The Skirmish

The Skirmish
-Garrick Dean T. Lucasan


Shady figures in the distance gradually toddle towards them. The twine of the bow tightens and a vibrant echo resounds around its holder.

“We have guests my companions” the archer assumes and puts he’s bow on a steady hold.
.
“Another pack of bandits to smolder? Mountaineers perhaps? This is such a bore” the wary mage reaches in his pockets, ‘Now where was that damn thing’ he thought. His senses enlighten upon grasping a cigarette stick.

“Would it bore you if one of them held a book and a scepter? Look, he has a glow streaming about him” a large man wielding an enormous war hammer informed the mage and pointed at one of the shady figures.

The Mage takes a second glance with his left hand holding a meager flare on his fingertip towards a cigarette stick locked to his lips. “Appealing…” He mutters to himself as a small smirk grows on his face.

Another man steadies his single sword, “How many are there?” he inquires to the archer.

“It would seem there are twenty-nine of them, not counting the silhouettes below the shade of the trees” the archer responds.

“My my… Crossbows, blades, hammers, and a book; a complete set and their mage is not to be taken lightly” He begins to draw out his weapon.

The Large man readies his hammer, “Hmmm… Their numbers seem to increase.”

One pulls out his two blades and mumbles a reply “Then let us cut them down to dwindle their count”

The air is still, the soil is calm, and a skirmish ensues…




"Cant remember the pencils I used on this one. Drew it October 08 if I remember correctly. Was a clueless lad of rendering and proportion backthen and was surprised to see this one come out ok(for me)"
-GARRICK DEAN T. LUCASAN