Experience the birth and growth of a digital art experience. Or just stick around for the drawings.

cronshucker:

Polished and more-polished versions of the four-page comic. 

The first image was my first attempt at cleaning things up, adding more definite lines and adding shading and tones to the scene to add to the characters and atmosphere. The second image was a step beyond that, adding more gradients to the shading to make the shadows softer and adding a few more defining tones to the characters as well as correcting spelling and grammar errors from the original. 

The changing and improvement of this comic is slow going, but I already see major changes that I enjoy and hope to add to all my future comics. I know the lettering is still an issue, and I plan on tackling that as soon as I can, whether I get to continue working on this comic or create a new one. 

edit/

Added the first and fourth page as well. These pages take such a long time to clean up and shade that I had to move on before finishing all of them. 

Obviously page 2 was more of the trial run and I was adding shadow to page 1 last, but hey. I want everyone to see what was done, finished or not! 

Five finished pages from the roughs. 

While I only finished five, I really enjoyed polishing everything up and giving the characters more serious appearances and expressions. Not using text was a new idea I wanted to try while I’m still fumbling with lettering, and I think it all came out really well! 

The young woman character is Nara, borrowed from cheesyemda.

Bonus rough.

Bonus rough.

8-page roughs! 

It was good to practice representing characters and scenes in such a simple, quick format. I usually did this before when planning out comics or illustrations, but on such a large scale, it was all good practice. 

Its a monster kind of day

Its a monster kind of day

Aha have Aligator people! 

Aha have Aligator people! 

Some practice with Skexis

Some practice with Skexis

Polished and more-polished versions of the four-page comic. 

The first image was my first attempt at cleaning things up, adding more definite lines and adding shading and tones to the scene to add to the characters and atmosphere. The second image was a step beyond that, adding more gradients to the shading to make the shadows softer and adding a few more defining tones to the characters as well as correcting spelling and grammar errors from the original. 

The changing and improvement of this comic is slow going, but I already see major changes that I enjoy and hope to add to all my future comics. I know the lettering is still an issue, and I plan on tackling that as soon as I can, whether I get to continue working on this comic or create a new one. 

Four-Page comic! 

I am aware of the spelling issues, and those are being corrected along with the pretty additions of light, shadow and tone. I added these effects in page 2, but I plan on making more changes here. 

The photo is terrible quality to add to the mystery. 

The photo is terrible quality to add to the mystery. 

First comic of Comics class! 
The assignment was to create a 1 page comic. Not much else to say. A good warm-up for me in sequential art. 

First comic of Comics class! 

The assignment was to create a 1 page comic. Not much else to say. A good warm-up for me in sequential art. 

having a super great day 

having a super great day 

ALL RIGHT LISTEN
I’m no fan of excuse stories, so I’ll call the missing passage here a “Failure of Taylor,” meaning I had a passage written for this scene, but in the foolishness of my hubris, I deleted it while gathering the passages together. 
A true failure. 
Elevator description of the scene: Before a battle, the brother of the army commander poses as a commoner to sit among soldiers and listen for signs of mutiny. 

ALL RIGHT LISTEN

I’m no fan of excuse stories, so I’ll call the missing passage here a “Failure of Taylor,” meaning I had a passage written for this scene, but in the foolishness of my hubris, I deleted it while gathering the passages together. 

A true failure. 

Elevator description of the scene: Before a battle, the brother of the army commander poses as a commoner to sit among soldiers and listen for signs of mutiny. 

When Olivitess peered through the smoky glass set into the front door, she was certain a man had stood outside, but when the port was opened and light allowed to brighten her visitor’ face, it was a woman who looked back at her.
She was tall, for a woman, and well muscled, though Olivitess could only see that by the way she held two small bundles in either arm, as if they weighted nothing.
“Can I do something for you, my lady?” Olivitess offered, though she was certain she was of higher rank than the woman at her door. “Are your babes sick?”
The woman looked between Olivitess and the two babes without saying a word, her face wrought with ache.
“My … They are not ill, your highness.” The woman said softly, her voice soft and husky, but a touch choked. Olivitess looked at the woman, searching for a name to go with the face, but finding none. She knew she was a princess, but had not introduced herself. A thousand thoughts of treasons and traps and manipulations flooded her mind, but the look of distress on the woman’s face gave pause to these thoughts.
“Are you ill, then?” she asked. The woman shook her head.
“No, but I must ask a great favor of you, your highness, more of a burden than a favor, in truth.”
“I will hear your request, if I have a name.” Olivitess offered. The woman looked at the princess with sad hazel eyes.
“I am Kassari eu Fultha, a lady knight sword to the service of her Imperial Majesty Ida eu Ecthelenor. I serve Prince Kariston more directly.”
Olivitess nodded. She knew the name and the family, though what the Fultha’s and babies had to do with her, she did not understand. She stood aside from the door.
“Would you come in?”
“Forgive me, highness, but I cannot. This matter is not for sitting and talking.” She said, her voice tight and distraught. “I must ask you to take over guardianship of my-“ she choked a moment and blinked back tears. “of these little ones.” Olivitess was taken aback.
“You wish to give away your own children?” she asked, allowing a touch of disbelief to enter her voice.
“Only because I cannot give them what they need, what they deserve.” She whispered, her voice trembling. “They were not to be meant to be born into my poor house, born to a mother who is not meant to raise babes.”
“What of their father?” Olivitess asked. Kassari was silent for a long while, tears streaming down her cheeks as she chewed her lip and fought to find words. Olivitess was ready to assume the worst when Kassari whispered,
“He’s dead.”
“I grieve for your loss,” Olivitess said, and she meant it. In the past year, she had learned too well what it was to loose loved ones.

“You grieve more than you know,” Kassari said, bouncing the child in her left arm when it fussed. She was silent for another long moment. “Their father is your own late brother, Prince Kathzel.”

When Olivitess peered through the smoky glass set into the front door, she was certain a man had stood outside, but when the port was opened and light allowed to brighten her visitor’ face, it was a woman who looked back at her.

She was tall, for a woman, and well muscled, though Olivitess could only see that by the way she held two small bundles in either arm, as if they weighted nothing.

“Can I do something for you, my lady?” Olivitess offered, though she was certain she was of higher rank than the woman at her door. “Are your babes sick?”

The woman looked between Olivitess and the two babes without saying a word, her face wrought with ache.

“My … They are not ill, your highness.” The woman said softly, her voice soft and husky, but a touch choked. Olivitess looked at the woman, searching for a name to go with the face, but finding none. She knew she was a princess, but had not introduced herself. A thousand thoughts of treasons and traps and manipulations flooded her mind, but the look of distress on the woman’s face gave pause to these thoughts.

“Are you ill, then?” she asked. The woman shook her head.

“No, but I must ask a great favor of you, your highness, more of a burden than a favor, in truth.”

“I will hear your request, if I have a name.” Olivitess offered. The woman looked at the princess with sad hazel eyes.

“I am Kassari eu Fultha, a lady knight sword to the service of her Imperial Majesty Ida eu Ecthelenor. I serve Prince Kariston more directly.”

Olivitess nodded. She knew the name and the family, though what the Fultha’s and babies had to do with her, she did not understand. She stood aside from the door.

“Would you come in?”

“Forgive me, highness, but I cannot. This matter is not for sitting and talking.” She said, her voice tight and distraught. “I must ask you to take over guardianship of my-“ she choked a moment and blinked back tears. “of these little ones.” Olivitess was taken aback.

“You wish to give away your own children?” she asked, allowing a touch of disbelief to enter her voice.

“Only because I cannot give them what they need, what they deserve.” She whispered, her voice trembling. “They were not to be meant to be born into my poor house, born to a mother who is not meant to raise babes.”

“What of their father?” Olivitess asked. Kassari was silent for a long while, tears streaming down her cheeks as she chewed her lip and fought to find words. Olivitess was ready to assume the worst when Kassari whispered,

“He’s dead.”

“I grieve for your loss,” Olivitess said, and she meant it. In the past year, she had learned too well what it was to loose loved ones.

“You grieve more than you know,” Kassari said, bouncing the child in her left arm when it fussed. She was silent for another long moment. “Their father is your own late brother, Prince Kathzel.”

Death and Darkness
Ida wore her iron mask until she returned to her rooms, and even then, she wore it while servants tittered about to warm the room for her. It had been a frigid evening. Ida sent them away as soon as fires were lit. She did not seek the warmth of the fire, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t deserve it. Instead she found the darkest part of her room and sat there, wrapped her arms around her knees and removed her mask.
Tears immediately wetted her cheeks, but she couldn’t bother herself to wipe them away. Everything she did, all that was happening around her seemed small and foolish.
Why would they do it? She asked herself. Why would they kill Kathzel?
That’s civil war, a cold part of her mind reminded her. They’ll kill any and all of the royal family if it means they get to sit in a high chair and wear a golden hat.
But Kathzel? He never wanted the crown, or anything to do with the throne if it didn’t involve family. What was there to be gained from killing him?
They want to weaken your resolve, the cold part told her. They showed you that they will kill whoever they have to, innocent or not, if it will get them the throne. They want you to hand it over willingly, so they can kill you with a clean conscience. Your death would not end anything either. Mother and Father, Olivitess, Kariston, Nara and their babies; all will be stricken, quickly or painfully.
“What do I do then?” she whispered aloud, struggling to keep her tears quiet. “If I fight, they’ll kill everyone, if I yield, they’ll kill everyone.” The image of Kathzel’s head, half-eaten and decaying, his hair matted with dead blood as the messenger hoist it across the floor was burned behind her eyelids.
“I wish this never happened,” she wept. “I want my brother back!”
She knew she could not have him back. The rebels, the True Men, they called themselves, they had killed him and taken his head to lay at her feet. It had been Kathzel, but the more she wept, the more she could see the head’s of her other family members being dropped at her feet. The True Men had intended for Kariston’s head to be the one on the floor today.
“I can’t have this go on,” she whispered, gripping her gown tightly in her fists. “More have suffered this, and no one should have this pain.” She stood and looked out into the moonlit night, the heavens were as bright as ever, defiant toward her grief.

“I’m so sorry, Kathzel.” She told the night, feeling tears as they made the moon a great rippling glimmer in her vision. “Wherever you are, I hope I can bring you peace.”

Death and Darkness

Ida wore her iron mask until she returned to her rooms, and even then, she wore it while servants tittered about to warm the room for her. It had been a frigid evening. Ida sent them away as soon as fires were lit. She did not seek the warmth of the fire, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t deserve it. Instead she found the darkest part of her room and sat there, wrapped her arms around her knees and removed her mask.

Tears immediately wetted her cheeks, but she couldn’t bother herself to wipe them away. Everything she did, all that was happening around her seemed small and foolish.

Why would they do it? She asked herself. Why would they kill Kathzel?

That’s civil war, a cold part of her mind reminded her. They’ll kill any and all of the royal family if it means they get to sit in a high chair and wear a golden hat.

But Kathzel? He never wanted the crown, or anything to do with the throne if it didn’t involve family. What was there to be gained from killing him?

They want to weaken your resolve, the cold part told her. They showed you that they will kill whoever they have to, innocent or not, if it will get them the throne. They want you to hand it over willingly, so they can kill you with a clean conscience. Your death would not end anything either. Mother and Father, Olivitess, Kariston, Nara and their babies; all will be stricken, quickly or painfully.

“What do I do then?” she whispered aloud, struggling to keep her tears quiet. “If I fight, they’ll kill everyone, if I yield, they’ll kill everyone.” The image of Kathzel’s head, half-eaten and decaying, his hair matted with dead blood as the messenger hoist it across the floor was burned behind her eyelids.

“I wish this never happened,” she wept. “I want my brother back!”

She knew she could not have him back. The rebels, the True Men, they called themselves, they had killed him and taken his head to lay at her feet. It had been Kathzel, but the more she wept, the more she could see the head’s of her other family members being dropped at her feet. The True Men had intended for Kariston’s head to be the one on the floor today.

“I can’t have this go on,” she whispered, gripping her gown tightly in her fists. “More have suffered this, and no one should have this pain.” She stood and looked out into the moonlit night, the heavens were as bright as ever, defiant toward her grief.

“I’m so sorry, Kathzel.” She told the night, feeling tears as they made the moon a great rippling glimmer in her vision. “Wherever you are, I hope I can bring you peace.”