushered the curios on, led by another curio, and tried to distract the thronewolf from killing them and devouring their kernels, dooming the young to a final Death. Risking himself of grave injury, knowing the curios are scared and panicking, Gwenny unlatches his silver suppressor collar and summon forth magic.

As a fragile, especially an Apparel, Gwenny had to wear a suppressor to keep his magic from harming himself. It is common law in most kingdoms, though lingering rumors question its relevance and hindrance in the daily lives of fragilekind, especially in extreme circumstances as this. For the law demands that all fragiles must suppress, least they be a danger to themselves or to others. However, such a law implies that Gwenny should, in this situation, completely sacrifice himself to the beast to save the curios. Dying a violent true death with no hope of revival. To give the curios a briefest chance of escape.

Gwenny knew that the curios were still too far from the Abbey and his death will only satiate the thronewolf for only a moment. It is a large beast, possibly decades old, battle scarred, rotted, and rusted, hungry for ichor to repair its molding splintered wounds. Gathering his wits, with knowledge of both Calderian and Longermorian wildlife, Gwenny spurred forth fire from his hands. Ignoring the searing pain of the flames burning his fabric body, he forced fire onto the ground, allowing it to spread towards the beast. The thronewolf tried to plow forward through the flames, embers licking at its mossy head as it opens its great maw of rusted metal and molded wood. The beast lunged and Gwenny dodged, his right arm caught in the beast’s blackened jaw. Angry and hurt, Gwenny poured more power through his right arm straight into the beast’s cavernous body.

Screaming, Gwenny briefly feels a sudden burst of pain as his arm incinerates from this spell. As he grows weak, the thronewolf, finally realizing it met its match, released Gwenny in a panic as flames ate through its body. It turned to leave, but before it ran back into the forest deep, a blade soar through the air, stabbing deeply into its back. Another sword and another, and the beast fell. With one final living blade slicing off its head, the beast dies as its ichor retreats into a decaying withered kernel within its smoldering chest.

[Name], nobelhatched mage staff of the castle of this area containing the Abbey, swiftly puts out the flames before they can do anymore damage. But for Gwenny, as his vision fades, sees the anger of the staff as he stared at him. Gwenny knew, thoughts just barely coming through as his ichor retreats, that his actions cost him everything....

Another Smol writing thingy

Sharing this post from tumblr about my writing:

May, 2, 2022

I think one of the most creatively frustrating things about writing is that I have a really good emotional scene in my head that I want to put down on paper. But to get to that scene, I need to make context (worldbuilding, timeline, character behavior and arcs, etc) around it so that I understand what made that scene so important in my head. And it takes a while to get there and build up to it.

Maybe I should just write the scene down as-is without all the context or put more focus on the characters??

May, 22, 2022

So that little tidbit grew into several drafts that further developed some character and world-building stuff that I was stuck on for the past few months. Really proud of myself! It's still in my ultra super rough draft with 1001 grammar mistakes but I finally got it out of my system hah hah!

Also, note to self, make a map of the Realms now so you're not doing guesswork while writing!

Taken some screenshots of my super rough draft below with some world-building context notes! It's a bit long, lol. Quick CW for discrimination.

From my chapters super rough draft, Trial of the Century:

 Democritus ask Doomgreater what does that entail for her sentence. Death by magical burnout. Gwuenevere will be forced to burn through her own magic until it consumes her, then when she is revived, she will remember the pain and horror of it all. According to her records, she never faced death. It will be her first, a dose of reality to shock her. Gwuenevere speaks up, telling everyone that she had already faced that reality months ago when she tried her first spell. While she did not die, that experience only taught her about her limitations back then. It never convinced her to fear magic, only to respect it and learn more about it. Doomgreater’s punishment will only solidify her convictions. She will not be driven by fear. She knows exactly what she is doing with her powers and she will understand them to the fullest no matter how many times she die. She will not be restrained by fear.

Democritus moves. 

A massive metal fist slams directly in front of Gwuenevere, cracking the marble below. While Luther is taken aback by this, backpedaling away from Democritus, Gwuenevere only made a small flinch at it. Then she looks up at the massive war-torch metaiudex. Democritus ask her if she fears them. She shrugs, of course she does. She spent this entire trial and investigation afraid of how she would be sentenced by them. But she is willing to face it. It’s her trial and they are the judge. Democritus looks at her thoughtfully. She is a foolish object. The laws are there to protect her, yet she still wants to pursue magic? Why? Is her life as a mere altrix enough?

(Gwuenevere is judged by Democritus for practicing magic as a fragile object. Gwuenevere (cloak) uses she/her, Democritus (Metaiudex monolith war-torch) uses they/them, Doomgreater (war wrecking ball) uses he/him/Greater, Luther (broadsword) uses he/him)

For some context in this segment, fragile objects are more vulnerable to damage, both from their environment and from their own magic. Due to this, all fragile objects must wear a magical suppressor to keep their internal magic at low levels. The suppressor must be worn at all times and for the remainder of their lives. However, Gwuenevere found a way to overcome this after experiencing an accident that nearly killed her. This discovery paved the way for her to develop semi-permanent core strengthening techniques. This also later enabled her to practice magic with spells that would have killed her.

In the Mundane Realm, fragiles are by law never to practice magic. If their kingdom allows it, low-level magic may be allowed, but higher levels are not permitted. These restrictions were put in place centuries ago after the Relic Wars, a war between Relickind over who controls the living objects in the Mundane Realm. After the war, objectkind won their independence from Relickind, but suffered the loss of many object groups, including the extinction of living weapons. To ensure the survival of objectkind, all surviving kingdoms after the war must make sure that all objects yield multiple kernels at the end of their lives. Basically, the longer the object lives, the more kernels they yield at the time of their true death. Dying too early will only yield one kernel, but dying at the end of their lives will yield multiple.

Centuries later, the Mundane Realm is populated by a mixture of hardy and fragile objects. All hardy objects are given priority to materials for revival and repairs. This is because most hardy objects would become refits, replacing the extinct living weapons and other rare hardy objects that died out centuries ago. Refitted objects are living objects with modified cores that are stronger and more durable than other non-refitted objects. Both non-refitted and refitted hardy objects has plenty of freedom in their kingdoms. From the multitude of careers and public offices to serving as a war-object, hardy objects are given vast advantages due to their greater durability and prominence in society.

From my chapter super rough draft, Amelia's Draft: 

But, Amelia continues, it’s something they needed, right? Gwuenevere shakes her head. No. She found ways to protect herself from her own magic, so much so that she has no need of a suppressor. She will not be forced to give up. Amelia is shocked by Gwuenevere’s passion. They wish they still have it, but doing so now... They stop. Amelia realized what had happened to them. They were trained to be afraid of their own power. Magic is dangerous to fragile objects, but Gwuenevere’s discoveries would change everything. They need not to be afraid anymore. Amelia gives Gwuenevere their support and promise that they will keep her discoveries a secret.

While these restrictions were once created for good centuries ago, they later fostered negative stereotypes about fragile objects. Many hardy objects see fragiles as physically and mentally weak, requiring brave hardies to defend them from the horrors of wars. Some hardy objects also think that fragiles are not capable of much due to their lack of magical education. Fragiles were seen as “in the way”, weak, feeble, broken (for low durability objects made of soft or brittle wood, stone, or metal), and vapid. They are taught to fear their magical potential by their kingdoms, the hardy objects further reinforce this point of view.

The old restrictions still controlling fragile object lives are the following:

For the entirety of their lives, Fragiles must wear a magical suppressor to keep their magic under control to prevent damage to their cores, while hardy objects don’t need to wear a suppressor to stop their magic from damaging their cores.

Fragiles must work “safe jobs” including recordkeeping, becoming an altrix of an abbey, serving certain low-risk establishments, etc. Any job that is deemed too rough for a fragile is not permitted. This includes any public office, as it is a requirement that a hardy object must have some experience as a war object to participate in politics. Not all safe jobs are the same in each kingdom. One job that is considered safe might be declared unsafe in another kingdom.

Fragiles are permitted for low-level magic for basic needs, but cannot pursue higher feats of magic. Hardy objects have the freedom to move up in their magical education and pursue magical careers.

Fragiles must stay in the villages of their home kingdoms of their hatching unless evacuations are in order. Travel is deemed a hazard for many fragile objects by many kingdoms. Hardy objects have freedom of movement between villages and kingdoms at any time.

 

 
 

Gwuenevere and her First Spell

 

A short mini-comic about Gwuenevere casting her first spell at 32. It did not go well. 

Ink and ink wash for the majority of this sketch. Acrylic paint and ink for the crystal.

 

And a special blurb that inspired this below! Warning, it's a bit rough, so mispellings and typos abound! CW for self-injury, body horror, and near-death.

Old stomping grounds

 Well...

 

....it's been a while since I been here and I am surprised that a few posts are still getting views on here.

Anyway, since I left Twitter (for personal reasons I will not mention here), I also gave up a platform for posting my rough sketches. I like posting on Tumblr, but I like to spread out my content on different platforms. DA, Insta, and my portfolio are mostly for my finished completed work or polished sketches.

So, maybe a possible revival here??? Just for the sketches?

Anyway, here's something I have done recently. I'm writing an objectshow comic about living object people living in a fantasy world. Here's the carrd for one of my stories set within it: Rise of Relics! Also, if you are wondering what the "Not for the use of NFTs" watermark is for: it's to hopefully slow the scrapping of my art by nft art thieves.  

 I do not support nfts nor have any intention to create or profit off them. 

So yeah, enjoy my art! You can find me on other places, too! Check my about me page for more information!

Blogger, Nooo!.....and some old written works.

I'm having some technical difficulties involving the picture upload on blogger. So this means no sketches for Wednesday. Instead, I'll entertain you with some (possibly bad) old written works of mine.

Thoughts on Johnovia is a series of short stories and letters written last year when I first thought of making a comic based on my imagination.  They were meant to help me develop the world of Johnovia and its characters.  Any idea that popped up during the time I wrote this was jotted down without a second thought, so be prepared, the grammar and pacing is a little weird in this narrative:

Thoughts on Johnovia^©

Ideas by Amari Harkness

Onundav, 3^rd , 5009

            Journal of Krillvony…

            So, here I am, looking over the lands that once were a great mighty planet kingdom…or pieces of it. Hey, all the other kingdoms and realms would be so jealous of her blessings: the abundance of forests and creatures, the clear light purple sky and blue clouds, perfect weather year round, and so much land and water. Now, Johnovia is just a tragic victim of a Dilyefilla gone astray from its distant home, the Outer Walls.

There is only one muliverse, an enormous universe with many little universes inside of it, in existence. Our muliverse, Engu. Surrounding Engu, there is Chaos, or the Johnovians call their creator god, AllTime. Keeping Engu safe from the randomness and the chaotic nature of AllTime is the Outer Walls. Within the Outer Walls is the Inner Walls. Within the Inner Walls are universes, realms, and worlds; the Inner Walls keeps them safe from the Outer Walls' vacuum… normally.

The people of Johnovia didn't know about the Dilyefilla, the Inner or Outer Walls. They didn't know that once every hundred years or so Dilyefilli, fragments of AllTime's power or pure chaotic matter, would break out from the Outer Walls and into the Inner Walls of time and space. And from there, one or two or maybe even twenty Dilyefilli passes by their opposites, the Illifeylid, and make their way into the universes in the Inner Walls. One just happens to hit Johnovia's universe. This sort of event is completely unpredictable, even the priests of AllTime wouldn't see it coming. Johnovia didn't see it coming.

What are even more unpredictable are the effects of the impact or the entry of a Dilyefilla. Anything can happen when it made close enough to a universe, from changing the universe's natural laws to transforming the organic inhabitants into solid metal or liquid. Sometimes if two Dilyefilli hit a universe simultaneously, they turn it inside out, hurling any living and nonliving thing in to the mercy of the Illifeylid of the Inner Walls. In Johnovia's case, the Dilyefilla entered the universe without doing anything harmful at all until it hits a planet or a star.

Johnovia was so lucky that AllTime made it a utopian planet that lasted for billions and millions of years, yet so unlucky to be in the path of the most random and destructive force in the entire Engu… it makes me wonder, why? The Johnovians had great faith in AllTime, they conquered planets and realms in his name, discovered new technologies and cures, built an empire spading several hundred dimensions, and they gave all the credit to Him. But, why did AllTime allow the destruction of Johnovia?

Sigh, maybe He got tired of them or left them. Or He stayed and watched them suffer.

…

Or maybe He gave them a challenge, a challenge that if they make out of this alive…maybe if they are still alive…or even still exist…

I-I don't know. Silly idea. There is no way they're still alive. Then again, I might be wrong…

END
........

This short story was for an assignment for a British literature class in high school...I really don't know what it has to do with British literature but it's about my characters in Johnovia. Once agian, beware of weird writting:

Ashan, my Guardian

I was sleeping, turning, trying to find a soft spot, sleeping, turning again, searching again, sleeping again, and then I turned…..again. I heard a sigh and I pushed back the soft green and white covers from my face. There he is, standing in the middle of my messy room with his large gold and silver wings folded and his twitching tail behind him. Angelian, he is, part human and part angel born in Dimension 444.23pi42 (Dimensionnos Drajazra). He was raised by Archangel Gabriel in my universe, according to my imagination. He wore a long white robe with silver angelic symbol on the sleeves, brown ancient sandals, and with a great blue and silver sword by his left side. He looks elfish with his long oval face, pointed ears, and golden hair growing past his shoulders and-

            “Legacy, why are you staring at me?” said the Angelian as he turns to face me, smiled, and put his hands around his face.

            He interrupted my thoughts.

            “You like my golden hair and long oval face?”

            “Stop reading my mind, Ashan!” I scream in my thoughts, “I’m sorry, but it’s annoying when you do that!”

“It’s annoying when you stare at me.” He said as he sat on an old chair facing me, “Why can’t you wait ‘til morning to observe me while I am at the Cathedral.”

            One of my alternate selves in my imagination, the Cathedral, is the secondary life source of all the imaginary creatures of my mind; by theory, if I go, she stays. The Cathedral is a large multi-dimensional marble tower that is a place of worship to our God and King, a theater and a concert hall, and a city-in-a-building. She continuously grows from Johnovia, my world/universe, to space and to a bunch of other places I wish I can name but I can’t because certain parts of my mind are undiscovered.

            “What is she up to now?” I asked as I sat up in my bed, tired and groggy. The Cathedral has a mind of her own and can cause much trouble and chaos if Ashan of I don’t keep watch over her. She loves to mess with people’s minds and lives. Like a few months ago, four or six human troops came out of a star portal the Cathedral created. She let them wonder around in her chambers a bit, then, just when the humans thought it was safe, she ‘pretended’ to crush them, cave in on them, and destroys the star portal. Fortunately, Ashan was patrolling in the Cathedral and heard the panicky screams from the humans. To make a long story short, he was able to save them and I sent them back home.

            “Well, it’s not the star portal thing, again.” Ashan said; he was reading my mind again. “It’s our sons. They asked her to create a separate enchanted forest haven for a family of European Unicorns so they won't live in fear of the centaurs of the Vadrodrean kingdom. The Cathedral won’t obey them. She said ‘They be young to order me around’.”

            “WHAT!” I scream in my mind again. As I repeated the word over and over again, my messy room stretched and whirled and grew dark and gray. The walls became stone and my bed became a nest of dead tree branches, giant leaves, and with small pieces of shiny objects in between. The green carpet transformed into a sea of small pebbles. My dresser, TV, DirecTV, PS2, mirror, and all the things of my normal human life disappeared and in their place were slabs of stone and marble. My messy room transformed into a cave.

I, too, also changed. My neck grew long and thick and my hair morphed into giant heavy purple scales. My face grew long and I grew four horns on my nose. My arms and legs stretched and become covered with dark blue scales. My hands and feet became talons with great hard nails. I grew light blue horns, black spikes, purple feathered wings, and a long brown tail with feathers at the end.

 In my world, I am a Great Horned Dragon, a beautiful bronze and metallic purple creature designed for speed on land and in air, telepathic communication, space, time, and dimensional travel, and an eye for art. An amazing creature I would be, except for my temper.

Anger drove me into a mad dash to the Cathedral. Furious, I jumped out of my cave and I flew as fast as I could, tearing every bird or other flying creature in my path. Now you’ve done it, Cathedral!! Nobody disobeys the Guardian’s family, I thought in my fuming mind, NOBODY, NOT EVEN THE CATHEDRAL!! Suddenly, I stopped. I hung there in the air and thought, what in the Davy Jone’s Locker am I doing? What have I become? I can’t be like this with murderous rage……

Legacy……

It be a voice?

Legacy……

It is a voice.

Legacy……it’s me, Ashan……

And it’s coming from my back.

It’s ok……don’t let the anger control you……

I forgot that he be a rider, a dragon rider.

Legacy……Land

I landed in a field of Mallengrol, pretty flowers with nine white petals and nine green leaves. They smell like cinnamon and apples. They taste like cinnamon apple pie. After I landed, I made a heavy dragon sigh and I lay down on the flowers. I stretched out my wings by my side. I felt Ashan descend from my back. When he came to face me, his hair was a mess, his robe was torn one side, and he was missing his sword. I made another sigh and said “I’m sorry, Ashan.”

He just looked at me and said nothing.

“I don’t know what came over me.” I continued.

Then Ashan turned away and I saw his wings covered in twigs, dirt, and pebbles. I think he tried to stop me from going, but only get dragged out of the cave and crashed against some trees. He turned around again, walked towards me, and he put his hand on my cheek and smiled. Then he hugged my neck, or at least tried to, since my dragon neck was so thick and scaly.

“It’s ok.” He said calmly. “It’s ok, Legacy, I forgive you. It will take more than a crash course to kill me and I love you too much to be angry at you.”

I was confused and said “But the murderous rage and the screaming and the-”

“No, no, I’m not worried about that.” He said. “I love you too much.”

“Love,” I said, understanding. “Even when I had done this to you, you still love me.”

I turn back into my human form and I hugged Ashan. . What a loving and caring Angelian! He still loves me in spite of what had happened. The dirt on his robe rubbed onto my clothes but I didn’t mind, love is more important.

“Let us go to the Cathedral together.” said Ashan.

“And give her a piece of our mind?” I said.

“Yeah, that too.” He said.

END