#ghislain barbe

[qosmiq]

#jason voorhees #f13th #friday the 13th #horror #spooktober #monster #slasher #camp crystal lake #hockey mask #machete #moon #looking at the moon #art #halloween #halloween art #ghislain barbe

[yodawgiheardyoulikemecha]

#Mecha #Jovian Chronicles #Ghislain Barbe #Qosmiq #Mecha Gaming #RolePlaying Games #Tabletop Roleplaying Games #Tabletop RPGs #TTRPG

[dannyfoley]

Turner Prize: Jesse Darling wins for 'delirious' art using tattered flags and barbed wire

By Ian Youngs

Entertainment & arts reporter

5 December 2023

Jesse Darling's work in Turner Prize exhibition at Towner gallery in Eastbourne

Jesse Darling has given crowd control barriers legs and made them look like they are running amok

An exhibition featuring crowd control barriers that have gone out of control, twisted railway tracks, barbed wire and tattered union jack bunting - all making a comment on modern British life - has won this year's Turner Prize.

Jesse Darling picked up the prestigious art award and its £25,000 cheque at a ceremony in Eastbourne, East Sussex.

He has spoken about being inspired by his view of the effects of austerity, Brexit and the pandemic on the town, and the "hostile environment" immigration policy.

The artist says he uses objects that are cheap and easy to find, but that hold meaning for viewers

Speaking to BBC News after his win, he explained: "You have to love something to be able to critique it. I was born in this country and I'm looking at what's going on here.

"I wanted to make a work that reflected that, and I wanted to make work about Britain for the British public.

"Whether they like it or don't like it, it was a great honour and privilege to be able to do something so public for the British public."

Barbed wire and a piece of net curtain hang above a crumbling mock checkpoint at the gallery entrance

The judges praised his use of common objects like barriers, hazard tape, office files and net curtains "to convey a familiar yet delirious world".

"Invoking societal breakdown, his presentation unsettles perceived notions of labour, class, Britishness and power," they said.

Darling said he would spend his prize money on dentistry and rent

The chair of the judges, Tate Britain director Alex Farquharson, added that his art was "bold", "engaging" and partly a reflection on "the state of the nation".

"It's one element of it, one layer of it. I don't think it's the whole story. There is some sense, from his point of view, that these are times of crisis."

Tattered and faded union jack bunting hangs from the ceiling

In his acceptance speech, Darling also spoke up for the power of teaching children art in schools, and said Conservative governments had sent the message that self-expression and culture were "only for particular kinds of people from particular socio-economic backgrounds".

"Don't buy in. It's for everyone," he said.

At the end of his speech, Darling pulled a Palestinian flag out of his coat pocket and waved it.

Jesse Darling was many of the critics' favourite for the prize. His room of jaunty crash barriers and union jacks is inventive and original.

Darling - who was born in Oxford but lives and works in Berlin - has said he is reflecting the hostile environment in the UK towards immigration in this work.

The exhibition entrances are turned into checkpoints complete with barbed wire. But the space itself feels alive and humorous.

That's down to the crowd control barriers Darling has sculpted at prancing angles. This is anthropomorphising writ large - the very things that are used to corral people by the police are given a life of their own, turned into creatures that can't be controlled.

We're also surrounded by frilly curtains and a maypole adorned with police tape and anti-pigeon spikes.

Darling has said British towns these days are showing the effects of austerity, Brexit and Covid. He's riffing on that in a show that tackles nationhood and British identity.

All the four nominated artists were reflecting what's happening in Britain right now. In the end, Darling was felt by the judges to be a cut above.

The other nominated artists were Ghislaine Leung, Rory Pilgrim and Barbara Walker.

The Telegraph's art critic Alastair Sooke called Darling's room at Eastbourne's Towner gallery "the most exhilarating presentation I've encountered at the annual exhibition in recent years".

Files are filled with concrete as a comment on bureaucracy

Sooke wrote that the artist "offers an unruly vision of contemporary Britain as both ruinous and suffused with impish magic".

"Compared with such sculpturally compelling work, which boils and bubbles with brilliant ideas and touches, the offerings from the other shortlisted artists seem lukewarm."

Jesse Darling's work in Turner Prize exhibition at Towner gallery in Eastbourne

However, the Sunday Times' Waldemar Januszczak did not like Darling's entry. "I suppose it's a glumly poetic interpretation of Britain today," he wrote.

"Where it fails is in its overall visual impact. It's too bitty."

Jesse Darling's work in Turner Prize exhibition at Towner gallery in Eastbourne

Rollercoaster rails appear to crash through the gallery wall

Darling, 41, who only went to art school in his 30s, was nominated for two exhibitions in Oxford and London last year.

A cabinet contains hammers that are decorated like toys, with colourful ribbons and bells

#contemporary art #fine art #installation #sculpture #turner prize #jesse darling #brexit #borders #boundaries #political art #sculpture installation

[christophe76460]

L'Union en Christ par le Saint Esprit 🔥

Psaume 133

Voici qu'il est bon, qu'il est agréable

Pour des frères d'habiter unis ensemble !

C'est comme l'huile la meilleure

Qui répandue sur la tête,

Descend sur la barbe, sur la barbe d'Aaron,

C'est comme la rosée de l'Hermon,

Qui descend sur les montagnes de Sion ;

Car c'est là que l'Éternel donne sa bénédiction,

La vie, pour l'éternité.

Nous savons que la prière du juste est d'une grande efficacité ( Jacques 5 : 16 )

Deutéronome 29 : 30

L'Eternel fait le reproche à la nation d'Israël de son manque de sagesse et d'unité :

Car c'est une nation qui se perd par ses conseils,

Il n'y a point en eux d'intelligence.

Car ils considéraient leur avenir

Comment un seul en poursuivrait-il mille ,

Et deux en mettraient-ils dix mille en fuite .

Si leur Rocher ne les avait pas vendus ,

Si L'Éternel ne les avaient pas livrés ?

Avec Dieu , un juste auraient mis en fuite mille personnes et deux justes , dix fois fois plus !

Qu'il est bon , qu'il est plaisant pour des frères de de demeurer ensemble dans l'unité de la foi et de la prière 🙏.

Lors d'une prière commune , les deux sont en accord et l'onction de Dieu descend mais si Dieu ressent de la division, deux valent moins qu'un !

Philippiens 2 ( 1-2 )

S'il y a quelques considérations en Christ ✝️, s'il y a quelque encouragement dans l'Amour , s'il'y a quelque communion de l'Esprit , s'il y a quelque compassion et quelque miséricorde,

Mettez le comble de ma joie afin d'avoir une même pensée ; ayez un même Amour, une même âme, une seule pensée.

5 - Ayez en vous la pensée qui était en Christ-Jésus

7 - Il s'est dépouillé lui-même, en prenant la condition d'esclave , en devenant semblable aux hommes , après s'être trouvé dans la situation d'un

homme

8 - Il s'est humilié lui-même en devenant obéissant jusqu'à la mort , la mort sur la croix ✝️

9 - C'est pourquoi Dieu la souveraineté élevé et lui a donné un Nom au dessus de tout nom .

10 -Afin sur que tout genou fléchisse dans les cieux et sur la terre et sous la terre .

Seigneur , je te demande d'accroître l'unité au sein de ma famille ,dans mon ministère, auprès de mes frères et sœurs.

Je sais que l'ennemi veut s'implanter en créant la division

Je prie pour que nos yeux spirituels s'ouvrent afin que nous ne tombions pas dans les pièges de l'ennemi .

Aide nous Seigneur à garder une position franche d'Amour et d'honnêteté au lieu d'un environnement d'amertume et de commérage .

Si cela arrive Seigneur , permets moi de ne pas répondre et de te remettre certaines situations difficiles .

Soyez bénis mes Biens-aimés Amis, frères et sœurs dans le Nom précieux et parfait de Jésus Christ de Nazareth notre Sauveur et Roi ✝️❤️🔥 Amen 🙏

Ghislaine Wackenier

[bryanharryrombough]

Heavy Gear first edition rulebook, 1995.

My favourite mecha rpg/wargame of the late 90′s/early aughts.  The first edition rulebook had rpg & wargame rules and not a lot of setting material, but it had plenty of gorgeous manga/bande dessinée fusion style art (mostly by Ghislain Barbe - @qosmiq) and great (heavily votoms-inspired) mecha designs.

Heavy Gear is the game that got me back into tabletop hobby gaming in ‘95, after I saw an ad for it in DP9′s Mecha Press magazine.  And while I haven’t played in years, Heavy Gear still has a special place in my gaming memories.

#heavy gear #ghislain barbe #mecha #mecha gaming #rpg #tabletop rpg #wargaming #miniature wargaming #book cover

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

*

PART THREE

*

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

 Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.  

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i  @bookishwitchling  @manontrashbeak  @awesomelena555  @jimetg98  @over300books

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #chaol westfall #yrene westfall #glennis crochan #anon ask #my writing #manorian fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #only you

[storieditarocchi]

Le Tarot de la Lanterne Magique, by Francis Ouellette & Ghislain Barbe.

#tarot #cards #Movies #cinema #toshiro mifune #akira kurosawa #king kong #godzilla #citizen kane #la dolce vita #frankenstein #ingmar bergman #the seventh seal #a trip to the moon

[inquisition-curations-blog]

Black Library: Damocles by ukitakumuki

artist’s commentary:

Black Library: Damocles

Check out the e/book here! : www.blacklibrary.com/warhammer… Illustration © Games Workshop Art director/producer: Karen Miksza ++++++++++++++++++++++ The brief for this one was a three-way melee between Kor'sarro Khan of the White Scars, Tau Commander Shadowsun, and Captain Kayvaan Shrike of the Raven Guard, amidst a mixed-force battle of White Scars, Raven Guard, and Cadian IG versus the Tau fighting atop a rocky promontory with jungle. The main focus of the show is Shadowsun, whom according to the reference and specs sent to me, often fields two shield drones. I thought that could be a perfect excuse to not end up in an awkward “2 on 1” prong attack. So that resulted in our assault marine captain Shrike pulling off a DFA and Kor'sarro timing a strike to take out her shield on one side. Given the hardback template/format I decided early on to have two back to back crisis suits behind the main trinary to visually frame the action and hopefully some narrative link to what was going on in the background. While sketching in comp ideas I was thinking of World in Conflict FMVs (yeah I watched a compilation vid of the different sequences but set to just Audioslave’s Shadow on the Sun… how apt for our Tau commander ) which inspired that jungle crossfire for the back cover (left of image), along with some physics logic I thought should be observed such as “if plasma based weaponry gets spammed in the general direction of a forest, there should be a moderate to high chance of a forest fire occurring” which kinda explains why we see the charred dirt and branches and hints of trees on fire in the back. Other favourite points of interest that I recall from half a year back: -Singed/scorched Imperial armour versus cracked/gouged tau armour -Drones buzzing a tree (near the sun) -Devastator Raven going head on with the battlesuit turned away from us, armour in the process of being seared off chunk by chunk. -White Scar reading poetry on the lawn in an admirable last stand -Unfortunate IG, now literally half the man he used to be. Courtesy of being in the open when Tau heavy artillery drops.

Check out the e/book by Joe Parrino here! :

www.blacklibrary.com/warhammer…

Illustration © Games Workshop

Art director/producer: Karen Miksza

++++++++++++++++++++++

This piece is, in my own way, dedicated to two very unique creatives whose achievements and trust in me have both inspired and helped me take my work to higher levels. Ghislain Barbe(

NOT because he is coincidentally now the art director on Eternal Crusade at BHVR  

, but because when I was a kid I played a PC game called Heavy Gear by Dream Pod 9/Activision, and along with it came a printed game manual with wonderful mecha illustrations and diagrams that blew my little mind, and he was the illustrator of my favourite designs in the book.), and Peter Cooper(an incredibly kind and talented writer/director who years ago offered me the opportunity to do the illustrated set pieces for his HALO fan-film, Operation Chastity). Moreso because I think they might appreciate certain aspects of this image in their own capacities, like the pew pew lazars. Ok really its just about the lazars and the airburst munitions.

And my special thanks and apologies to my truly professional and patient producer, Karen Miksza, for enduring and evaluating a chickenscratch-sketch of mine that resembled more of a Rorschach exercise than anything. You rock!

As for the artwork:

Reading the brief, and visualising the narrative and technical approach, made me want to crawl under a rock somewhere and just go into a coma. But it dawned on me it was really about huge battlesuits and powered armour on bikes in a desert--the very stuff my favourite SF childhood memories were made of. So I put on some Bubblegum Crisis tracks to remind me of what I felt was special about the genre and what I would like to see happen again, and got back to work. "Say Yes!" by Maiko Hashimoto in particular, really helped bring back those memories.

Bearing in mind this is meant to be a triple-fold/paneled illustration; I was to illustrate a White Scars Stormseer fighting a Crisis Battlesuit with a tulwar on the front cover(rightmost third of image), looming Riptide in center third, and miscellaneous combatants filling up the remainder. The White Scars were to seem joyous in the midst of their hunt, armed with lances or tulwars in addition to the bolters on their bikes. All this was to take place on a dusty plain. I immediately thought that a scene showing a breached frontline would work best, to help put across just how fast moving and aggressive the White Scars are known to be, and for all the long distance planning of the Tau once up close and personal with Space Marines on bikes, it can quickly descend into unmanageable chaos. Troops having to divert their attention from the front to acquire stray bikers without hitting their friends, and crisis suits engaging their thrusters to quickly manoeuver along the ranks and train their guns on the bikes. Crisis suits... in a crisis of their own... aha..haha..h-

As a Chinese guy, I felt it got really hilarious at one point painting Fu Manchu 'roid mongols in sun-bleached white armour going to town on the Tau. So I just rode that wave as best I could  Having my own front row seat and getting into the mentality of what it means to create a 40K flavoured illustration is making me more and more of a fan of what I think the franchise represents on different levels. When I say I find 40K really insane, I mean it in a sincerely optimistic way, and I think I am finally getting better at understanding where that balance point between grimdark outlook, cautionary tale/social commentary, and outlandish spectacle sits.

This reflection of what 40K meant to me, had me throwing out the idea that maybe in order for the Stormseer to even be in close combat with a Battlesuit twice his height, required he be presented in a way that could rival the nuttiness of the idea to begin with. So imagining a narrative, I assume these guys could have force-lances that they could also throw, using that as a medium range large-caliber stopping weapon (illustrated at bottom right) and then move into closer combat with their shorter range tulwars. (This of course sets up the visual excuse for the flapping blood-soaked hair plume on the end of the lance up front.) The stormseer would realise that his bolters might be ineffectual at getting him within close enough range so he would opt to just pop a wheelie off the frontline Tau and use the bolter riddled chassis of the crisis suit as a landing ramp and shield to buy him precious seconds to plan his next move. They're Space Marines. Seemed legit. "SAY YES!"

Other favourite details:

-Please excuse the slightly overdone prismatic effect on the Riptide's shield. I still think it looks nice and it makes some sense. Just riffing off similar idea in the previous Tau codex supplement. I also wanted to illustrate how the hexa-projection areas might be linked to individual projection nodes, and we would see how individual 'tiles' pulse under stress as opposed to having a continuous 'texture pattern'.

-I keep reading in the fluff how much advanced targetting tech the Tau pack, technically a Fire warrior would have onboard sensors and targetting aids, that eventually gets meshed with higher level networked data from sensor drones, add on to that markerlight data and more... basically it just sounds like a Tau shooter could be drunk, falling over, and still hit a fly in between its eyes having accounted for atmospheric disruption from 600 meters away. So that I felt gave me the right to imply that they can shoot incoming rounds out of the sky. Which we can see to great effect in the background and right behind the Stormseer. There of course is the consideration for fans who think its unreasonable, so they also look like they could be randomly hit because the relatively slow moving missiles are travelling through a firestorm of plasma. But I just wanted to say what the original intent was  Also to the left is a inverted Phalanx-CIWS looking burst cannon drone that seems to be in charge of clearing the skies for ground troops (when I saw that design I almost stood up and clapped at the screen). And for those of you who absolutely do not buy any of that, there's this:

warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Ai…

-Poor Tau loses his head in the background-The bikes were initially block-modelled in Sketchup to help me give a sense of their geometry and what I could do with them.This took over a week to do, the longest I've spent on any of the illustrations to date and burnt a weekend or so (gladly so) getting it done. I hope it makes the Tau and White Scars fans amongst you happy and rooting for your favourites and for mech heads in general  

#warhammer 40k #40k #tau #space marines #imperium #raven guard #white scars #battlesuits #ukitakumuki #combat

[bountyofbeads]

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-7367511/amp/Prince-Andrew-pictured-inside-paedophile-Jeffrey-Epsteins-63million-mansion-depravity.html?__twitter_impression=true

Sometimes maybe the video does arrive after all.

Was Andrew aware? Did he ask no questions? Epstein had just been released from a prison sentence for abuse, after all.

EXCLUSIVE: Prince Andrew is pictured inside paedophile Jeffrey Epstein's £63million mansion of depravity nine years ago... so how did he miss signs of the billionaire's sexual deviance?

By Caroline Graham In Los Angeles | Sunday21:00 17 Aug 2019, updated 00:22 19 Aug 2019 | Daily Mail | Posted August 19, 2019 9:14AM ET

Duke was spotted peering around the door of the billionaire's Manhattan home on December 6, 2010 

The footage of the Duke was taken less than an hour after Epstein left the house with a young blonde woman 

Epstein's alleged 'sex slave' Virginia Roberts claims she had sex with the Prince at financier's New York home

Buckingham Palace has denied any wrongdoing on Duke's part and the Queen has showed him her support

Standing by the towering 15ft-high solid oak front door, Prince Andrew gives a nod and a cheery wave to the pretty brunette as she leaves the £63 million Manhattan mansion.

He appears entirely at ease but then, for a split second, glances around the door as if to check that no one had witnessed the brief encounter.

As well he might.

For these exclusive pictures come from a never-before-seen video of the Duke of York staying at the New York home of convicted paedophile Jeffrey Epstein. And some of the other images caught on camera make for disturbing viewing.

The footage of the Duke of York – then the UK's Special Representative for International Trade – was taken less than an hour after Epstein, who had been convicted of sex with a child in 2008, left the house in the company of a young, shivering blonde woman.

The video was shot on December 6, 2010, during a visit by the Prince to Epstein's nine-storey 21,000 square foot mansion dubbed the 'House of Horrors' by many of his young victims.

By then Epstein – who took his own life last weekend – was on a child sex offender register, yet one observer told The Mail on Sunday that several of the women leaving and entering the home while Andrew was apparently inside 'looked very young indeed'.

The Duke has vehemently denied claims by Epstein's alleged 'sex slave' Virginia Roberts that she had sex with the Prince on three occasions, the first when she was 17 and once at the US millionaire's now-notorious 40-room mansion at 9 East 71st Street in Manhattan, the setting of these pictures.

Her allegations, submitted to a court in 2014, were later thrown out by a judge who ordered them to be struck from the record as 'immaterial and impertinent'.

Since Epstein's suicide last weekend as he faced further child sex trafficking charges, Buckingham Palace has repeated its denial of wrongdoing by the Prince.

'Any suggestion of impropriety with underage minors is categorically untrue. It is emphatically denied that the Duke of York had any form of sexual contact or relationship with Virginia Roberts,' it said.

Any claim to the contrary is false and without foundation.'

The Queen also made a public show of support by allowing Prince Andrew to sit next to her as they were driven to a church service near Balmoral last Sunday.

However, these images are sure to raise fresh questions about the 59-year-old's judgment as they place him inside the private, inner sanctum of Epstein, who continued to abuse young girls even after a controversial 2008 plea deal that saw him serve just 13 months, much of it on day release.

'The Prince looked entirely at ease in Epstein's house,' a source told The Mail on Sunday last night. 

'There were girls coming and going. One, who came out of the house with Epstein about an hour before Prince Andrew said goodbye to the brunette, was tiny and shivering.

'It was a particularly cold New York December day. What I remember most is the constant procession of girls and women going to and from the house.

'It was chilling to see. Everyone knew by that point that Epstein was a convicted paedophile, yet he was flaunting his lifestyle in plain sight.

'When the Prince came to the door I was stunned. He looked totally at ease. He said a few words to the girl, who was very pretty, and then she walked off down the street in the direction of Central Park.

'If I hadn't known it was Prince Andrew, I would have thought he owned the place. He looked so comfortable and relaxed as he stood there at the door.

'He didn't appear to have a concern in the world as he smiled and waved goodbye to the girl.

'It was only as the girl walked off that he glanced around the door frame, almost as if to check no one was watching.'

The video was taken less than 24 hours after the Prince was infamously photographed walking through Central Park with Epstein.

He had met the US businessman through Ghislaine Maxwell, the daughter of disgraced tycoon Robert Maxwell and a woman the FBI says is now of 'renewed interest' in its ongoing case into allegations made by scores of women that they were sexually abused by Epstein and his wealthy friends at homes in London, New Mexico, New York and the US Virgin Islands.

Ms Maxwell has repeatedly denied that she acted as a 'madam' for Epstein and has described Ms Roberts's claims as 'malicious lies'.

Epstein's New York home was as weird and twisted as the man himself. The entry foyer where Prince Andrew stood to wave off the brunette was decorated, according to an account by writer Vicky Ward in Vanity Fair magazine, with 'row upon row' of individually framed artificial eyeballs – imported from England.

The video footage shows the initials 'JE' in raised brass letters on the wall next to the front door. 

What is not seen is the heating element that Epstein had installed beneath the concrete pavement to melt the New York winter snow.

On a wall in the hall was a bizarre portrait of former US President Bill Clinton in red heels and the infamous stained blue dress worn by Monica Lewinsky when she performed a sex act on him.

Nearby hung a giant painting of Epstein inside a prison surrounded by barbed wire and gun-toting guards. 

The disgraced financier reportedly said the artwork was 'to remind me that I could go back to prison any time'.

A chandelier had a 'life-size female doll hanging from it, and one woman who claims to have been assaulted by Epstein said a bathroom had prosthetic breasts on the wall 'so he could play with the nipples as he took a bath'. 

Dozens of photographs of Epstein with his famous friends, including Bill and Hillary Clinton, Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman and filmmaker Woody Allen, were on display in his study beside a life-size stuffed tiger and a stuffed grey poodle.

One can only wonder how Andrew missed the procession of women or the signs of Epstein's sexual deviance.

Indeed, Epstein's 'pride and joy' was a large 'human chessboard' at the bottom of the main staircase which had customised figurines modelled on his female 'staff members wearing suggestive clothing'.

Then there was the life-size statue of a naked African warrior. Not to mention the 'leather room'.

When the FBI raided the house after Epstein was arrested last month, it reportedly found 'thousands' of indecent images of under-age women on computer hard drives locked in his office safe.

Others have claimed that Epstein had photographs and videos of his famous friends 'engaged in sex acts' which have now been seized by the FBI – prompting conspiracy theories that Epstein was murdered despite official autopsy results released on Friday stating definitively that the cause of death was suicide.

The video obtained by The Mail on Sunday is particularly shocking for the fact that – even two years after his 2008 child sex conviction – Epstein was seemingly flaunting his penchant for young women in plain view and in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.

The footage begins just before 2.30pm on December 6, 2010, as two security men leave Epstein's mansion and chat to another security man in a waiting Chrysler.

Epstein's black Bentley arrives in the street about 20 minutes later, shortly before a delivery man from Le Gourmet delivers a parcel.

Shortly after 3.10pm, an unidentified young woman in a red 'beanie' hat leaves the house. She heads in the direction of East 66th Street, where Epstein owned a flat and where, according to some alleged victims, he 'kept' young Eastern European girls as virtual prisoners.

About 25 minutes later, an older, professional-looking woman with blonde hair leaves the house.

One minute later, at 3.35pm, Epstein, wearing a thick white fur-lined winter coat, leaves his property, followed by a young-looking girl dressed in a flimsy grey top. She appears to be carrying his glasses.

In a deeply troubling scene, the blonde-haired woman – who barely reaches Epstein's shoulders – appears cold and shaking as she walks with the millionaire to his Bentley.

Epstein clambers into the back seat as the young woman stands on the street, seemingly being given instructions. An older passer-by glances at the incongruous-looking couple.

After around two minutes, the girl jogs back to the house when she stands on the front step and presses the doorbell, visibly shaking with cold.

It is opened by a professional-looking brunette woman closely resembling Sarah Kellen, Epstein's former assistant whom several alleged victims have dubbed a 'co-conspirator' in Epstein's crimes.

Kellen, who is now married to a US race-car driver called Brian Vickers, has never commented publicly about the Epstein case.

However, she appeared in court during a defamation suit brought by Ms Roberts against Ms Maxwell and 'pleaded the Fifth' when asked about her role in Epstein's sex trafficking scheme.

In America, invoking the Fifth Amendment is a legal term which means you do not have to give evidence that might incriminate you.

At 4.30pm, the door opens and a pretty brunette emerges. She pauses and turns back to the house where Prince Andrew can be seen at the door.

The pair chat for a few seconds before the woman walks away, leaving Andrew to glance up the street before closing the door.

Forty minutes later, as the light begins to fade, another young-looking dark-haired woman arrives at the house.

In an unpublished manuscript released in the US as part of a huge trove of documents related to a defamation suit brought by Ms Roberts against Ms Maxwell, which was subsequently settled, Ms Roberts talks about meeting Prince Andrew in Epstein's New York home.

She gives an account – supported by another alleged victim – of how the Prince sat on a sofa and posed with a Spitting Image puppet of himself.

'When Andrew cupped my breast with a doll made in his image I only giggled away,' she wrote in the book, described in court documents as a 'fictionalised' account of her life.

Last night, the source of the video said they had decided to go public with the footage to encourage further victims to come forward.

'I'm haunted by the shivering young girl who was with Epstein. What became of her?' asked the source. 'Now I'm reading everything that went on inside and know the full horrors of what went on, I'm wondering, was she a victim too?'

This weekend, Prince Andrew was relaxing in the sunshine in Spain on a holiday with his ex-wife Sarah Ferguson.

The source said: 'When the video was taken he looked like a man without a care in the world.

'You have to wonder if that's still the case.'

So many disturbing questions. It’s time Andrew answered them…Royal Author ANGELA LEVIN on how the Prince MUST disclose everything he knows about Jeffrey Epstein

BY ANGELA LEVIN FOR THE MAIL ON SUNDAY

 The last time we saw Prince Andrew, he was stepping off a flight to Malaga in the company of his former wife Sarah Ferguson before taking a limousine to the luxury resort of Sotogrande. 

Business as usual, in other words.

Andrew will be glad of the chance to get away from it all, no doubt, as friends say he has been unusually stressed of late –and no wonder.

For the 59-year-old is once again in the spotlight over his close friendship with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein. 

Only days before Epstein’s prison suicide, a number of legal documents had been unsealed by the US courts and one of these included lurid allegations about Prince Andrew’s conduct with a 17-year-old girl – something he has always denied.

Last week, his lawyers repeated the same brief formula they have stuck to all along: ‘It is emphatically denied that the Duke of York had any form of sexual contact or relationship with Virginia Roberts. Any claim to the contrary is false and without foundation.’

No doubt they are correct. Yet hiding behind lawyers is no longer enough for Prince Andrew, a father of two daughters and a man who holds a pivotal place in British national life.

Day by day, the evidence of Epstein’s nauseating crimes mounts up – and the true extent of Andrew’s friendship with Epstein grows ever clearer.

The shocking video evidence in today’s Mail on Sunday makes it all-too-plain the Prince remained on friendly terms with Epstein even when it was obvious just what sort of man he was. 

This was no brief acquaintance.

They had known each other for some time, ever since Epstein’s former lover and alleged fixer Ghislaine Maxwell introduced them in the 1990s.

The Prince became a regular guest at Epstein’s celebrity-filled dinner parties in Manhattan and, as their friendship grew, the invitations were returned.

In June 2000, Epstein and Ghislaine attended the Dance of the Decades, a spectacular party at Windsor Castle hosted by the Queen to mark Andrew’s 40th, Princess Anne’s 50th, Princess Margaret’s 70th and Prince William’s 18th birthdays.

In the autumn of that year, Andrew flew to New York and attended a Halloween ‘hookers and bondage’ party in Manhattan, where Ghislaine dressed as a prostitute.

In December of the same year, Andrew threw a birthday bash for Ghislaine at Sandringham, which Epstein attended before all three went to Phuket in Thailand, to celebrate the New Year.

Andrew was snapped sunbathing on a yacht with topless young women.

The criminal nature of Epstein’s interest in very young women became clear when this newspaper revealed the shocking case of Virginia Roberts, who says she had been recruited to work as a 15-year-old masseuse for Epstein and had been treated as the billionaire’s ‘sex slave’.

There is an infamous photograph from early 2001, believed to have been taken in Ghislaine’s Belgravia home, which shows Andrew with his arm around the bare midriff of Ms Roberts, while Ghislaine is grinning in the background.

It is all the more worrying, then, that Ms Roberts – who is now a mother of three living in Australia – claims she witnessed Epstein having sex with underage girls on a daily basis.

Still worse, Ms Roberts has alleged Epstein ‘forced’ her to have sex with Andrew in London and on two other occasions when she was 17.

There has been no claim that Andrew was aware she had been acting under duress – and in any case he denies that any such incidents happened at all. 

It is important to stress also that an American judge threw out the allegations against the Prince and ordered them to be struck from the record as ‘immaterial and impertinent’.

In another of the witness statements now open to the public, alleged Epstein victim Johanna Sjoberg claims Andrew touched her breast while sitting on a couch at Epstein’s New York apartment in 2001.

The Prince continues to vehemently deny all such claims, but what is beyond doubt is that shortly after Epstein was released from jail for child sex offences, his old friend came to stay.

A now familiar photo of the pair strolling through Central Park showed a level of misjudgment which we simply would never expect from our Royals.

The MoS’s exclusive clip of Andrew grinning as he waves goodbye to an unidentified brunette from behind Epstein’s oak door underlines just how close the pair were.

In the minutes before Andrew appears at the door, women are seen coming and going from the mansion – many of them questionably young in appearance.

Was Andrew aware? Did he ask no questions? Epstein had just been released from a prison sentence for abuse, after all.

It has been reported Epstein paraded his sexual perversions in his homes with naked photos of young girls and soaps in the shape of male and female genitals. Did Andrew see any of this? If so, why did he continue the friendship?

It is clear there are serious questions that need answers – and it’s high time we heard them. The Duke of York is not an ordinary citizen, but a senior Royal and father to two grown-up Princesses.

He was made Britain’s special trade representative on his retirement from the Royal Navy, a post he still held in 2011 when the MoS first exposed his friend. Andrew remains Commander and honorary Vice Admiral of the Royal Navy.

These enormous privileges bring great responsibility – but they don’t seem to have had much effect on his social behaviour.

Instead he has garnered a reputation for a self-indulgent lifestyle that includes meetings with unsavoury Middle Eastern tyrants and potentates. He seems to lack self-awareness and appears unconcerned that his actions risk grave damage to the Royal Family.

Sarah Ferguson has said: ‘We really believe in being good parents for our girls. In our every day [life], we really respect each other and honour each other.’

Yet her former husband seems unable to see any disconnect between standing proudly in morning dress for the wedding of his daughter Eugenie last October and the seedy friendship with a criminal abuser he would rather not discuss.

Why has he got such a high-handed and reckless attitude?

His childhood might help explain. Born in 1960, Andrew quickly became an adored second son, one who the Queen hoped would stabilise her marriage. It was said at the time Philip felt constrained by Royal life and that the relationship was tense.

But Andrew’s arrival did the trick. It also tied in with the Queen’s wish to be a more involved mother. She even wrote to her cousin Lady Mary Cambridge: ‘The baby is adorable. All in all, he’s going to be terribly spoilt by all of us I’m sure.’

Perhaps this was a sort of compensation for her earlier strictness with Charles. But the result has been unfortunate: Andrew behaves as though he is free to do exactly as he chooses. 

Does he not know how shocking his friendship with Epstein appears? It is time for the Duke of York to accept the serious misjudgment he has made and co-operate with authorities to disclose everything he knows about Epstein’s lifestyle and actions.

Has he contacted the police in Britain or America to try to help shed light on what by any standards was a horrific series of crimes committed by his former friend? It’s impossible to know because Buckingham Palace refuses to say.

But if he hasn’t, he should. The alternative is to try yet again to bury it in soft sand, to hide away and, like a coward, hope his 93-year-old mother will make things better.

#jeffrey epstein #epstein case #uknews #uk #royal #the royals #royal family #sex trafficking #sex crimes #uk news #united states department of justice #u.s. department of justice #us news #us politics

[qosmiq]

#spacecraft #spaceship #starship #space #scifi #space opera #science fiction #mechanix #planet #ghislain barbe

[yodawgiheardyoulikemecha]

#Mecha #Jovian Chronicles #Ghislain Barbe #Qosmiq #Mecha Gaming #RolePlaying Games #Tabletop Roleplaying Games #Tabletop RPGs #TTRPG

[inquisitors-art-gallery-blog]

Black Library: Damocles and  Black Library: The Shape of the Hunt  by ukitakumuki

Artist’s Comment

Black Library: Damocles

Check out the e/book here! : www.blacklibrary.com/warhammer… Illustration © Games Workshop Art director/producer: Karen Miksza ++++++++++++++++++++++ The brief for this one was a three-way melee between Kor'sarro Khan of the White Scars, Tau Commander Shadowsun, and Captain Kayvaan Shrike of the Raven Guard, amidst a mixed-force battle of White Scars, Raven Guard, and Cadian IG versus the Tau fighting atop a rocky promontory with jungle. The main focus of the show is Shadowsun, whom according to the reference and specs sent to me, often fields two shield drones. I thought that could be a perfect excuse to not end up in an awkward "2 on 1" prong attack. So that resulted in our assault marine captain Shrike pulling off a DFA and Kor'sarro timing a strike to take out her shield on one side. Given the hardback template/format I decided early on to have two back to back crisis suits behind the main trinary to visually frame the action and hopefully some narrative link to what was going on in the background. While sketching in comp ideas I was thinking of World in Conflict FMVs (yeah I watched a compilation vid of the different sequences but set to just Audioslave's Shadow on the Sun... how apt for our Tau commander ) which inspired that jungle crossfire for the back cover (left of image), along with some physics logic I thought should be observed such as "if plasma based weaponry gets spammed in the general direction of a forest, there should be a moderate to high chance of a forest fire occurring" which kinda explains why we see the charred dirt and branches and hints of trees on fire in the back. Other favourite points of interest that I recall from half a year back: -Singed/scorched Imperial armour versus cracked/gouged tau armour -Drones buzzing a tree (near the sun) -Devastator Raven going head on with the battlesuit turned away from us, armour in the process of being seared off chunk by chunk. -White Scar reading poetry on the lawn in an admirable last stand -Unfortunate IG, now literally half the man he used to be. Courtesy of being in the open when Tau heavy artillery drops. Check back soon for The Shape of The Hunt!!!

Black Library: The Shape of the Hunt

This piece is, in my own way, dedicated to two very unique creatives whose achievements and trust in me have both inspired and helped me take my work to higher levels. Ghislain Barbe( NOT because he is coincidentally now the art director on Eternal Crusade at BHVR  , but because when I was a kid I played a PC game called Heavy Gear by Dream Pod 9/Activision, and along with it came a printed game manual with wonderful mecha illustrations and diagrams that blew my little mind, and he was the illustrator of my favourite designs in the book.), and Peter Cooper(an incredibly kind and talented writer/director who years ago offered me the opportunity to do the illustrated set pieces for his HALO fan-film, Operation Chastity). Moreso because I think they might appreciate certain aspects of this image in their own capacities, like the pew pew lazars. Ok really its just about the lazars and the airburst munitions. And my special thanks and apologies to my truly professional and patient producer, Karen Miksza, for enduring and evaluating a chickenscratch-sketch of mine that resembled more of a Rorschach exercise than anything. You rock! As for the artwork: Reading the brief, and visualising the narrative and technical approach, made me want to crawl under a rock somewhere and just go into a coma. But it dawned on me it was really about huge battlesuits and powered armour on bikes in a desert--the very stuff my favourite SF childhood memories were made of. So I put on some Bubblegum Crisis tracks to remind me of what I felt was special about the genre and what I would like to see happen again, and got back to work. "Say Yes!" by Maiko Hashimoto in particular, really helped bring back those memories. Bearing in mind this is meant to be a triple-fold/paneled illustration; I was to illustrate a White Scars Stormseer fighting a Crisis Battlesuit with a tulwar on the front cover(rightmost third of image), looming Riptide in center third, and miscellaneous combatants filling up the remainder. The White Scars were to seem joyous in the midst of their hunt, armed with lances or tulwars in addition to the bolters on their bikes. All this was to take place on a dusty plain. I immediately thought that a scene showing a breached frontline would work best, to help put across just how fast moving and aggressive the White Scars are known to be, and for all the long distance planning of the Tau once up close and personal with Space Marines on bikes, it can quickly descend into unmanageable chaos. Troops having to divert their attention from the front to acquire stray bikers without hitting their friends, and crisis suits engaging their thrusters to quickly manoeuver along the ranks and train their guns on the bikes. Crisis suits... in a crisis of their own... aha..haha..h- As a Chinese guy, I felt it got really hilarious at one point painting Fu Manchu 'roid mongols in sun-bleached white armour going to town on the Tau. So I just rode that wave as best I could  Having my own front row seat and getting into the mentality of what it means to create a 40K flavoured illustration is making me more and more of a fan of what I think the franchise represents on different levels. When I say I find 40K really insane, I mean it in a sincerely optimistic way, and I think I am finally getting better at understanding where that balance point between grimdark outlook, cautionary tale/social commentary, and outlandish spectacle sits. This reflection of what 40K meant to me, had me throwing out the idea that maybe in order for the Stormseer to even be in close combat with a Battlesuit twice his height, required he be presented in a way that could rival the nuttiness of the idea to begin with. So imagining a narrative, I assume these guys could have force-lances that they could also throw, using that as a medium range large-caliber stopping weapon (illustrated at bottom right) and then move into closer combat with their shorter range tulwars. (This of course sets up the visual excuse for the flapping blood-soaked hair plume on the end of the lance up front.) The stormseer would realise that his bolters might be ineffectual at getting him within close enough range so he would opt to just pop a wheelie off the frontline Tau and use the bolter riddled chassis of the crisis suit as a landing ramp and shield to buy him precious seconds to plan his next move. They're Space Marines. Seemed legit. "SAY YES!" Other favourite details: -Please excuse the slightly overdone prismatic effect on the Riptide's shield. I still think it looks nice and it makes some sense. Just riffing off similar idea in the previous Tau codex supplement. I also wanted to illustrate how the hexa-projection areas might be linked to individual projection nodes, and we would see how individual 'tiles' pulse under stress as opposed to having a continuous 'texture pattern'. -I keep reading in the fluff how much advanced targetting tech the Tau pack, technically a Fire warrior would have onboard sensors and targetting aids, that eventually gets meshed with higher level networked data from sensor drones, add on to that markerlight data and more... basically it just sounds like a Tau shooter could be drunk, falling over, and still hit a fly in between its eyes having accounted for atmospheric disruption from 600 meters away. So that I felt gave me the right to imply that they can shoot incoming rounds out of the sky. Which we can see to great effect in the background and right behind the Stormseer. There of course is the consideration for fans who think its unreasonable, so they also look like they could be randomly hit because the relatively slow moving missiles are travelling through a firestorm of plasma. But I just wanted to say what the original intent was  Also to the left is a inverted Phalanx-CIWS looking burst cannon drone that seems to be in charge of clearing the skies for ground troops (when I saw that design I almost stood up and clapped at the screen). And for those of you who absolutely do not buy any of that, there's this: warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Ai… -Poor Tau loses his head in the background -The bikes were initially block-modelled in Sketchup to help me give a sense of their geometry and what I could do with them. This took over a week to do, the longest I've spent on any of the illustrations to date and burnt a weekend or so (gladly so) getting it done. I hope it makes the Tau and White Scars fans amongst you happy and rooting for your favourites and for mech heads in general  

#warhammer 40k #40k #space marines #tau #battlesuit #white scars #damocles #damocles crusade

[zeether]

Really dig Ghislain Barbe’s work on this, I just wish I could get into it and Heavy Gear...

#jovian chronicles

[bryanharryrombough]

Heavy Gear: Into the Badlands, 1996

Another early supplement for Heavy Gear, and hands down one of the best.  Written by Philippe Boulle, with artwork by Ghislain Barbe @qosmiq and Normand Bilodeau, Into the Badlands packs a lot of ideas & information into 109 pages.

"The Badlands" are the equatorial desert region of Terra Nova, the default setting world of Heavy Gear.  And caught between the polar superpowers of Terra Nova, it's the most likely location for conflict and intrigue.

This supplement had a lot of great tidbits and potential plot hooks strewn throughout.  In addition to a general overview of the various settlements throughout the badlands and regional powers, it had wonderful details that fleshed out the setting and were ripe for exploration, such as: Khayr Ad-din and it’s gladiatorial gear duelling circuit (expanded in a later supplement) (also included a brief bio of a duellist named “Guy Slane” who bore a strong resemblence to a DP9 staff artist); the caustic Great White Desert and the 'Sand Riders' who lived within it; the 'rover gangs' that operate in the badlands (and a great sidebar about their depiction in Terra Novan popular culture); the 'Blue Crescent' religious order; and my personal favourite, Yannick and Karl, a couple of trideo gear fighting game fans who’s first reaction to seeing their badlands settlement being invaded by polar forces was “Whoa... Cool!”.

#heavy gear #ghislain barbe #mecha #mecha gaming #rpg #tabletop rpg #wargaming #miniature wargaming #book cover

[exactlyenchantingshark-blog]

As he did not have enough money for aircraft lessons, Maurice had settled on buzzing Ghislaine's kitchen window in his paraglider. The only stir he ever created was in the neighborhood, as when he fell on a barbed wire fence, wherefrom he had to be rescued. Sadly, the beautiful woman's heart never missed a beat over him.

[storieditarocchi]

Le Tarot de la Lanterne Magique, by Francis Ouellette & Ghislain Barbe.

#tarot #cards #cinema #movies #charlie chaplin #the exorcist #metropolis #fritz lang #rear window #hitchcok #james stewart