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Looking for an artist
12 years ago
Is it conceited that every time I take my clothes off I hear the 'Indiana Jones' theme song?
Heya everyone,
I'm looking for an artist to commission. I want someone to illustrate this scene:
I find myself lost and alone in the chaos. Before me stands one of Xerxes’ Syrakusan mercenaries. He is a monster of a hoplite, six and a half feet tall, easily a match for two men and a horse. He has already broken his spear off in a Spartan warrior and stands before me dismasted, he is so possessed with bloodlust he doesn’t have the presence of mind to go for his sword. I know I’d better get some iron into this bastard fast, before he remembers that daisy-chopper on his hip.
I charge him. He meets me with his shield as a weapon, swinging it, edge-on like an axe. His powerful first blow shatters my shield into useless splinters. Reacting quickly, my paw brings my eight-footer to bear in an attempt to uppercut him. He twists away from my seeking blade and splinters my spear shaft with a second mighty blow from his shield. Now I am bronze-naked in front of this demon. With frightening speed, he swings his shield like a relish plate and catches me square above the eye sockets.
I can feel the crown of my helmet tear up and off, taking half of my skull with it. The bottom lip of my helmet’s eyehole tears open the muscles of my brow, sheeting my left eye with blood.
I am suddenly overcome with the helpless feeling you get when you know you are wounded. I know it’s bad but I don’t know how bad, I fear I am already dead but I can’t be sure. Everything seems to be happening slowly, like a dream. Lying on my belly, I know the Syrakusan giant is over me, aiming a blow to send me to hell.
Suddenly Iatrokles is at my side. My greatest friend has never seemed more beautiful in my eyes.
Taking a step to gain momentum, Iatrokles slings his xiphos like a throwing knife. The spinning blade hits this Syrakusan beast right below his ugly nose; the razor-sharp iron smashes through the man’s teeth, ripping right through the bone of his jaw and into his throat, lodging there with the gripping sticking out of his face.
It didn’t even slow the foe down. Roaring, he squares his shoulders and comes right back at Iatrokles, with bare hands and the xiphos still buried square in his jaw. Thinking quickly, I lunge for his legs and Iatrokles tackles him about his chest. We drop him like a wrestler. My questing paw finds the blade end of my eight-footer, now a one-footer, which I drive into the Syrakusan’s guts. Iatrokles seizes the discarded butt-spike of someone’s spear and lays all his weight into it, right through the man’s groin all the way into the ground, nailing him there. But Iatrokles isn’t done yet. He rips the Syrakusan’s forgotten sword from its sheath and, snarling like a feral animal, hacks through the top half of the man’s head, the blade easily cleaving through the bronze of his helmet.
The giant refuses to die. Howling like a banshee he hurls the two of us from his body and staggers to his feet.
“Zeus Almighty!” Iatrokles cries. It is not a curse but a prayer, a piss-down-your-leg prayer.
Anyone know any artists who are open? Or is anyone interested? I've got money to spend (within reason).
~Spartan
I'm looking for an artist to commission. I want someone to illustrate this scene:
I find myself lost and alone in the chaos. Before me stands one of Xerxes’ Syrakusan mercenaries. He is a monster of a hoplite, six and a half feet tall, easily a match for two men and a horse. He has already broken his spear off in a Spartan warrior and stands before me dismasted, he is so possessed with bloodlust he doesn’t have the presence of mind to go for his sword. I know I’d better get some iron into this bastard fast, before he remembers that daisy-chopper on his hip.
I charge him. He meets me with his shield as a weapon, swinging it, edge-on like an axe. His powerful first blow shatters my shield into useless splinters. Reacting quickly, my paw brings my eight-footer to bear in an attempt to uppercut him. He twists away from my seeking blade and splinters my spear shaft with a second mighty blow from his shield. Now I am bronze-naked in front of this demon. With frightening speed, he swings his shield like a relish plate and catches me square above the eye sockets.
I can feel the crown of my helmet tear up and off, taking half of my skull with it. The bottom lip of my helmet’s eyehole tears open the muscles of my brow, sheeting my left eye with blood.
I am suddenly overcome with the helpless feeling you get when you know you are wounded. I know it’s bad but I don’t know how bad, I fear I am already dead but I can’t be sure. Everything seems to be happening slowly, like a dream. Lying on my belly, I know the Syrakusan giant is over me, aiming a blow to send me to hell.
Suddenly Iatrokles is at my side. My greatest friend has never seemed more beautiful in my eyes.
Taking a step to gain momentum, Iatrokles slings his xiphos like a throwing knife. The spinning blade hits this Syrakusan beast right below his ugly nose; the razor-sharp iron smashes through the man’s teeth, ripping right through the bone of his jaw and into his throat, lodging there with the gripping sticking out of his face.
It didn’t even slow the foe down. Roaring, he squares his shoulders and comes right back at Iatrokles, with bare hands and the xiphos still buried square in his jaw. Thinking quickly, I lunge for his legs and Iatrokles tackles him about his chest. We drop him like a wrestler. My questing paw finds the blade end of my eight-footer, now a one-footer, which I drive into the Syrakusan’s guts. Iatrokles seizes the discarded butt-spike of someone’s spear and lays all his weight into it, right through the man’s groin all the way into the ground, nailing him there. But Iatrokles isn’t done yet. He rips the Syrakusan’s forgotten sword from its sheath and, snarling like a feral animal, hacks through the top half of the man’s head, the blade easily cleaving through the bronze of his helmet.
The giant refuses to die. Howling like a banshee he hurls the two of us from his body and staggers to his feet.
“Zeus Almighty!” Iatrokles cries. It is not a curse but a prayer, a piss-down-your-leg prayer.
Anyone know any artists who are open? Or is anyone interested? I've got money to spend (within reason).
~Spartan
