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Description
He fumbled with the gloves, trying to tuck the escaping knots of his heavy cape back into place.

This sure wasn’t the place to loose your clothing. The wind was blowing right though him, moist air filled with minute frosty particles that bit into what skin he’d foolishly left exposed. Snow crunched beneath padded feet – at least those were still warm. But for how long? That was the question.

Where the hell was he anyway?

The air was laced with so bitter a cold that it singed his very throat as he tried to breathe. Like a goldfish mercilessly dumped out of its safe and homely bowl, what little air he managed to gulp down left him still gasping for more.

He’d just ducked into the cave on the side of Mount Mordu to get out of the worst of the winter’s first snow. Having come unusually early that year, it was a good thing he’d set out prepared – not a good time to get caught unawares.

The cave had seemed like a blessing…he hadn’t expected to stumble across it. It was just a small one, barely even worth being called a cave, it was more like a shallow niche with a roof really – even the locals avoided it.

But Mt Mordu wasn’t exactly tall – he shouldn’t be having any trouble breathing. And this cold? Had he ever experienced something so truly bone chilling before? It had to be magical, somehow, it just had to be – there was no way it could be natural. He hated magic, hated those that used it. Cheaters and backstabbers the lot of them.

Of course, it would help if he could actually see more than a few feet ahead of him.

Why the hell had he taken this job?

Oh yeah – he’d needed the money.

John Blackwater cursed. “Bloody job…bloody bastards!”

Some days being a bounty hunter sure felt like you’d gotten the rotten end of the deal – and this was rapidly turning into one of them.

Well, wherever he was he’d better stop being there very soon or the weather threatened to turn him into a permanent fixture.

So he had to go down, somehow, preferably in one piece. He adjusted the bags slung across his chest, tugging at the reins of his horse. Loathsome beast. It didn’t want to go – protesting every step of the way.

Around him, the high peaks of Snowfell, hidden from view by the massive clouds of snow and frozen mist, towered thousands upon thousands of feet above its nearest neighbours in the mountain range. It didn’t bother with his coming here, it certainly wasn’t going to be bothering with his going.

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John John Blackwater – also known as ‘The Raven’ isn’t really a member of the stable per se – he just likes using it as a base for his continued search. Still, I have no doubt that there will be the odd thing here and there that’ll tempt him into turning up at the strangest events

I wasn’t actually planning on introducing him yet, even though I’d finished with this piece a while back, as I was waiting for a good time/event in the stable’s life that’d make sense to have him show up. Unfortunately for me he caught sight of the laser show that’s being put on by another stable and decided he wanted in on the action. *sighs* having characters with minds of their own can be quite a pain sometimes.

He’s quite different from Seranthiem and Jake, both in personality, business and general nastiness.

--------------------------------------------

Now, as most of you know, I normally work in greyscale but I’m finding more and more that what I want to do I can’t quite manage with that technique – so I’ve been practicing getting in there with the colour right away. While, obviously, it’ll hopefully improve with time and effort, this one didn’t come out too badly, even if it’s a little pale. We’ll just blame that on the cold, shall we

Refs:

Victorian Ind 16, this number has since been removed

Description
He fumbled with the gloves, trying to tuck the escaping knots of his heavy cape back into place.

This sure wasn’t the place to loose your clothing. The wind was blowing right though him, moist air filled with minute frosty particles that bit into what skin he’d foolishly left exposed. Snow crunched beneath padded feet – at least those were still warm. But for how long? That was the question.

Where the hell was he anyway?

The air was laced with so bitter a cold that it singed his very throat as he tried to breathe. Like a goldfish mercilessly dumped out of its safe and homely bowl, what little air he managed to gulp down left him still gasping for more.

He’d just ducked into the cave on the side of Mount Mordu to get out of the worst of the winter’s first snow. Having come unusually early that year, it was a good thing he’d set out prepared – not a good time to get caught unawares.

The cave had seemed like a blessing…he hadn’t expected to stumble across it. It was just a small one, barely even worth being called a cave, it was more like a shallow niche with a roof really – even the locals avoided it.

But Mt Mordu wasn’t exactly tall – he shouldn’t be having any trouble breathing. And this cold? Had he ever experienced something so truly bone chilling before? It had to be magical, somehow, it just had to be – there was no way it could be natural. He hated magic, hated those that used it. Cheaters and backstabbers the lot of them.

Of course, it would help if he could actually see more than a few feet ahead of him.

Why the hell had he taken this job?

Oh yeah – he’d needed the money.

John Blackwater cursed. “Bloody job…bloody bastards!”

Some days being a bounty hunter sure felt like you’d gotten the rotten end of the deal – and this was rapidly turning into one of them.

Well, wherever he was he’d better stop being there very soon or the weather threatened to turn him into a permanent fixture.

So he had to go down, somehow, preferably in one piece. He adjusted the bags slung across his chest, tugging at the reins of his horse. Loathsome beast. It didn’t want to go – protesting every step of the way.

Around him, the high peaks of Snowfell, hidden from view by the massive clouds of snow and frozen mist, towered thousands upon thousands of feet above its nearest neighbours in the mountain range. It didn’t bother with his coming here, it certainly wasn’t going to be bothering with his going.

-------------------------------------------------

John John Blackwater – also known as ‘The Raven’ isn’t really a member of the stable per se – he just likes using it as a base for his continued search. Still, I have no doubt that there will be the odd thing here and there that’ll tempt him into turning up at the strangest events

I wasn’t actually planning on introducing him yet, even though I’d finished with this piece a while back, as I was waiting for a good time/event in the stable’s life that’d make sense to have him show up. Unfortunately for me he caught sight of the laser show that’s being put on by another stable and decided he wanted in on the action. *sighs* having characters with minds of their own can be quite a pain sometimes.

He’s quite different from Seranthiem and Jake, both in personality, business and general nastiness.

--------------------------------------------

Now, as most of you know, I normally work in greyscale but I’m finding more and more that what I want to do I can’t quite manage with that technique – so I’ve been practicing getting in there with the colour right away. While, obviously, it’ll hopefully improve with time and effort, this one didn’t come out too badly, even if it’s a little pale. We’ll just blame that on the cold, shall we

Refs:

Victorian Ind 16, this number has since been removed