I've been busy yesterday spending a lot of time on one picture, but I am quite happy with it. The character might seem new, but in fact he's not, he's a redesign of one of my (very) old characters, Crossgeir. There's a whole new story I thought up to involve this character, but I am yet in the beginning stages of thinking how to do it. I want to make a comic, sort of, but I generally hate doing comics (I know right, I'm terrible at deciding what I want to do). But if it is going to be a "comic", it's most likely going to be a picture story, a little less borders around my panels if you know what I mean, a more freeform approach to what a comic can be.
In this picture, Crossgeir seems stuck against a wall, and spending ages on this picture has inspired me to write a little bit about it. (Click to enlarge the picture and see it in full detail :) )
The stabbing pain got worse as Crossgeir slumped against the wall, the wound in his side bleeding profusely. But he couldn't focus on it now, not while he was still in danger. Why oh why had he let himself chased into this corner? It had all seemed so easy to start with; take away those things people held dear, improve yourself, save a species... so easy, but he had started to doubt it slowly but surely. Over the months his former self had started to disintegrate, make place for a new man, reborn from his own ashes. Though instead of it feeling liberating, it had caught him and thrown him into a cage made of his own memories. Had it been the right thing to do? As he had shed his protective armour bit by bit, he had also shed his ignorance. But the armour had still protected him, meaning that now it was gone, he was vurnerable in the big scary world. He had been on the run for... he couldn't remember how long. But he knew he was hungry, thirsty and in pain. His muscles were tired but the adrenalin made him forget all about it, made him poised to strike, once more, to survive.
He slumped down a little further, winding the small necklace around his fingers just a little thighter as he clutched onto his trusty gauss rifle, the only thing to keep him alive if it came to it. The blood from his wound started to run down his tail and onto the concrete ground, turning the weeds growing there red. And as if matters couldn't get any worse, his nose had started to bleed because of the pressure and the fine sand he had been inhaling. He gritted his teeth, breathing in and out so aware of his own heartbeat, if he had to die, so be it, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. Another part of him screamed to survive, because he knew he had to change people's minds, go back and put an end to this all. But he was a criminal himself, an outlaw and hunted for his head, so getting back wouldn't be easy.
He squeezed the handle of his gun a little thighter and prepared for it, hearing the footsteps now and a shadow appearing in the doorway, black against the yellow light of the setting sun. An abandoned factory wasn't a pretty place to die, but at least he would have a last look at the sun, how wonderful she had been to him, how forgiving. The footsteps were too near now, it was time. Crossgeir threw himself into the blinding light, his tail and legs dragging behind him, more blood gushing onto the floor. He aimed his rifle at the dark shadows and pulled the trigger, this was his last chance.
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