“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully you leave something good behind.” Anthony Bourdain ( June 25th 1956 - June 8th 2018 )
I should add Totalhalibut there too, because I remember John Bain first and foremost from his days covering WoW news in what I believe to be one of the oldest Warcraft podcasts in existence, Blue Plz. Since then, he’s always been relevant to me one fashion or another, whether it’s bringing his personality to the gaming media, his work ethic with streams, and his striking honesty. He introduces me to a lot of franchises, whether it’s Warframe, SC2, or Planetside 2. His enthusiasm towards the Warhammer universe made the Dark Heresy Rollplay series an outstanding (albeit short) introduction into the rest of the channel and roleplay streaming in general.
I first heard him just out of random happenstance almost ten years ago. It was one of the few podcasts about WoW at the time called Blue Plz. An introduction hounded by the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack followed by the same ‘EPIC’ tagline we’ve all heard for years. I cued in while just running around in Stranglethorn Vale, and I kept listening through Blue Plz, Ask a Murloc, and several others on the website (whos name eludes me, sadly). Since then, he’s been just about everywhere. It’s hard to imagine some one’s you’ve known, even just off-hand, disappearing, more so when you can hear their voice all the time. Recordings of his old shows still exist! He’s vibrant, boisterous, and utterly unflappable.
And he will be missed.
Rest in peace, Totalbiscuit. You did a whole lot of good for the world and for the gaming community and we’re thankful for it.
Yes! All Eclipse Phase releases are Creative Commons-licensed; you can download them from _anywhere_ for free as long as the license is obeyed (Give credit, no commercial use, all modifications must be released under the same license).
But a large portion of our fans are happy to pay for digital releases, which is important to us, because they cost money to make. :-)
Commissions info :: I received several messages about commissions, hope this will be more helpful.
So, here is how it works! You can apply your commission anytime, just send me a message, or contact me on email, [email protected]
Once we make a deal, I will send you invoice via paypal. After I receive your payment, I start to work on your application, keep you updating about the progress. When is finished, you will get full size images, requested output formats, source files and my love ;D
The last part about animation frame, 5$ is for very simple things, like blinking eyes or sparks or simple rain…more difficult animation, higher the price…
This is a piece I made around a year and a half ago. It was part of the Alchemist collaboration some friends and I were doing but all of us got to busy to ever finish all but the alchemist. There were seven of us and we all got to draw a character of our own design within a week based on the classes randomly picked. The next week we would send our piece to one of the other 7 artists and they were to draw it in their own style. So in theory after 7 weeks we would have 7 characters drawn 7 different ways lol. Uploading it now since I think it’s been long enough to say we probably wont ever finish . This is the character I got to design myself, the Shaman!
Hope ya’ll like!
Here’s the Alchmeist if anyone’s interested:
tsaileehua.deviantart.com/art/…
The Fastlane skyway took her to the edge of the Garden and Joviah crawled the rest of the way through the underworld. The tunnels burrowed beneath the streets spanned for miles in every direction, painted over by graffiti and gang markings long since faded. Another hour out and she stopped by a custodial closet with a faded terminal, keying in a 27 number sequence that opened up to everything a Scrapper needed. She slipped into a hand-me-down hazard suit and checked the oxygen tank’s capacity, full and good to go. She zipped up, slipped a gas mask on, and taped up around her sleeves and gloves.
Suited up, she pulled out the hover trolley stashed inside headed towards a grating leading down into the Pit. A hot flush of air swept through the tunnels as she aimed the hover trolley at an angle and fell down into the great canyon surrounding the whole of the city. Her suit’s headlights flashed on and didn’t find the bottom for nearly nearly four thousand feet, right where the piles of refuse from the city clung to pillars that held their world up above the canyon’s lip.
Mountains of waste littered the Pit. Tech decades old and rusted over laid beneath tons of last years model of vid screens, self-warming toilets, and a couple of bodies discarded from the morgues under a thick fog of toxic death. She slung an empty tote bag across her shoulders and stepped off into half a foot of feces mixed with plastic and blended together with healthy dose of chemical wastes to make her daily job that much more delightful.
A few taps of a keypad hanging on her waist and the makeshift matrix popped up with a whirling dance of beeps. A couple teams had already ventured down to work already. When everyone’s competing for a slice of the dung pile, knowing where everyone else is at wasn’t the brightest idea on paper. Same time though, she liked hearing the fuckers when she was flinging dirt out of the way of her payday.
The crackled voice of Rafi, a fellow Scrapper, blared through the static of her suit’s communicator. The Net caught his signal three miles out.
“Joe! You’re late for work!”
“My ticket says I’m on time,” she cued in back. “I just thought I’d let ya’ and the girls get rid of some of the topsoil for me.”
“Look at you thinking smart,” she heard the laughter from a man who enjoyed his work almost as much as he liked giving other shit over it. “Won’t find much where you’re at though. Taro and his cluckers scraped through that area a week ago.”
“Taro wouldn’t know a profit from his own ass.” She checked her digital watch. “Today’s the day.”
“Gonna’ get you some?”
“Gonna’ get me some and more.”
Joviah plucked a crowbar from her trolley and swung it across her shoulders like the ball players of old, feeling mighty and strong with her baby in hand. The Mark VII Cracker delight, christened by Joe herself after she broke all the others. But she spent good, hard earned cash getting that baby. Nineteen years on her life and she was already a fan of the old school. Nowadays, most scrappers just pop out a Century Pulsar, pop it into a pile of garbage, and know how good and far some pay dirt is at. The way she figured it, it’s better working smart than hard, and hard work is going from point to point, clicking a button over and over until the beeping red on the screen burns a hole in her eye until she threw the stupid fucker out with the rest of the scrap.
Besides, today was the most glorious day of the week for any scrapper: garbage day. Plates above shunted out with an immense growl, and Joviah took a dash back to her trolley and powered it up, lifting into the air as the gold and red emergency lights from above signaled the release of easy pickings.
“Call you back, Rafi,” she sounded off.
“Good hunting, Joe.”
Their comms clicked as she pulled the handles back on her trolley, lifting herself several hundred feet up until she had a fixed position to watch the treasure rain. She was looking for metals, electronics, anything that looks like it could take the plunge and make it through. A bit of spit and polish would turn that junk into a quick buck. Most garbage days, she filled her bags up in a couple hours with frazzled harddrives, busted up model comms, and a few parts she could fix up with a few whacks from her ol’ Cracker.
Scattered refuse fell, a few she kept track of before they disappeared in the darkness. It was the mid to late flow she wanted to get her hands on. Anything not immediately falling had some heft and weight before the track up top pulled back, or they were just light enough to catch a few of the thermals and have a safe and easy plucking.
As the hatch opened all the way above her, the sight of a body cost her a heart beat. The legs splayed apart, swiveling and tumbling through the air with a trenchcoat flapping all around the body. She couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman until they fell far enough to catch in her trolley’s light. She recounted him as he flew by. Their face was bright and lucid while their deep brown eyes shrank against the light. Stubble along his jaw, mouth opening up to grey teeth. Shaggy, dirty blond hair with frosted tips. She didn’t hear him scream until he left the light, and he didn’t stop until she heard the unceremonious plop.
Shit.
No surviving that fall, that’s for damned sure. And if he could, she didn’t want to be the first one to meet him. But, she was what she was: curious, and a scavenger. She didn’t tear people’s tech out of their corpses - bad enough folks had to die. Leave them with their dignity, at least. But he wasn’t in a grave and he wouldn’t miss a wallet.
She pulled back the throttle on her trolley and it lowered to where he landed, the light flooding over what was left of him. Beyond the twisted neck and unsettling angle of his spine, he looked natural and alive. Dead bodies were nothing new for her. She’d seen them in the streets, in the pit, in the morgue. But nothing so fresh. Fuck, she was the last person he’d ever seen before kicking it.
Her comm sputtered on and she heard the first syllable of whatever Rafi had to complain about before she cut the link and hovered down.
“Hey,” she whispered, half-expecting a response. “You dead? Don’t say nothing if ya’ dead, ja’?”
No answer. She prodded him a few more times with Cracker before she felt good enough to get off her ride. She couldn’t leave well enough alone.
His body was still warm when she pulled on the sleeves of his coat, dragging them aside and checking through his pockets. Bingo on the wallet. ID card: Clark Williams. Blood Type: O+. Organ donor. Thirty-three, thirty-four years old. Kind of cute in his picture. Eighty-three creds on paper and the rest in plastic.
She took hold of his coat and rolled him over. “Whatcha’ got for me, Mister Clark Williams?”
A heavy pistol met her as she flipped his coat up over his head, tucked away in the back of his pants. Crow Series Model II, empty chamber and magazine. She had a boyfriend that used to lug around a Model I and whipped it out when his dick wasn’t big enough to impress anyone. The heft was a big unwieldy in her hand, but she tucked it away. Souvenir for her troubles.
In his back pocket was a polycarbon tablet, a clean slate with a splattering of dried blood on it. She brushed her glove over it it and the screen came up, requesting a biolock to open the contents. She took a second to contemplate the ethical quandary before she pulled Clark’s hand up and stuck his lukewarm index finger across the scanner and swiped it.
The screen flashed bright and she sank back on her heels while browsing.
The more she read, the weirder it got. Folks have their share of personal files, photos, contacts, apps, everything all organized. What she had her hands on was just jam packed full of data. Files with weird names, unorganized in any fashion beyond just being a massive dump. Whoever Clark was, he had his hands on a garbled mess. She scrolled past files with unknown formats and a few that were well beyond corrupted, and then stopped as she flipped open a few spreadsheets. Half of the stuff was fragged, but what she could piece together was blooming a pit in her stomach. Nexus links showcasing personal addresses, vid conferences, shit she’d find if she had a top-brass key to some of the corporate arcologies.
Either Clark was some high brass that liked to prowl around with the common folk, or this bastard swiped some one’s mainframe clean.
She had a itchy feeling his fall wasn’t an accident, and if he was murdered, she held his deathwish.
The Net lit up with a static scratch and she went for the unloaded gun.
“Joviah!” Rafi’s voice stung in her ear, the tone near panic. “Yo’, bitch, if you’re there, you got a cycle heading your way!”
Double shit.
“Gotcha’, Ralphy, thanks for the heads up!”
“You find something?”
“Something, maybe.”
“Shit, don’t play that with me, Joe.”
“Gotta’ go. Call back if I’m still breathing.”
She put up the tough girl act as best she could but she scraped and tumbled for her trolley just as a flash of light broke the thick mists, flashing over the ground and heading her way. Her hand clenched around the Crow II, wishing Clark hadn’t been such a dumb fuck when it came to loading shells.
She grabbed Cracker and trundled her way to the hillside of the garbage pile, dug herself as deep a trench as she dared with the light coming closer, and dove in under a health pile of stank so thick she was nearly gagging through her suit’s filters. Overhead, she felt the heat of the search light sweep over her location.
She held her breath, closed her eyes, and imagined herself back home. Under her sheets, tiny, scrawny little Joe. Tiniest human there ever was. Just a speck. Smaller than a speck. Just nothing. Nothing at all. No Joe here.
The hovercycle landed near the bottom of the garbage pile. The engine turned off. She couldn’t tell some one was climbing up under they were a few feet away. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the subtle movement. The measured steps drew closer, mindful and careful. She couldn’t peg anyone being that quiet, not in that sort of footing.
They stopped at Clark.
No talking.
They turned him over, searched him, checked his pockets, his coat. They looked everywhere. They wouldn’t find it. She held it against her chest, the heat boring a hole in her.
It sounded wet. Whatever they were doing, it sounded like they were digging through the muck. Why? Looking for her? Don’t look for her. Don’t come near. Stay the fuck away!
What sounded like an wet chunk ended up with a grotesque snap.
They started moving away from her, back down the slope. Her eyes sealed shut at the sound of metal shredding, twisting and tearing. She stayed in the darkness, quiet as she could be. Nothing. Nothing for what felt like hours as she imagined whoever it was out there was hunched over her right that moment, waiting for her to admit her existence to the world.
Slowly, she turned her head and peeked out, daring her eyes to move behind the hazard suit’s visor. There was nothing but darkness around her. No hovercycle. No person. Nothing.
Joviah got up to her knees, Clark’s tablet still held to her chest as her heart pounded.
Clark. She hobbled over to him, seeing his feet upturned and his body still twisted in an awkward fashion from his fall. All that was missing was his head.
Wasn’t her. Blessings counted.
She made her way down the slope and stopped short.
Her trolley stood there. Upright, waiting for her. Even from a distance, she could tell they’d ripped out the engine and took some liberties dissecting its components. The sound of tearing metal rang in her head, and she slunk away into the darkness, flipping her comms on.
More world quests, more emissary quests. Here’s a troll island, here’s Tol Barad 2.0. Big surprise, Alliance and Horde are fighting because reasons in a Post-Garrosh world. Story wise, I want to throw this expansion out the window and wait for WoW 2 to happen.
The quality of life changes are a a bit better. In that respect, it feels like it’s going to become a Warlords of Draenor expansion.
Mmm... Hmm.
Dunno. Maybe it’ll be worth playing until the first raid pops up? Nothing really stands out or amazes me out the get go.
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