Posts Tagged Terce

Myces page 1 – Bunny stuffing.

Finally finished this page! Woot for getting things done.

NSFW (nudity, inflation, excessive semen, reconfiguration, weird) below cut… »

Myces icon!!

Finished the ottiger pic [nsfw] and it’s up on FA now.

Next on my list was to whip this out:

Makin’ morphs is waaay too fun!

Here’s what the original pics looked like:

Gotta say I’m pretty chuffed. (Outside of how huge my chin looks at the original angle!) I could make it better, maybe, but I think it’s good as is, at least for this size… what do you guys think?

Made this in Morpheus with a bit of Photoshoppin’.

WIP – Myces page 4

Prior version of this panel | More Myces


2009-12-08-myces-4

So, time to start getting this page into a presentable shape… at least, as presentable as satyr stories get.

Scrap – Silk Rail.

Previous | First


“Hey, who’s there?”

Someone was behind me, on the bridge.

Sucks to be them.

No, that’s not good at all. Bodies would be worse than witnesses. But the fuse was still going and I was too far away now to stop it.

Nothing to do but keep running, now.

The sky lit up behind me a split second before I heard the blast.

The damage was done. I only hoped there would be nothing left of the man to find; they’d look a lot harder for a murderer than a saboteur.

But I wasn’t ready to be a murderer.


The temple of Aiol at Aleksandreï is the largest structure in the city these days. Regardless of how important I became, though, I still felt like the smallest thing in it.

Not that I ever managed to become very important. From my first year in the service of the god, when it became clear I had no aptitude for the divine engineering, I was relegated to a clerical position. That, though, I was good at, and soon enough I was managing most of the temple’s secular affairs.

Then the railroads came—a perpetual headache.

It seemed simple enough in principle—Aiol, the god of winds, had handed down the principles of harnessing wind and steam and smoke to do the work of men. And, certainly, carrying trains of wagons to all parts of the world was work the divine engineering could handle, but it hardly seemed worth the expense.

After all, the trains would only run if the rails were perfect.

In the cities, that was easy. But even along the rail from Aleksandreï to Bousantie there was quite a bit of countryside—opportunities for thieves and peasants to steal the iron, for trees to fall, for lands to flood—delays and repairs, delays and repairs.

And now they want a railroad built all the way to Tianan in the country of the Sers—did they never learn ambition is a vice?—but with the support of a god, many things are ventured.

I had only met the god Aiol once. I was still, at the time, trying to understand the principles of steam-powered machines, when he came into the classroom where I was studying.

For those who have never seen a god, I should say they are very like their pictures—like a hornless satyr from the waist up, but with feet almost like an ape, though without the thumbs they have. He looked young; but the gods are young when they choose to be.

Scrap – Silk Rail.

Previous/First


Ironic that Seran work would keep the road to the Seran country from being built.

He checked the station, just to be sure. Empty; good. No witnesses. Outside of the station, nobody would be around for a good mile or so.

He went back down the rails to the Coudn bridge. It wasn’t the most impressive bridge the Aleksandreïans had built for their railroads, but like all of them it was built at great expense.

And after tonight, it would be no more.

He set up the bomb on one of the bridge’s foundations, unrolled the fuse a comfortable distance, lit it, and took off running downstream.

Scrap – Silk Rail.

Most of you have probably heard of NaNoWriMo, a project where one tries to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November.  I’ve tried it a couple of times; the next Ralph story, which I haven’t posted yet because I don’t think it’ll really make sense until the current one is finished and posted, was my attempt last year.  This year, I managed a whopping 688 words.  I’m posting them as scraps because they’re too disjoint to fit with each other, but I’ll be working on trying to continue the story from here on out.  It is set in Terce, but there are no satyriffic shenanigans, so.


Ainlouk waited outside the rail station at Tars, waiting for everyone to leave as night fell. His hand moved to check the bomb in his pack: still there, ready.

The last train to Aleksandreï churned out of the station, and the slaves and the Aiolan priests who manned the station filed out, heading back to their quarters.

He forced himself to count to a hundred before moving. The street was silent and dark with the lamps extinguished; it was a clear, hot night.

Ainlouk went around the back of the station, walking the rails through the yard where the merchants loaded and unloaded their goods, to the platform where the rich men who rode trains disembarked, and opened up his pack.

The bomb lay wrapped in heavy cloth.

WIP [coloring] – Myces 2

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WIP [partim] – Myces page 3

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WIP – Myces page 4

NSFW (weird, multi, phallophagy) below cut… »

WIP [coloring, partim] – Myces page 1

(Regarding the tags: I’ve decided for convenience’ sake to call Myces’ world “Terce”, in the way Maxim’s is “Nother”, so from here on out you can watch that tag for things set here even if Myces doesn’t appear in them.)

NSFW (inflated) below cut… »