Recently I've had a friend (who shall remain nameless) suggest that I try my hand at art on a drawing pad once more. After several months of drawing nothing and having a little more time on my hands, I've decided to create my own little series of drawings based off of my favorite online webcomics. Mind you that they will all be black and white, but I will attempt coloring them at some point (once I figure out Photoshop).

These characters will be in no particular order, and I will have the links to each webcomic I read in the description so that you can look at what I'm referencing. Hopefully this will allow more people to see some of my favorite characters and storylines online, and in the end I'm really hoping to increase my own skills in art.

So, let the drawing commence.

=^.^=

Can you believe it, I'm actually starting a journal entry, not really sure what to put here other than what I'm basically doing today.

Currently I'm writing a book based on a 10 year long roleplay that several of my friends and I have done over the course of my life. My original character was from the original AD&D from when I was barely 10 years old. For nearly two years I roleplayed him with my friends, but when I met a new group of friends and they introduced me to 2nd Edition AD&D, I decided to create a new character. For the longest time, I roleplayed with this one character in everything from localized roleplay to epic styled roleplays until finally I retired him and decided to roleplay his son... my current Deviantart name.

I'm not going to bore you with the silly details, but what I do want to let you know that I've changed a few of the names around to something different, creating my own characters so that I wouldn't have to ask my old friends if I could use their original concepts. I've also added and subtracted certain aspects of the supporting characters so that they are truly my own creations... only the meeting of these characters and the interactions remained primarily the same.

With that said, I wish to regail you with the prologue if I might.

What follows, is the transition that I made from one game, and the beginning of the life of another. I only hope that you all like it.

:SILVERCLAW:

Prophecy of the Silverclaw

It will come to pass on the morn of Samhain,
by the light of the blue moon,
within the witching hour,
a babe shall be bore upon the striped warrior lord,
and the babe shall know only pain and despair.

He shall be a warrior without peer,
with a heart that knows nothing of hatred,
but feared by others,
and hated for his diffrences.

He will be known as the Silverclaw,
slayer of darkness, evil, and cruelty alike,
to know him is to invite mortal peril,
to call him friend is to endure torture,
to love him is to die.

This is his curse...
and our salvation.

Prologue


It was night.
Rain pelted the top of the hide tent as the beautiful, dark brown haired woman let out a scream of agony. Her enlarged belly quivered as the small circle of candles illuminated the area. A mid-wife bustled about the area alternating between wiping the woman's brow and checking in with the other between her legs. Seconds later the woman screamed again as the contraction ripped through her body with agonizing pain.

Outside in the diminishing downpour practically all the men and women of the nomadic tribe are waiting for word about the woman inside. The encampment has roughly twenty-five tents, including a large one in the center, connecting two enormous circles of nomadic homes.
The central tent appeared to be the Meeting Hall.
The pair of tents on either side of it belong to the chieftain and the aged shaman that was even now chanting while incense burned before him.

Another scream turns the man that's pacing outside of the tent, and for the first time fear flashes across his face. A pair of deep green eyes watch the flap that served as a door to his and his wife's personal tent, while rain drops impacted his deep red hair plastering the waist length mane to his scalp and the furred cloak he wore over his shoulders and back.
' Please let her live beyond this, I can't live without her.' he thought as the air became almost entirely still.
Suddenly the clouds parted and the rains ceased showing a glowing blue moon that cast a single ray of light onto the scene. A moment later, the soft wail of a baby's cry came from the tent and his eyes widened in happiness and expectation of the joy that he would see when he entered his tent.

A hand clasped his forearm, for the old shaman that had been divining in his tent had emerged and managed to barely reach up to the man who looked enormous beside him. The light engulfed them fully and the young chieftain looked the complete opposite of the shaman to his side. Taller than any of his fellow barbarians, with arms that were nearly the size of a typical man's leg, and a strongly built body covered over in a hide tunic, cinched at the waist and hung to his knees.
The shaman however was old and hunched, a strong tone could be seen in his arms and legs, and the sharpness of his eyes had never dulled with the ages, but he was no warrior.
"I see powerful visions, Lothar of the White Tiger Clan, and none of them good." his voice was a hoarse whisper as he practically glared at the tent. "Your wife has birthed the savior of legend. The Silverclaw!" the last two words were a harsh hiss of disapproval.
Lothar glared at the man but then looked over at his tent. "That is my child, and I will love the babe and my wife until the day I die, Shelar." Lothar's voice was a deep baritone as he spoke, and although he tried to keep his voice low, it still echoed in the darkness. "You have spouted these words before to my father, and each time you have been wrong. Now, I'm going to go in and see my wife and child."
With that he left the shaman standing there while the drenched grass and mud squelched under his feet.

Inside, the mid-wives had just cleaned off the babe and wrapped it into a warm blanket when Lothar practically burst into the tent. The candles flickered from the rush of wind and a few closest to the opening blew out. Seeing the senior mid-wife, an elderly woman called Hara, move over and place the babe in his wife's arms caused a smile to envelope his whole face.
Seeing her husband in the entrance, his wife smiled just as broadly through the pain and shock of having given birth. "Come and see your son, Lothar, and help me to pick a name for him." she stated in a tender voice, thick with exhaustion from the childbirthing.
Lothar did approach, and he looked upon the face of the babe that was his son. "Ariel, what shall we call him?" he asked as he sat down next to the bed of pelts and furs, his enormous hands caressing the soft flesh of his son's face so tenderly that the child barely registered the touch. "I want him to have a powerful name, but I also want to have him show a gentle side so that people would come to care for him."
"I don't think that will be a problem, my husband." Ariel said, her eyes narrowing lovingly while smiling softly at the babe in her arms.

* * * * * * * * * *

Upon a hilltop that had just minutes before been drenched within a downpour of cold rain, stood a force of over two hundred men. The man in the front of the army sat upon his black stallion, his nearly crimson hair fluttered slightly in the breeze before resting between his shoulder blades. He was tall and lithe with a strong tone to his muscled arms that was even now covered in iron plate mail. The most unusual aspect of this man was his eyes, a light shade of amber that slid into deep crimson closer to the pupils.

A few seconds after the moon had emerged from the clouds, a painted mare and a chestnut stallion strolled up to the front of the army as well. The two that rode upon their backs seemed so similar that the only explanation was that they were twins, with only slight differences.
The young woman on the mare held a spear in her right hand while her leather armor barely shone through the darkness. Her eyes were storm cloud gray while her black hair travelled down her back to stop at her waist. Her face portrayed beauty as she watched the little town of tents.
The man on the chestnut stallion looked exactly the same except that his hair was cut short, and his eyes were a ghostly blue that seemed to glow in the light of the moon.

"Lord Evarul, the nomadic White Tiger Tribe is below." the young woman stated with a satisfied smile.
"Tell me again why I care for a few deer. The logic escapes me Templeton." Evarul asked as he watched the goings on in the small village of tents.
"My lord, they haven't just killed your deer, but also usurped your plans for the conquest of this area of Sunderlynde. Your first army strayed into their path and were slaughtered like pigs." the young man replied looking at the man upon the onyx horse. "Would you have your men die without retribution for their murders?"
Evarul glared at the man on the chestnut horse and immediately Templeton bowed his head in submission. "Speak to me as such again and you will find your head removed from your shoulders before the next nightfall."
He watched for a few more seconds before motioning for his archers to ready their weapons.
His voice was soft, emotionless as he gave his command.
"Fire."

Outside of Lothar's tent, the people were milling about in the hopes of getting to see or hear about the birth of their lord's first child, but such a thing would never happen. Less than a minute after Lothar had disappeared into his tent, a rain of arrows fell from the skies and impacted earth, tent, and nomads alike. Several women screamed as they were hit by arrows, and more than a dozen fell dead within the first few seconds of that attack. After the initial assault, the women and children started to run back to their tents while the men went for their weapons. Chaos ensued as more arrows fell into the mass of running people, cutting down dozens before they ever made it to anywhere symbolic of safety.

Hearing the screams outside, Lothar had helped his beloved wife to move out of their bed only seconds before six arrows impacted the mass of furs and various items in the tent. Lothar turned to order Hara to take his wife and child to safety, but saw her already on the ground with an arrow between her eyes. Picking up his halbard, he looked over at he beloved Ariel. "Run my love, and don't look back. I will hold off whichever monsters have decided to attack us." Lothar remarked with a sad look in his eyes. He knew he was going to die with the rest of his village, but if Ariel and his child could find a way to escape then it would be worth every second.

They embraced and kissed tenderly before Lothar left the cover of his tent and ran through the hail of arrows toward the hillock, his booming voice calling out a war-chant as he rallied those that could fight to this side. Ariel packed away some food, sheathed her dagger, and covered over her newborn son, before slowly slipping out of her tent and heading off into the darkness, and the renewed downpour of rain that almost seemed like the clouds themselves were crying about the tragedy unfolding. She had to get away before anyone would see that she wasn't in the village, perhaps then she would be able to raise her son and tell him of the tragedy that happened this night, if they survived.

Evarul watched as nearly two dozen warriors started to rush the hill, not slowing although the climb was slightly steep. "Continue the arrow assault, men." he said before smiling to one of his captains. "Take half the men, Justin, and send these cretin's to whatever god they serve." The knight to Evarul’s extreme left only nodded and drew out his sword. Justin’s blond hair rippled in the soft breeze as he motioned for the men to his left and right to follow.

“Charge!” Justin roared out. Behind him, more than two dozen men moved toward the crest of the hill before their running feet left the edge and they plunged down into the heart of the battle. The piercing icy blue eyes of Evarul's loyal captain focused upon the first of his victims as he unsheathed his sharp broadsword, and ran straight for the foolish savage before him. The fur clad warrior couldn't hope to injure the well-equipped and thoroughly trained captain, as the soldier heard the 'THUNK' of an axe hitting his shield, Justin pushed his shield up and thrust his sword under the steel reinforced, wooden barrier until he felt his weapon impact and pierce flesh. In a single move, the captain thrust his shield arm out to the side and slashed at the soldier once more, cutting a red line across the warriors throat before turning toward the fight. Weapons rang out against one another on either side of the loyal soldier as he came upon his next victim.

This one wielded a halberd.

Lothar had seen this one cut down his good friend, Bartok, a skilled weaponsmith and the godfather to his newborn son. "MURDEROUS SWINE!" he screamed out, his eyes blazing in unchecked rage. With a warcry in his throat, Lothar lunged forward and lashed out with his halberd's blade before spinning the shaft in a full circuit, aiming it at this warrior that dared to face off against him. The sound of his blade impacting wood told him that this attack had been anticipated. Even the sound of his weapon's shaft impacting and causing the ringing of his opponents sword was satisfying to some degree. Justin shrugged off these two attacks rather easily, although the impact to his sword had caused a vibration to course through his arm, nearly making him drop the weapon. Only sheer willpower kept the sword within his arms. The only problem, was that he couldn't stop the largest of Lothar's weapons. Justin was tackled to the ground with a wet 'FA-WHUMP'. Rain splashed into his face and blinded him for a few moments, it was just enough to give Lothar the upper hand. His fist impacted Justin's face once, twice, three times and on the fourth impact the fair haired and fair faced warrior moved no more. This didn't stop Lothar's climb up the hill, as he left the broken body of his enemy upon the slope, he met more soldiers and waded through their ranks alternatingly bashing, piercing, slashing, and smashing each one aside so that he could get up to the crest of the hill.

The sight of Justin being taken down by this... savage, cut through to Evarul's practical side. "I thought you said this would be an easy kill, Templeton." he growled at his secondary advisor.

"I shall go and... dispose of this minor inconvenience, Lord Evarul, if you so desire." the slender warrior smiled as he saw Lothar wading through the soldiers with his halberd.

"No. I shall face off against this... man myself." Evarul announced before dismounting from his horse, and looking over his shoulder to the twin warriors. "Go find any stragglers, and kill them. Let none survive." he ordered before handing his reins over to another soldier and proceeded toward the edge of the hillock. Templeton seemed to smile behind Evarul before looking over at Tiffany, and nodded is ascent.

"As you desire, my lord." with that they broke to either direction, moving on their horses down the hill toward the village of tents.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ariel moved as fast as she dared, her still weary legs pumping with one of her arms, while the little bundle in her other arm remained safe against her bosom. She had to get out of the area, to hide out deep within the borders of Sunderlynde before she was discovered. The sounds of distant screaming and the ringing of metal told her that the battle was joined fully now. She had barely made it past the village of tents when she heard the sounds of hoof beats closing upon her rapidly. Ariel knew that none of their horses were alive, for she had tried to find one, only to discover them all dead. Pushing her legs to move her faster, the young woman managed to hurdle a gigantic log at the same time she felt a blinding flash of pain impact her left thigh. Falling to her side, she managed to take the brunt of the impact so that the tiny passenger she beheld hadn't felt more than a minor jarring. Pulling herself up to a sitting position, the sight of the young woman in armor smiling down at her with a spear dripping crimson caused her blood to run cold. Ariel scooted back, only to find the log hollow, so she dropped her backpack and slid her bundle into an alcove before pulling out a pair of daggers.

She wasn't the queen just because of her beauty and her skills within the bed chambers.

The woman seemed to almost find this display laughable as she dismounted and moved to the side of her horse so that she could see the tiny bundle, and the woman. "My, my, what a wonderful day this is for me. I get to see your tribe slaughtered, and even get to take out one of it's whores myself." Tiffany taunted before throwing her spear at the bundle, piercing it with such force that the shaft of the weapon continued to vibrate from the impact. The sight of the spear piercing her bundle caused Ariel to lunge at the woman, her twin daggers lashing out and stabbing in a vicious attack pattern. Had it not been for Tiffany's dexterity, or her quick reflexes, the blades would've sliced through the different openings in her armor and found a vital mark. Tiffany kicked out as she side-stepped a rather clumsy attack from the frenzied woman, only to feel her boot connect with Ariel’s abdomen, and then feel one of the blades cut across her chainmail shirt. Had it not been for the armored shirt, the dagger would've slipped through her flesh and possibly slashed one of her kidneys. With a swing of her doubled-up fist, she felt the impact with the woman's face.

Flying backward, Ariel felt the intense pain of her shattered nose, and her cracked jaw. It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore, and she moved her mind past the pain, throwing one of her daggers at the young woman. Tiffany moved to dodge, but the dagger found its mark and imbedded in her lower abdomen, severing chainmail links as the blade pierced her body. "YOU FILTHY WITCH!!!" she screamed before producing her whip and snapping it around at the woman before her. It cut across the woman's breast, ripping her clothing and tearing the flesh of her nipple beneath. Three more sharp snaps caused bloody gashes to appear upon Ariel's body as she screamed wordlessly in excruciating pain. With another sharp snap of Tiffany's wrist, she found her whip around the woman's neck before pulling sharply once more and heard the reassuring 'SNAP' of the woman's neck. Viciously, the woman pulled the dagger out of her inner hip, and pulled the whip over her horses saddle, hanging the body and then proceeding to savage the dead woman with one of her own daggers. Over and over again, she slashed at the perfect features of the woman who had so injured her, and stabbed her repeatedly in the abdomen and chest as her rage hit a crescendo of unrestrained violence.

With her rage played out, Tiffany's ears picked up another sound. That of horses, many horses, coming from the direction of Sunderlynde. The sight of almost five hundred mounted soldiers, with the more noticable speciallists, the Protectorate, in the lead. Her eyes widened before dropping her quarry in a gruesome heap and mounting her horse once more. Leaving her spear, and retrieving her whip, Tiffany left the horrid scene as the soft crying of a newborn infant resonated from within the backpack that lay within the hollowed out log, untouched.

* * * * * * * * * *

Evarul stood on the hill looking at the warrior that stood not more than a score of paces away, his halberd bloody and glinting in the rain. "Why do you attack my tribe?!" shouted the barbarian. Evarul stepped forward and unsheathed his dual swords, his eyes taking in every aspect of this man before he started with a slash to the side and a forward stab. Lothar deflected each of the attacks deftly, with little more than glancing blows. The pair moved around each other as they traded blows, getting a measure of each other's skills. When the fight was fully engaged, it looked like a dance of blades with Evarul's twin swords moving in almost perfect concert with Lothar's halberd. The ring of metal on metal was shortly followed with the sound of wood hitting metal. The lord of Deumendard was thoroughly enjoying himself as he smiled in supreme appreciation. His recent conquests showed little more in the way of worthy warriors than a minor annoyance, but this warrior that he faced off against was worthy of not only his respect, but of a glorious death at his very hands.

"I'll admit, that I have enjoyed this little dance, but now you must die." Evarul announced before moving past Lothar's measured thrust, his sword piercing the man through his chest while Evarul's other blade pressed against Lothar's throat. With a single stroke, the head flew off of Evarul's opponent's neck only to roll down the hill toward the tents. As the body fell with blood spraying up and out of its neck, Evarul witnessed something he hadn't expected. A force of nearly five hundred soldiers followed another lord onto the field. With the specific armor and the direction of travel, he could tell that it was Xantharis Arelothe, his sworn enemy.

"All within the tents, finish your business, and return to Deumendard! Archers move back to our borders, and return home." Evarul ordered before mounting his horse. He could see that nearly fifty of his men were down, while the other fifty were still routing out the remaining women and children. Templeton and Tiffany moved up to his sides, a little bloody but none the worse for wear. Ordering them back to Deumendard, he watched and waited for a few seconds as Xan's Protectorate and soldiers cut through the area, killing his men.

Turning around, he started away without a backward glance.

* * * * * * * * * *

With his reins in his teeth, Xan's bow twanged twice as arrows pierced his enemies. He'd felled ten so far, but from the way that the village of tents looked, he could tell that this place was a total loss. The last of Evarul's soldiers had fallen to his Protectorate, his elite guardsmen, while his simple soldiers secured the perimeter. Almost before the report came to his ears, he knew the outcome.

"None were found alive, Lord Arelothe." came the voice of one of the Protectorate.
"Understood, Captain LeMure. What of Evarul's forces?" Xan asked, his sky blue eyes darkening slightly at the sight of the carnage before him.
"Long gone. By now they would be within the borders of his lands." Marcus responded as they started upon a slow patrol of the perimeter, within seconds they came upon the body of a woman who'd been savaged and strangled, her face and body a mess.
"What type of monster could do something like this, Lord Arelothe?"
"That answer is not so simple, my friend. For I have seen the most violent acts of brutallity between Humans, Elves, and Dwarves. This is just more of the same to me." Xan responded before the sound of a soft crying came from a hollowed out log. The soldier beside him dismounted and moved quickly to the bundle that was pierced with a spear.

When he came fully upon the log, the captain saw the slightly wriggling backpack, and pulled it out. Upon opening it, his eyes boggled. "I correct myself, Lord Arelothe. There is one survivor, but just barely." Delicately, he pulled the tiny child out of the backpack cradling it within his cloak. It took him by surprise that such a small child could've survived the onslaught that took the lives of his entire village, but when he looked down at the dead woman at his feet. Marcus knew what she had done. She had sacrificed herself to give her son a chance at life, no matter how little of a chance that was.

"We need to get this little one back to Sunderlynde, and ensure that he's truly alright." Xan stated to his captain, "If he is, would you take him in as your own? I know you and your wife haven't any children, but would you shoulder the responsibility of taking care of this little one?"

Marcus looked at the little child, who still hadn't gotten his eyes to open yet. "Of course, Lord Arelothe. Cecilia and I have been unsuccessful in siring our own child, so this should make her a little happy." Captain LeMure retorted softly, before mounting his stallion.

"Nobody must know that any survivor escaped this slaughter, so ride back on your own, and we shall follow within a few hours. Only you and I will know that he is not your real child."
Marcus nodded, and turned his horse in the direction of Sunderlynde and kicked at it's flanks, spurring it on to a decent gallop. It was a twelve hour ride home, and this little one had already been in the elements. He needed to make sure that everything was alright with the child, for it wouldn't do to have him die before truly having a chance at life. ‘I’ll take him to Daroshea first! She’ll be able to ensure that he’s healthy with her magics, besides I’m going to need a cover story about how this little one came to be born.’ Marcus thought as he rode through the night.