I've been testing my skills lately by bringing back characters that I consider to be legendary in my own universe of creation. These are the original, time-tested warriors of death that have continued their own stories within the ever-changing landscape of my own mind.
In addition to these guys being drawn/colored up, I've been hard at work writing Viral Hell into a full novel. So far, I've made it to chapter 11 of the original 22 written when I originally wrote it as a graphic novel script. It started with a standard 1 to 1 conversion ratio from script to novel, but the further I delve into the story, the more elaboration I seem to do with the novel. Rather than simply skimming the surface with certain events as I did in the script, I've taken to elaborating extensively and building more emotional conflicts amongst all the characters. At this point, in chapter 11 that is, things are so extremely different from the script that the novel now only resembles it in the rough series of events that I continue to follow. As I view it, the original script was written rather well in terms of plot points but the pacing was absolutely dreadful. Being able to rewrite it as a novel has given me a great opportunity to stretch things out, giving them more impact, and really build towards individual climaxes.
I feel compelled to share the following for reasons beyond my understanding. What follows is pointless, fruitless and hardly deserving of mention but I am compelled to make it known regardless of the audience.
Every day we plant a seed, It grows in our hearts, in our minds, Develops from our actions and words, Becomes us in every sense of being.
Oh, how we fail it.
How many times does it go unanswered? How often, does the seed die in the soil? The message was there, right inside us, We choose not to listen to what is right beside us.
And you ask how we fail.
~~A Heretic's Prophecy~~
It is in the eyes of any creature that the soul truly lies, In those glossy orbs of wisdom that our existence is bound.
They give a gift that isn't even acknowledged, Think of how vision is squandered on the many, The many that see only what they choose to, Only what suits them best at any moment.
Use those blasted orbs that lie stuck within your head, Gaze out on the landscape that has surrounded you, Choose to see where millions have chose not to, Take the gifts bestowed upon you and use them!
Use them to truly see for the first time!
Reaching towards that foul orb in the sky, These eruptions seek to bock out the sun, To remove all light from this dim planet, In an effort to bypass logic and simply destroy.
With roots above and roots below, The blackened spires have their hold here, No longer capable of being removed, They are now part of this planet's soul.
Like a blighted cancer upon the whole of Gaia, The towers now have complete reign.
It will all be over soon, As the sun is pulled into the ocean, And everything burns away at last.
~~Tree of Discord~~
Who is there left among us without the horn? Too many of us have fallen before the tree, Freed our souls to the ease of ignorance, What have we become?