The comment in the upper right corner means "The comedian is dead" ... though I didn't have "Watchmen" in my mind when telling Loki what I wanted to have in my sketchbook :D
The idea of a horse in heavy armor with smileys on it just intrigued me and I simply HAD to have it drawn. Somehow a name formed while wtaching the picture, and I think I'll name him... Horace.

Check out  balorkin , since you're already looking at one of her pics :D


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Horace carefully wiped the blood from the last fight off the bright yellow smiling face on his breastplate. The silky black armor with the eye-catching emblems usually confused his opponents and had given him the name "Smile" in his fights, but he liked them. He even dared to say that he loved them.
But his time in the arena was over. He had trained long before entering the proud ranks of the gladiators, then he had trained in the arena itself to be one of the most fierce- and powerful fighters known to man- and half-mankind.
Degaulle put down the pieces of armor and looked at his double-headed greataxe. It had seen a lot of blood so far. Some had been his own, but most had been from other people. Especially humans in the last months. The so-called superior race obviously had its difficulties with accepting a half-man warrior among the best of the best, but he had shown them. Oh yes, he had.

A knock on the door drew his attention.
"Come in" he said loud and reached for the small, delicate throwing knife he used to wear in his loincloth. But it was just Dániel, his old friend.
"You ready?" he asked without bothering with something as obsolete as a welcoming. They had known each other far too long and far too well to waste time with such niceties.
"Sure", Horace sighed and let the knife slide back into its hidden sheath. "What about you?"
"Well, everything is ready, we are just waiting for you."
"You think they expect this?"
"Don't think so", Dániel laughed. "This'll be grand, my friend. I'll really enjoy the show."
"Just don't forget your mumbo-jumbo", Horace laughed and stood up. He reached for his armor and his friend helped him with the heavy steel plates. It took a while, but finally "Smile" stood there in all his glory. His muscular arm reached out, took the axe and rested it blade down on the floor next to him.
Dániel shivered as he saw Smile's smile. It seemed friendly, but he could feel the coldness behind the smile. The same coldness that was behind the happy faces on his armor. The coldness of triple-hardened steel, hammered into shape with the power of hate and despair by a half-blind armorsmith in the nearby village.
"Shall we make them happy?" Dániel asked after a while.
Instead of an answer, Horace walked towards the window and looked down into the courtyard. half-men of all breeds had gathered there and looked up. Their armors sparkled in the light of the stars, no sound was heard.
They had drilled them, oh yes. He had given all his knowledge to them, had trained them to be almost as powerful as himself.
Now they had the chance to prove, that they had learned.

A second glance wandered towards the north, where the great city of mankind rested unsuspecting.
Horace laughed and shouldered his axe.
"We are moving out!" he yelled, and it seemed as if it were thousands of half-men that echoed his words thorugh the courtyard. By the time he had reached his troops everybody was ready and eager to fight.
When the heavy gates of his castle swung open he raised his axe to the stars.
"May the gods smile down on us, as we smile up to them! For the gods! For the Smile!"
"For the Smile!"
And with that final shout the army moved.