Caesar, in Comic Form

1. Our favorite sparkly-skinned little alien vampire is a munchkin.
2. He's also a chronic liar. Whaddaya mean they ignored you while beating you at cards, Caesar?
3. Owww my hand. This took all day. o.e

Loki's Loves, Part One--Angrboda

 I feel like doing a few pieces on the major women in my character Loki's life. Probably a three-parter--his canon wives Angrboda and Sigyn and his non-canon love Sloan (belonging to AlienRiddle~ from the OYAN forums). We'll go in chronological order, so without further ado...

Angrboda

Blue-skinned, dark-haired, with a lot of power and a personality to match, Angrboda was Loki's first love. They met in Jotunheim, land of the ice Jotnar, when Loki ran afoul of her wolf pack and Boda saw fit to rescue him.

"Sorry about the wolves."

"No, it's fine, almost getting mauled was high on my list of priorities." 

Boda was a shapeshifter with extraordinary control over her regular magic. The widow of a warlord, she ruled a small but powerful territory of her own. When her husband died she took over, fighting off all who challenged her right to the throne.

"You're a woman!"

"I'm your warlord."

In Jotunheim, where your right to rule is determined by if you can defeat everyone who thinks they have a right to rule, Angrboda was something of a legend. Her territory, though small, was one that most did not reckon with unless they wanted to be slain in their sleep by Angrboda herself or one of her personal guard.

"They call her Ymir's Daughter because of her legendary strength of magic. They say she rules with an iron fist and woe betide anyone who dares to cross her."

Her rule was ruthless. She employed every tactic necessary to keep her throne. She thought that no one else could do it as well as she, and she wanted her people to be safe and protected. Indeed, anyone who wore her brand counted themselves fortunate and prosperous, for Angrboda made sure that they had everything they might need, obtaining it through magic or trade or force.

"You're my people. I'll always protect you even if it means I must slaughter the rest of Jotunheim to do it."

When she found a red-haired Aesir lying on her doorstep with her beta wolf trying to protect him from the other wolves until she came, Angrboda took him in and made sure he was well. Having an As in her debt, especially one known to be the blood brother of Odin himself, could prove to be profitable.

"You're awfully far from home, son of Laufey."

"I am the son of Farbauti. That makes me in my home world, wouldn't you say?" 

It proved to be more than just profitable when Loki continued to come see her just for the heck of it, they fell in love, and eventually married.

"Back again, Loki? You may as well start calling my castle home, you come so often."

"I think I'll do just that. Will you marry me, Angrboda?"

Three children they had: Fenrisulfr the Swamp Wolf, a wolf shifter with a temper; Jormungand the Serpent, a clever snake-shifter; and Hela the death Kvasiran, their youngest and only daughter.

"She's a Death Kvasiran. That's unlucky."

"No. She's lucky, because she's just as beautiful as her mother is."

Decades of human time they spent together, but for an Aesir and a Jotun it was perhaps only two 'years'. That was when Odin found out and sent Thor and Tyr--the gods of thunder and war--to take the little family to him.

"She is a frost Jotun, Loki. Have you forgotten you are an As and your allegiance lies with Asgard?"

"Have you forgotten what manner of creature I am, brother!?"

The children were banished, or bound in Fenrisulfr's case. Angrboda was killed, and Loki's first romance end.

Boda's dark hair pooled around her, sticky with the spreading circle of deep, sickening red, and Tyr stayed looking at her for a moment with dark eyes before leaving the body there for the thralls to dispose of and striding away.

Fowler

Some Fowler concept sketches. He's a chicken magnet. :3

Superheroes and Sparkly Space Vikings

PHINEAS
A noble, straight-laced, super handyman, Captain American fan who loves honey.

FOWLER
Mysterious, intimidating guy with the power to make birds appear anywhere. Chickens are fascinated by him.

BLANK
Has the power to erase things--not living things, but anything else.

LUCKY
A klutz with the ability to influence gambles and random occurances.

CAESAR
A weedy, sparkly Viking vampire from outer space.

The heroes of Midnight Aster's (Cactus Maye on Blogger) superhero story. Phineas is my new favorite superhero. It's sort of a joint effort, even though Aster's writing it, as Cecilie and I brainstorm with her whenever we stay up too late, and I'm doing the concept art.

Meet Phin. ^^

Fowler concept art to come later.

On the Origin of Wonderful Ideas

Sometimes ideas flow from profound things, like an educated discussion of Shakespeare or Greek mythology.

ninjadragon99	Pitchfork. Mwahaha.
	*finds one and attaches frying pan to one end*
Quillmaster	Pitchfrypanfork.
ninjadragon99	XD
Quillmaster	Frypitchforkpan?
ninjadragon99	Pitchfrypanfork. *nod*
Quillmaster	Panfryforkpitch.
Midnight Aster	*struggles not to laugh out loud*

Sometimes three teenagers get together over the Internet after midnight, come up with panfryforkpitches, and occasionally wonderful ideas.

Such as vampires that sparkle in space. Aster still needs to write that for us.

Quill is perfectly aware that this post makes little sense. It's after 1 in her timezone and there are many glorious ideas to pursue.

Excerpt of Treacherous Ice, Chapter Seven

I sagged against the wall, letting my arms and shoulders support me for a moment. My back blazed with pain, a solid mass of raw and bleeding flesh. Sven chuckled darkly and I heard the whip clatter as he threw it to the floor. “We’re done for now.”

Breathing heavy, I shifted my weight from my arms to my feet again, trying to relieve the ache in my shoulders. Several hours? Or had it been longer?

“What in the Nine Worlds do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth.

A light but icy-cold finger brushed across my back and I arched away from it, biting back a cry. “I want this.” The rich, deep voice was familiar. It took me a moment to place it, but once I had, it all came rushing back to me. Kassoq Aricson. In the octagon.

“What?”

“I want you bloodied. I want you beaten, and broken. A pitiful shade of what you once were.” Again the light touch trailed across my back, lingering in the most open wounds.

I pressed against the wall, away from him. “Stop--”

A low chuckle. “How much does the king of Asgard care for you, son of Farbauti, son of Aric?”

Son of Aric.

Kassoq Aricson.

“By the Norns, don't tell me we're related,” I breathed.

“You’re my brother’s son, the half-elf hybrid who managed to land himself a spot as the blood brother of Asgard’s new king. You’ll be very useful indeed.”

“Odin would never put me before Asgard.” I said it believing the words completely. Odin cared about Asgard more than anything else. “He won’t give that up for me.” He’s already plotted to betray me.

“He’ll come. He’s a king, after all, and he can’t let someone possibly die. Not on his watch.”

I twisted around to see him, chains rattling. Kassoq stood about a foot back, smirking. “What if he does come? Then what? You want to fight an Æsir, a son of Bor? Forgotten what happened to Ymir, Kassoq?”

“He’s weak and exhausted from getting here. And I have a hostage.” Kassoq leaned in with a grin. “There’s no way for you to win this war, son of Laufey.”

“He won’t come,” I rasped, and fell back against the wall.

“He will.” With that parting jab, Kassoq left the dungeons.

 ----------

An excerpt from chapter seven of Treacherous Ice, ladies and gentlemen. -bows-
Admittedly, I drew the picture before I wrote this little scene, and it isn't quite accurate, but it still captures how Loki feels at the moment. 

Ragnarok and Midnight Asters

Red skies and Asgard's rubble. The perfect day to revenge past wrongs--and to die doing it.

She crouched over the broken body of the Trickster God, heart beating like a frightened rabbit. Blood stained her knees, pooling around Loki. The skies reflected red on everything.

He stirred. "Aster...? What are you doing here?"

She could make no answer. The clank of armored footsteps interrupted her. In the chaos Loki had escaped the Gatekeeper of Asgard, but now he returned.

"Step away from him, mortal. He deserves to die."

Ragnarok was here, and the Trickster's time was at an end.
----------
Just a short little ficlet and a drawing for my friend, Cactus Maye on Blogspot and Midnight Aster on OYAN. Felt like sharing.

Saminique Taro

Saminique clicked the button on the little cylinder and watched a burst of fire light up the room. The young woman stared in the sudden light, her brown hair falling out of its neat bun. “That’s--that’s Tech!”

“Sure is.” He lit one of the torches on the wall, pocketed his flamethrower again. “There’s no other way to survive down here.”

“But it’s against the law.” Big brown eyes stared accusingly at him.

He looked at her sideways. “And condemning my men to die because I couldn’t go against the law is against my conscience.”

She folded her arms, looking stubborn. “But you know what happened with the Technofall.”

“The Technofall was electric. We run these things on steam.” He raised the torch, gazed down the tunnel. Almost to the place where his Tech-rats made their home. “Ask us no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, miss.”

She fell silent. He was glad of it. He wasn’t used to talking, and he preferred the silence, broken only by the dripping of water down the stone walls and the crackle of the torch.

“They called you the Death Sailor,” she said. “I can’t imagine that’s really your name.”

The name startled him at first. Then he laughed humorlessly. “It’s nothing but a cruel title. Don’t say it again--I’d rather leave that part of my past behind me.”

“Then…what should I call you?”

“My name is Saminique Taro.” He paused at the opening to the tunnel leading to his home. “You can call me Saminique.”

 ----------

His name is Saminique. He's thirty-four years old, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, a defined jaw, long nose crooked from being broken many times, tan skin, and a mechanical finger.

He's chivalrous and noble. He would never hurt a woman for any reason after what the Society did to his two sisters.

He's a ruthless killer who's killed more than his entire gang of scum put together.

He's quiet, and gentlemanly, but he has a wide arsenal of oaths and slang from his time as an assassin and a Tech-rat.

He's a steampunk assassin from the future and I love him to bits. Just wish I could figure out his dialogue.

A Sort of Depressing Post on Writing Camps

I feel terribly out of place.

I've been going to this writing camp, lead by a professional writer I respect very much and who has become a mentor to me, for years. She runs a teen summer camp/class thing for older writers, above twelve, and a camp for younger writers under twelve. It's a simple thing: you write for a while, then we read our writing to each other and receive comments.

When I was eleven, I was already well above the standard of writing most of the younger writers had. I was no longer receiving useful comments--most of them were things like "Wow, that was awesome". While that's encouraging, it's not helpful in the least.

So I moved into the teen camp. My mentor thought I was ready to give and get comments on the same level the teens could, so she let me in a year early.

For two glorious summer camps, I was home. These were writers who understood me, who could help me with my writing. The camps were the highlights of my year. They were something of a home away from home.

The year between the last camp and this one, I got the One Year Adventure Novel (OYAN) curriculum and the Other Worlds follow-up curriculum. I learned a lot about story-telling, writing, and genre. I felt for the first time like I really knew how to craft a story--a serious, well-written, tightly-plotted story. 

This year I was pumped. I had Treacherous Ice, a novel I'd plotted out and carefully outlined. A novel I absolutely loved. I had three chapters of it ready and I couldn't wait to give a few critiques to the other writers and get a few myself.

First day? Amazing. Best day of the year so far. Two Norse mythology fans who would understand my novel, lots of writers, my mentor, lots of positive feedback on the first few pages I read.

Positive feedback, yep.

Helpful critiques, nope.

The week goes on, and I'm enjoying myself, and then a girl writing a spy story reads a scene where her hero is kidnapped by the villain. Instead of escaping cleverly, the hero's dad, a spy, shows up and rescues her. Everyone asks where the dad came from, how he knew where the hero was, how he got to her. The girl's excuse is that he's a spy with awsum skillz.

Me: I think the Dad is a Deus ex Machina.
Everyone else: -blank looks-
Me: You know, God out of the Box?
Everyone else: -more blank looks-
Writing mentor: -explains-
Another author: I think it's okay, just don't dwell on the dad!
Someone else: Yeah, I think it makes sense for the dad to be monitoring his daughter!
Me: :| -thinks: Why can you not see how terribly cliche and horrible that is?-

Anyways, I've outgrown this camp. I've grown as a writer and I'm...I'm no longer getting anything worthwhile out of this. And that's really sad, because...this has been my home-away-from-home for a long time. One of the few places I felt like I belonged.

And I don't fit in anymore.

So it was wonderful fun while it lasted, and it helped me to grow as a writer. But I've moved on, I guess.

My mother says that my dad will drive me to the OYAN Summer Workshop next year in June, and the year after that I can fly on my own. I know a lot of you OYANers from online, and I know you guys are the talented, serious-about-writing people that I want to spend a week of my summer with.

I can't wait for June to come around again.

Quill has been lax about updates

Sorry guys. D:

So. Camp NaNoWriMo, which is NaNoWriMo in July and August, just started today.

Basically, I will not be writing anything except Young Asgard, which was renamed Treacherous Ice for a month. So, until NaNo ends... have drabbles. :P Short 'stories' of exactly 100 words. I'm doing the 100 story challenge with them... sort of. Off and on, really.
1. Introduction
You mean you don’t recognize me right off? The signature flame-red hair? The scarred lips?

If we were face to face right now I’d be giving you a bitter smile.

I am Ulfsfadir, Laevisi, Loptr, Ville, Liesmith, Silvertongue. I am Laufeyson and Farbautison and Odin’s brother and parent of Jormungand, Fenris, Hela, Narvi, Ali, and Sleipnir. I am husband of the late Angrboda, and of Sigyn. I am Jotun and Æsir and elf. I am the Trickster. The thief of Brisingamen and Idun’s apples and the cutter of Sif’s hair. I am the Sly God.

In short?

I am Loki.

2. Complicated
“So, Odin, you slaughter frost giants regularly and yet you call a little runty Jotun brother?” Hrungnir’s grin is sly as he takes another swig of wine. Freya the Beautiful stands behind him, ready to refill his drinking horn. The air around him warps with the instinctual magic of Jotuns, creating a bubble of frigid air around him.

I recline on a chair at the table, smirking at Odin’s unusual houseguest. “Here I am known as Son of Laufey, Hrungnir.”

“That clears everythin’ up,” Hrungnir slurs.

Odin smiles and says, “Yes, Loki is my brother. How that came about is…complicated.”

3. Making History
Odin met me in Yggdrasil, the space between worlds, and I became his traveling companion. Months passed, and eventually I helped him retrieve Idun and her apples. In return, he made me his blood brother, and one of the Æsir--one of the gods.

“You know, I am half Jotun, brother,” I whisper to Odin as we approach Bifrost and Asgard’s gate.

“I know.” He smiles. “But you are also an elf, and my brother.”

Not even Silvertongue can argue with that. I step into Asgard, the first Jotun to enter as a friend of Odin, and I make history.

4. Rivalry
The Æsir don’t compete in the same fields, instead striving to become the best at their chosen professions. Odin, god of wisdom. Bragi, of poesy. Thor, of thunder and strength. Freya, of love and beauty.

I happened to be better at lies than any of them were in their own fields (save Odin; he would always be more powerful than I).

And so I become the rival of every Æsir as they struggle to keep me in check, struggle to be as powerful at their talents as I was. They have to keep Ragnarok from happening.

I laugh at them.

Chronicles of a Camper, Day 2

Day 2
Loki's feeling more cooperative today. I think he's just spitefully happy at the research problems I'm having. High fantasy shouldn't have to be researched! But I wanted an authentic Norse-feeling culture, so I had to research Norse dwellings, Norse funerals, and mess around with Icelandic dictionaries. Sigh. Stop laughing at my pain, Loki.

In which the epic journey of blood, sweat, tears, and overly spiteful characters continues.

MORE STATS.

Wordcount goal:	3226
Wordcount Today:	Seeing as I counted wrong yesterday, I think it's 936...
Wordcount of All Time:	2650
Words Remaining:	47,540
Greatest Achievement:	Surviving today...?
Greatest Annoyance:	Historical 'accuracies' and researching them. x.X

So yeah! Today was fun! My outline told me I had to kill the king of the Aesir today, so I set about doing that, and then realized I'd probably need a funeral as well. So, being the kind of person who wants to be faithful to the original myths and the culture that spawned them, I merrily went off to research Norse funerals.

A noble and worthy goal, you must be saying.

I'd be inclined to agree, except I then discovered Norse funeral traditions are not exactly appropriate to put into a YA book. So I had to tweak the funeral a little (my excuse is there aren't enough men in Asgard at the current time to perform these unmentionable...rituals...).

I suceeded in figuring out how I wanted to portray this G-rated funeral at last and was happyfied!

Then I realized I also needed to figure out what Gladsheim, home of the king of the Aesir, looked like.

X.X

WILL THE RESEARCH NEVER END? I'm writing High Fantasy, here, people, I did this specifically to get AWAY from the research.

And this is NaNo, anyways. Research is for July!

But it's too early to cheat on descriptions and such, so off I trundled to look that up...and found nothing useful on the subject of kings' dwellings.

Sigh, okay, I'll just make it an ordinary dwelling, plus all the trappings, right? ...Right. Yep. That's working so far, and I see no need to change it...yet. I'm sure any Norse geeks who read my novel will be horrified at my information, but that's what September's for...editing those mistakes. =P

My apologies for said rant. Loki's laughing his head off at me. You have permission to do so as well if you wish.

Have an excerpt. Said excerpt is totally random and makes little sense out of context and isn't even particularly witty or funny, but whatever.

I saw Honir leaning on the wall outside the door, looking at the floor. Unable to summon a snarky question, I walked up to him and asked, “How is he?”

“Fading quickly.” Honir looked up. “I didn’t expect you to care enough to come. I thought you’d have run off by now.”

I shrugged. “I like to keep people on their toes.”

“He asked for you.”

“Rúni told me.”

“Don’t tell me you actually felt obligated to come see him.”

“…Yes. I did.” I didn’t expect Honir to really understand--the prince had probably never met a day of hardship in his life (and strenuous training with a sword doesn’t count in my humble opinion)--but I had never known either of my parents, and Bor had been a mentor to me. (Not that I took half of his advice, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Besides, I suspected that Odin would find out somehow that Bor had asked for me as well, and if I didn’t go see his father, later Odin would be sighing and talking about how it would have been nice if his father had gotten to see me one last time before he died. Which would (besides make me feel marginally guilty) be awkward. So it was best for me to be here.

Chronicles of a Camper, Day 1

Day 1
The characters are already rebelling--or at least Loki is. I knew it wasn't a good idea to tell him what was going to happen to him in chapter seven. He's been drunk and especially caustic for the past three days. And now when we actually have to start writing, he refuses to cooperate at all. 

Camp NaNoWriMo, day one, campers! In which we embark on an epic journey of blood, sweat, tears, and uncooperative characters.

Okay, I stole the idea for such a blog post from my good friend ninjadragon99 on the OYAN forums. Her blog is A Writer And Her Dragons and she too is doing Camp NaNoWriMo. ^^ Actually, she's even doing a Norse story like me--the story of Loki and how he accidentally sent the Aesir to the moon at the worst time possible. It's called Silvertongue and it's quite cool.

Stats! I love stats! They're so crisp and factual. Takes all the imagination out of stuff, and we don't want too much imagination running around. 'Tis dangerous, precious!

Wordcount goal:	1613
Wordcount Today:	1974
Wordcount of All Time:	1974
Words Remaining:	48,387
Greatest Achievement:	...Do I get points for not strangling Loki...?
Greatest Annoyance:	Loki. He's a pain

 Ninth Twilight, Book One: Treacherous Ice

Three princes of Asgard.

A warlord of Jotunheim.

Odin's father is dead. The Aesir are still young, a fledgling group of gods vulnerable to attack. And Odin's the one who has to take up his father's mantle, rule Asgard, hold them together. And across the Worlds in Jotunheim, the frost giants mobilize under the power-hungry Kassoq, who is bent on conquering Asgard.

Odin and his two brothers Loki and Honir must stop Kassoq. But the frost giant warlord is already playing on their fears and doubts, tearing at their loyalty…

Yerp, this is what I'm writing. Previously I called it Young Asgard, but Treacherous Ice fits better.  Plus, new synopsis. And I have an outline and all sorts of cool stuffs for it.

Have an excerpt.

The younger man stopped a few feet away. “You’re on Æsir land, frost giant.”

I smirked, lounging on the slope of the grassy hill and looking down at him. “There’s no need to be rude about it, you know. I much prefer Jotun to giant.”

“Technicality.” He drew his sword, grinning. I glanced at my belt, which was distinctly lacking a scabbard and sword.

“Now that’s not fair. You’d attack an unarmed man?”

“Decades of traveling the Nine Worlds and you still don’t carry a sword.” Chuckling, he sheathed his sword as his blond-haired companion behind him rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand to me, he said, “Welcome back, Loki.”

I looked at his hand and then at his face. “What, I’m supposed to let you help me up after you threatened me?”

“A prince always keeps his word.”

“The only word you’ve given me is that you’re going to attack me.”

“What? I welcomed you!”

“Sure you did. After you threatened me.”