CHAPTER FIVE
SMOKE AND MIRRORS AND PEPPER
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham arrived at Parsons’ Plateau out of breath and just in time to see Blord and his gang lifting up Ot. They were attempting to hang the little troll by his tunic on the outstretched arms of Malcolm Parsons’ statue. Ot was putting up a good fight, but his tiny arms were no match for the long limbs of his attackers. They soon had him hooked on Parsons’ left arm. Blord’s laughter filled the air.
Graham raced up to the scene, his eyes dedicated totally to his friend. Ot was not crying, but looked close to it. Graham, realizing he couldn’t get Ot down on his own, turned to face Blord. He noticed the bully was covered in what appeared to be ash. He looked like an overcooked steak.
“Get him down,” said Graham.
Blord turned his back and strolled over to the edge of the plateau facing Mount Prometheus. He spread open his wings, allowing them to catch the stiff breeze that was a fixture of Parsons’ Plateau. “You were late. I already did my part of the race.”
“What are you talking about?”
Blord turned around and offered his blackened body as evidence. “I flew over Mount Prometheus already. Can’t you tell? This is ash. I’m quite anxious to scrub it off me, so hurry up!”
“But a race means we do it together!” Graham looked up at Ot to back him up. The troll’s eyes were welling up.
Blord continued, ignoring Graham’s comment, “Riff has my time, don’t you, Riff?”
A thin gargoyle with very long, twisted horns spoke up, “Yep, he did it in four minutes exactly.”
Blord smiled, “I would’ve done it in three if that blasted harpy had minded her own business. Filthy creatures.” He started to brush off the ash, but then stopped, thinking better of it.
Graham knew Blord hated dirt and was curious why the gargoyle would tolerate all the ash covering him. The fact that he had a run in with the realm’s dirtiest creatures, a harpy, also must’ve greatly upset the bully. The harpies, half-giant bird/half savage woman, were not only disgusting, they were wickedly nasty.
“Get my friend down,” said Graham.
“We’ll get him down once you honor the challenge. One lap over Mount Prometheus and back is all we’re asking. Surely the son of the council chairman can do that simple task.”
Blord strutted over to Ot and slapped at the troll’s dangling feet. Ot started to sneeze.
Graham said, “I’ll do it. Just let me talk to Ot alone for a minute.”
“Very well. Just don’t think of chickening out.” As soon as Blord moved away from Ot, the troll’s sneezing stopped.
Graham hastened over to his friend. “I’m sorry I was late. Flenn and Mom cornered me this morn-”
“He’s lying,” said Ot, glaring at Blord and his gang, who were over at the plateau edge tossing rocks at an unfortunate bird who had glided too close.
“Huh?”
“Blord never flew over Mount Prometheus,” said Ot.
“How do you know? Did you get here first?”
“No, they were already here. Blord had the so-called ash on him when I arrived. He
claimed that he had already run his part of the race then too.” Ot shot a distasteful look at the bully.
“Well, where did he get covered in ash if he didn’t fly over the volcano?”
“It’s not ash.” Ot rubbed his nose, attempting to hold back a sneeze.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s pepper. They must have covered him in crushed pepper. It looks like ash, but it sure doesn’t smell like it.”
“I can’t tell. My sniffer barely works.” Compared to the poor sense of smell gargoyles had, trolls were magical bloodhounds, capable of detecting even the slightest pesky odor. “Are you sure?”
“I think so. His story sounds awfully fishy, don’t you think?”
Graham nodded. This changed everything. He wouldn’t have to race. He wouldn’t have to fly. He allowed the hint of a smile to play across his face.
“You don’t have to fly. Just tell him he lied.” Ot looked over at Blord. The large gargoyle was getting impatient and had taken to kicking large clumps of dirt into the morning sky.
“That won’t work. I need more proof that he is tricking us. Besides, they won’t let you down unless I fly.” Graham slumped his shoulders, and his tiny wings pathetically took on a defeated appearance at this action.
He started stepping towards the other gargoyles.
“Let’s get this over with,” said Blord.
Graham inched over to the plateau edge facing Mount Prometheus, kicking loose gravel over the side as his legs began to shake. In the relative distance, Prometheus rumbled, billowing darkness into the morning air.
“You gotta fly through the ash clouds. That’s what I did,” said Blord.
Graham didn’t look up to answer. He was too focused on the taunting drop. “I’ll do it, but you have to promise you’ll get Ot down after.”
Blord clapped his hands together. “I promise. Now, take to the air.”
Graham looked away from the long drop down to stare out at the sky. The clouds were light and fluffy all around him, the breeze strong and confident. Graham, however, was fighting the queasiness that was rising in his stomach. Here he was, about to face his biggest fear, flying. He had never even attempted to fly from the school’s tree jump where everyone else his age practiced. He didn’t trust his wings. Everyone else’s wings were more developed, wider, bigger, stronger. He was not ready for his first flight at the end of the week and was definitely not ready for this.
Graham slowly exhaled, attempting to calm himself down. His grandfather declared Graham would grow to become a great flyer. His grandfather believed in him completely. His father did not.
His father’s voice echoed in the young gargoyle’s head, “You’ll never fly if you don’t trust your wings.”
Graham closed his eyes, wishing he were back home still listening to his sister drone on about volcanoes.
“C’mon, get it over with. You don’t have anything to worry about. Just remember to keep your eyes open for any lava eruptions. I almost took a magma bath on my flight,” blurted out Blord.
Graham shook his head, not believing what he had just heard. “What did you say?” He turned to face the gargoyle, his back to his worst fear for the moment.
“The lava, you gotta watch out for it. Wouldn’t want little itty-bitty Graham to catch fire.”
Graham looked over at Ot. The troll, despite being very uncomfortable, was smiling.
Graham walked over to the bully. “The challenge is a lie. You’re a liar! You played a trick!”
Blord’s expression shifted into panic for a moment before twisting into inflated anger. “What do ya mean? You trying to back out of a challenge?”
Graham stood his ground. “You just said there was lava coming out of that volcano. That’s wrong!”
Blord nervously shifted his eyes over to his gang, who waved their fists at Graham.
“What?” Blord said incredulously.
“You never flew over the volcano. Lava doesn’t come out of Mount Prometheus, only cinder and ash. Any four-year-old could tell you it’s a cinder cone volcano.” Graham smiled. Actually, it had been an eight-year-old who had informed him of the volcano’s nature. He owed his sister in a big way.
“Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit about the lava, but get a load of all this ash covering me,” said Blord, sticking out his darkened chest.
“My friend seems to think you just covered yourself in pepper.”
Blord glared at the still dangling troll.
“I’m not flying for a liar!” Graham stepped over to his friend, pausing for a moment to stare at the face of Malcolm Parsons. Had the rock-hard gargoyle just winked at him? Probably just a trick of the light, thought Graham. “Now help me get Ot down.”
Blord marched over to Graham and leaned down to stare coldly at him. “No one gets away with calling me a liar. You’re gonna regret this, Graham, just you wait.” Blord rubbed a healthy dollop of his blackened coat onto his finger. He smudged a crude letter C on Graham’s chest. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you’re a coward and always will be. See you on Friday for your first and final flight, pipsqueak.”
Graham stepped away from the bully as Blord joined his friends. They marched off Parsons’ Plateau together, grumbling up a storm.
Graham shouted, “Hey, wait! You gotta get Ot down!”
Graham was interrupted by a light tapping on his shoulder. He whirled around to see Ot behind him, his two stubby feet safely planted on the ground. “Not a problem. I’m down already.”
“How’d you?”
“Not sure. They certainly didn’t do it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Malcolm Parsons lowered me down himself.” Ot stared back at the statue.
“No way! He...it’s been solid stone for over twenty years! It’s impossible for a gargoyle to do that!” Graham’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, um, probably just a good stiff breeze knocked me loose. Let’s just say that.”
“We’d better get going. Mom’ll kill me if I’m late for school,” said Graham.
“Wait, I wanna check something.” Ot rubbed his thumb against the dusty “C” Blord had
smeared on Graham. The troll sniffed his now darkened thumb, then plopped it in his wide mouth. He sucked on it briefly, then sneezed.
Graham stared at his friend expectantly.
“Yep, just as I thought—pepper!” Ot smiled. “Now I’m really hungry.”
The two close friends made their way off Parsons’ Plateau and headed to school, the morning sky growing ever more inviting and warm above them.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
PARSONS’ PLATEAU
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Parsons’ Plateau’s origins lie amongst the first gargoyle settlers. Malcolm Parsons, filled with renewed hope, had come to Cascade with his family. In the mortal world, he had been an honest gargoyle who had fallen on hard times. Cascade offered him a fresh start. He immediately fell in love with his new home and settled into farming a very fertile patch of land.
As the years passed, Parsons became involved in the gargoyle government, rising to co-chairman of the council. Parsons was fiercely loyal to his new home. He proposed ending the tradition of crossing over to Earth, pointing out that as humans had abandoned belief in all things magical, so should the citizens of Cascade cut all ties with the fickle mortals. This viewpoint was not welcome in the halls of the council. Parsons was voted out unanimously for daring to speak against tradition.
Parsons spent the rest of his life minding his farm and family, blessing each morning with a warm, soulful moment of silence. As far as he was concerned, Cascade was his home and always would be.
When he grew old enough to feel his bones and muscles begin to harden, Malcolm Parsons did not cross over.
Instead, he climbed to the highest point overlooking the village, a nearby plateau, and stretched his stony limbs to the sky. As his life left him, he paid his loving respects to his home. Malcolm Parsons’ stone body didn’t face the village in contempt. No, he faced the rising sun, eternally greeting each morning with outstretched arms, wings and a wide smile of contentment.
While Parsons’ final act was joyful for him, it was anything but for his fellow gargoyles. The council voted Parsons’ Plateau be avoided by all citizens. It became a forbidden zone, an empty final home for one who would dare speak out against tradition.
Of course, try telling a child not to visit a particular spot, and their curiosity will get the best of them. Parsons’ Plateau became a favorable hangout for the young. The children thought it their little secret, but the council knew of their hideout. The council knew the effort of patrolling the plateau would be a lost cause, and it became an unspoken part of village life.
The children had a private hideout, and the adults acted none the wiser.
And Malcom Parsons, he had a home with frequent guests.
PARSONS’ PLATEAU
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Parsons’ Plateau’s origins lie amongst the first gargoyle settlers. Malcolm Parsons, filled with renewed hope, had come to Cascade with his family. In the mortal world, he had been an honest gargoyle who had fallen on hard times. Cascade offered him a fresh start. He immediately fell in love with his new home and settled into farming a very fertile patch of land.
As the years passed, Parsons became involved in the gargoyle government, rising to co-chairman of the council. Parsons was fiercely loyal to his new home. He proposed ending the tradition of crossing over to Earth, pointing out that as humans had abandoned belief in all things magical, so should the citizens of Cascade cut all ties with the fickle mortals. This viewpoint was not welcome in the halls of the council. Parsons was voted out unanimously for daring to speak against tradition.
Parsons spent the rest of his life minding his farm and family, blessing each morning with a warm, soulful moment of silence. As far as he was concerned, Cascade was his home and always would be.
When he grew old enough to feel his bones and muscles begin to harden, Malcolm Parsons did not cross over.
Instead, he climbed to the highest point overlooking the village, a nearby plateau, and stretched his stony limbs to the sky. As his life left him, he paid his loving respects to his home. Malcolm Parsons’ stone body didn’t face the village in contempt. No, he faced the rising sun, eternally greeting each morning with outstretched arms, wings and a wide smile of contentment.
While Parsons’ final act was joyful for him, it was anything but for his fellow gargoyles. The council voted Parsons’ Plateau be avoided by all citizens. It became a forbidden zone, an empty final home for one who would dare speak out against tradition.
Of course, try telling a child not to visit a particular spot, and their curiosity will get the best of them. Parsons’ Plateau became a favorable hangout for the young. The children thought it their little secret, but the council knew of their hideout. The council knew the effort of patrolling the plateau would be a lost cause, and it became an unspoken part of village life.
The children had a private hideout, and the adults acted none the wiser.
And Malcom Parsons, he had a home with frequent guests.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
FAMILY VOLCANO
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The early morning sky greeted Graham with glorious pinks and oranges playing across the horizon. Dawn had arrived. Graham glanced out his window, staring intently at Mount Prometheus in the distance. He was late. He imagined Blord and his gang already at Parsons’ Plateau, picking on his troll friend. Ot was very on time and had probably arrived earlier than the bullies. He hurriedly washed his face, hands and wings, looped his satchel for school over his shoulder and stole a look at his teeth before dashing out of his room.
He entered the kitchen to see his sister and mother were busy working on Flenn’s science project at the kitchen table. They were putting the final painted touches on her volcano.
His mom turned to him and said, “You’re up awfully early. What dragged you out of bed?”
“I have to run a few errands for Grandfather. Don’t worry, I won’t be late for school,” Graham said in rapid-fire fashion as he made a beeline for the front door.
“No breakfast this morning?” his mom said, arching her rim of horns.
“Can’t. Got too much to do.” Graham was almost out the door when he heard his sister’s grating voice.
“He doesn’t like my volcano, Mom,” Flenn said, adding a pouting face at the end to punctuate her statement.
“Graham, you don’t have a minute to see what your sister has worked so hard on these last few days?” It was a question, but came out more like a motherly suggestion.
Graham rolled his eyes. A minute in little sisterland was more like an hour. “Yes, Mom.” He strolled over to the kitchen table.
Flenn’s face switched from sad to happy in a flash. She wrestled with a pile of note cards sitting behind the volcano, out of sight from Graham up until now. “I can practice my presentation with him.”
Graham slumped in his chair, flopped both arms up on the table and laid his chin down in defeat.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying desperately to find a spot on the wall to occupy his time while his sister droned on. Flenn meant well and was a great little sister, but she had too many questions and way too many answers. Graham’s parents called it endearing. Graham called it torture.
Flenn shuffled her note cards, tapped them neatly on the table to straighten them up and then looked out at her audience. She cleared her throat and began. “Good morning, class. As you know, we have been studying the geology of Cascade. Miss Brennan defined geology as the study of the earth and the forces that shape it. Since we don’t live on Earth anymore, we study Cascade’s geology.”
Graham shifted in his seat. His mother shot him a look.
“Volcanoes happen on Earth and volcanoes happen on Cascade as well. I have made a model of Mount Prometheus. It’s an active volcano that we live next to.” Flenn paused and looked up from her note cards. “This would be the time when I uncover the volcano to show the class,” she said matter-of-factly.
“It’s very nice,” mumbled Graham, focusing his attention on the freshly painted volcano.
Flenn took his response as a sign to continue. “Mount Prometheus is a cinder cone volcano. Lava doesn’t flow out of it. When it erupts, cinder and ash spurt out. That’s why it seems to always have a dark cloud of smoke coming out of it. The council isn’t worried about it, as it’s such a small volcano and hasn’t been too explosive.”
“That’s excellent, Dear.” Graham’s mom clapped enthusiastically.
Flenn smiled. “I have more.”
Graham looked at his mom for any sign he could excuse himself. She smiled at him and directed him to return his attention to his sister.
“This next section is where I pull down the class map and point out Cascade’s eight other known volcanoes. I have their heights, what type they are and whether they are active, dormant or extinct. Should I share that, even though I don’t have the map here?” Flenn looked eagerly at Graham.
“Mom, I really have to go. I won’t be able to finish my errands if I stay any longer.”
His mother walked over to Flenn and gave her a big hug. She turned to Graham and said, “You can go, but your sister is going to share the rest with the family at dinner tonight, okay?”
Graham jumped out of his chair and headed towards the door. “Great, thanks.”
“Don’t be late for school,” his mom said.
“I won’t.” Graham was out the door and on the front walk when he stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around and walked back into the house. He ambled over to his sister and gave her a quick hug. “Your volcano looks really nice, almost like the real thing.”
Flenn gave him a great big hug in return. “Thanks.”
Graham smiled at his sister and then was out the door. He had his own volcano to deal with.
Graham took the main path that led to the village. After he was sure he was out of his mother’s eyesight, he took off into the woods, heading towards Parsons’ Plateau.
FAMILY VOLCANO
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The early morning sky greeted Graham with glorious pinks and oranges playing across the horizon. Dawn had arrived. Graham glanced out his window, staring intently at Mount Prometheus in the distance. He was late. He imagined Blord and his gang already at Parsons’ Plateau, picking on his troll friend. Ot was very on time and had probably arrived earlier than the bullies. He hurriedly washed his face, hands and wings, looped his satchel for school over his shoulder and stole a look at his teeth before dashing out of his room.
He entered the kitchen to see his sister and mother were busy working on Flenn’s science project at the kitchen table. They were putting the final painted touches on her volcano.
His mom turned to him and said, “You’re up awfully early. What dragged you out of bed?”
“I have to run a few errands for Grandfather. Don’t worry, I won’t be late for school,” Graham said in rapid-fire fashion as he made a beeline for the front door.
“No breakfast this morning?” his mom said, arching her rim of horns.
“Can’t. Got too much to do.” Graham was almost out the door when he heard his sister’s grating voice.
“He doesn’t like my volcano, Mom,” Flenn said, adding a pouting face at the end to punctuate her statement.
“Graham, you don’t have a minute to see what your sister has worked so hard on these last few days?” It was a question, but came out more like a motherly suggestion.
Graham rolled his eyes. A minute in little sisterland was more like an hour. “Yes, Mom.” He strolled over to the kitchen table.
Flenn’s face switched from sad to happy in a flash. She wrestled with a pile of note cards sitting behind the volcano, out of sight from Graham up until now. “I can practice my presentation with him.”
Graham slumped in his chair, flopped both arms up on the table and laid his chin down in defeat.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying desperately to find a spot on the wall to occupy his time while his sister droned on. Flenn meant well and was a great little sister, but she had too many questions and way too many answers. Graham’s parents called it endearing. Graham called it torture.
Flenn shuffled her note cards, tapped them neatly on the table to straighten them up and then looked out at her audience. She cleared her throat and began. “Good morning, class. As you know, we have been studying the geology of Cascade. Miss Brennan defined geology as the study of the earth and the forces that shape it. Since we don’t live on Earth anymore, we study Cascade’s geology.”
Graham shifted in his seat. His mother shot him a look.
“Volcanoes happen on Earth and volcanoes happen on Cascade as well. I have made a model of Mount Prometheus. It’s an active volcano that we live next to.” Flenn paused and looked up from her note cards. “This would be the time when I uncover the volcano to show the class,” she said matter-of-factly.
“It’s very nice,” mumbled Graham, focusing his attention on the freshly painted volcano.
Flenn took his response as a sign to continue. “Mount Prometheus is a cinder cone volcano. Lava doesn’t flow out of it. When it erupts, cinder and ash spurt out. That’s why it seems to always have a dark cloud of smoke coming out of it. The council isn’t worried about it, as it’s such a small volcano and hasn’t been too explosive.”
“That’s excellent, Dear.” Graham’s mom clapped enthusiastically.
Flenn smiled. “I have more.”
Graham looked at his mom for any sign he could excuse himself. She smiled at him and directed him to return his attention to his sister.
“This next section is where I pull down the class map and point out Cascade’s eight other known volcanoes. I have their heights, what type they are and whether they are active, dormant or extinct. Should I share that, even though I don’t have the map here?” Flenn looked eagerly at Graham.
“Mom, I really have to go. I won’t be able to finish my errands if I stay any longer.”
His mother walked over to Flenn and gave her a big hug. She turned to Graham and said, “You can go, but your sister is going to share the rest with the family at dinner tonight, okay?”
Graham jumped out of his chair and headed towards the door. “Great, thanks.”
“Don’t be late for school,” his mom said.
“I won’t.” Graham was out the door and on the front walk when he stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned around and walked back into the house. He ambled over to his sister and gave her a quick hug. “Your volcano looks really nice, almost like the real thing.”
Flenn gave him a great big hug in return. “Thanks.”
Graham smiled at his sister and then was out the door. He had his own volcano to deal with.
Graham took the main path that led to the village. After he was sure he was out of his mother’s eyesight, he took off into the woods, heading towards Parsons’ Plateau.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Sketchbook 1
Here's a shot of a character I did for an unpublished mini-comic. The character was The Crooked Fin and was a rip-snortin' monster epic with wacky overtones.
Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
MUDSLINGING MAYHEM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham tried his best to protect Ot from the worst of the attack. If only his frail wings were larger like Blord’s wings, he could’ve shielded them completely from the mud bath they were enduring. Instead, his tiny wings fluttered like helpless leaves caught in the wind. Graham could feel every impact. He could feel the mud sliding off as the slow tug of gravity worked its bitter magic. He would’ve enjoyed a mud battle with his friend, but this was clearly not the case. There was cruel intent behind each throw. Graham had to do something, but didn’t know what. He looked down to check on the troll.
Ot was hunched over and smiling. “You are such a pal! You don’t have to keep the mud off me. I don’t mind.”
Graham shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. Blord has it in for me, not you. I just don’t know what to do next.”
“Just let them continue. They’ll eventually get bored and go away.”
“I’m not so sure of that. They can be pretty persistent. Bullies are like that.” The gargoyle felt a rather large mudpie hit him square in the back of his head. “Maybe I should fight back.”
“The hornet’s nest is already disturbed. Don’t stir it up further.” Ot’s tiny eyes beamed with sincerity.
Graham loved his friend, but found his peace-loving temperament annoying. “Those are your dad’s words, aren’t they?”
Ot shrugged. “Can I help it if he gives good advice?”
Graham shifted his weight. Hunching over his friend was starting to become an uncomfortable task. “My legs will cramp up if I stay in this position much longer.”
“Then move,” Ot said.
Graham frowned as he stretched out his left leg in an effort to avoid a muscle cramp. His friend was right. Ignoring the bullies was the best option. Graham settled in for a long wait. As long as he flexed his legs once in a while, he could prevent his muscles from tightening.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, a feat he excelled at in school and at home. Graham imagined himself flying his friend off to safety. He pictured them skimming above the clouds. He smiled as Ot reached down, attempting to gather up the cloud stuff as if it were cotton candy. If only his wings were bigger, stronger. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “You will fly the highest of them all, little one.” His grandfather always said it with such faith and conviction.
Graham’s pleasant daydreaming was interrupted by a horrible racket. Blord had joined the battle, except he was slinging insults rather than mud.
“I should’ve known you’d just huddle together and do nothing. You’re a coward, Graham. Your little sister has more guts than you do.”
Graham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
“Heck, her wings are even bigger than yours,” Blord chuckled.
“He can only hurt you if you let him,” whispered Ot.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel bad,” Graham replied.
Blord’s next insult found its mark. “Maybe you’re just turning to stone like your grandfather. I hear it happens to people who sit around and do nothing.”
Graham’s blood boiled. He spun around, scooping up a large clump of mud at the same time.
Blord’s gang stopped hurling mudpies, shocked that Graham had turned to face them.
Graham wrapped his fingers around the mud he held. Surprisingly, he felt a stone sliding around in the mud. “You don’t talk about my grandfather!!”
With all his strength, the tiny-winged gargoyle fired the mudpie containing the stone at the biggest target of the bunch, Blord.
The mud slapped into the gargoyle’s nose with a wet thud. Blord hunched over, clutching his nose. “By Nobz! By Nobz! Moo little mweep. You mit by nobz mith a mock!”
Blord rushed at Graham, his huge arms outstretched. “Margghhh!”
Graham slipped in the mud as he attempted to avoid the bully. Instead, his right leg shot up, dangled in the air and tripped the angry gargoyle. Blord went airborne for a brief moment, flapping his wings to avoid landing in the mud fields. Despite their immense size, Blord’s wings did not help him. He smashed back down to the ground, sliding a good five yards through the mud.
All was quiet and still for a time. Graham and Ot gawked in disbelief. Blord’s gang hovered in a semicircle, uncertain what to do next. Their leader rested in the mud, covered from head to tail in the extra moist earth.
“This can’t be good,” whispered Ot.
Blord slowly rose to his feet. Ignoring the mud dripping from him, the bully strutted over to Graham. He loomed over the tiny gargoyle by a good three feet. Graham could see a trickle of blood from Blord’s nose mixing with the mud decorating his face.
“I challenge you.” Blord’s voice was filled with hate.
Graham felt like a mouse with its tail stuck in a trap.
“I challenge you to a race.” Blord exhaled, his breath pushing away the very air around him. “A race over Mount Prometheus. Dawn tomorrow. Be there or else.”
Blord turned and walked away with his gang trailing behind him. Graham and Ot watched in silence until the bullies disappeared into the nearby woods.
Ot spoke first, “That’s one angry hornet, Graham.”
Graham slowly nodded.
MUDSLINGING MAYHEM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
Graham tried his best to protect Ot from the worst of the attack. If only his frail wings were larger like Blord’s wings, he could’ve shielded them completely from the mud bath they were enduring. Instead, his tiny wings fluttered like helpless leaves caught in the wind. Graham could feel every impact. He could feel the mud sliding off as the slow tug of gravity worked its bitter magic. He would’ve enjoyed a mud battle with his friend, but this was clearly not the case. There was cruel intent behind each throw. Graham had to do something, but didn’t know what. He looked down to check on the troll.
Ot was hunched over and smiling. “You are such a pal! You don’t have to keep the mud off me. I don’t mind.”
Graham shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. Blord has it in for me, not you. I just don’t know what to do next.”
“Just let them continue. They’ll eventually get bored and go away.”
“I’m not so sure of that. They can be pretty persistent. Bullies are like that.” The gargoyle felt a rather large mudpie hit him square in the back of his head. “Maybe I should fight back.”
“The hornet’s nest is already disturbed. Don’t stir it up further.” Ot’s tiny eyes beamed with sincerity.
Graham loved his friend, but found his peace-loving temperament annoying. “Those are your dad’s words, aren’t they?”
Ot shrugged. “Can I help it if he gives good advice?”
Graham shifted his weight. Hunching over his friend was starting to become an uncomfortable task. “My legs will cramp up if I stay in this position much longer.”
“Then move,” Ot said.
Graham frowned as he stretched out his left leg in an effort to avoid a muscle cramp. His friend was right. Ignoring the bullies was the best option. Graham settled in for a long wait. As long as he flexed his legs once in a while, he could prevent his muscles from tightening.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, a feat he excelled at in school and at home. Graham imagined himself flying his friend off to safety. He pictured them skimming above the clouds. He smiled as Ot reached down, attempting to gather up the cloud stuff as if it were cotton candy. If only his wings were bigger, stronger. His grandfather’s words echoed in his mind. “You will fly the highest of them all, little one.” His grandfather always said it with such faith and conviction.
Graham’s pleasant daydreaming was interrupted by a horrible racket. Blord had joined the battle, except he was slinging insults rather than mud.
“I should’ve known you’d just huddle together and do nothing. You’re a coward, Graham. Your little sister has more guts than you do.”
Graham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
“Heck, her wings are even bigger than yours,” Blord chuckled.
“He can only hurt you if you let him,” whispered Ot.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to feel bad,” Graham replied.
Blord’s next insult found its mark. “Maybe you’re just turning to stone like your grandfather. I hear it happens to people who sit around and do nothing.”
Graham’s blood boiled. He spun around, scooping up a large clump of mud at the same time.
Blord’s gang stopped hurling mudpies, shocked that Graham had turned to face them.
Graham wrapped his fingers around the mud he held. Surprisingly, he felt a stone sliding around in the mud. “You don’t talk about my grandfather!!”
With all his strength, the tiny-winged gargoyle fired the mudpie containing the stone at the biggest target of the bunch, Blord.
The mud slapped into the gargoyle’s nose with a wet thud. Blord hunched over, clutching his nose. “By Nobz! By Nobz! Moo little mweep. You mit by nobz mith a mock!”
Blord rushed at Graham, his huge arms outstretched. “Margghhh!”
Graham slipped in the mud as he attempted to avoid the bully. Instead, his right leg shot up, dangled in the air and tripped the angry gargoyle. Blord went airborne for a brief moment, flapping his wings to avoid landing in the mud fields. Despite their immense size, Blord’s wings did not help him. He smashed back down to the ground, sliding a good five yards through the mud.
All was quiet and still for a time. Graham and Ot gawked in disbelief. Blord’s gang hovered in a semicircle, uncertain what to do next. Their leader rested in the mud, covered from head to tail in the extra moist earth.
“This can’t be good,” whispered Ot.
Blord slowly rose to his feet. Ignoring the mud dripping from him, the bully strutted over to Graham. He loomed over the tiny gargoyle by a good three feet. Graham could see a trickle of blood from Blord’s nose mixing with the mud decorating his face.
“I challenge you.” Blord’s voice was filled with hate.
Graham felt like a mouse with its tail stuck in a trap.
“I challenge you to a race.” Blord exhaled, his breath pushing away the very air around him. “A race over Mount Prometheus. Dawn tomorrow. Be there or else.”
Blord turned and walked away with his gang trailing behind him. Graham and Ot watched in silence until the bullies disappeared into the nearby woods.
Ot spoke first, “That’s one angry hornet, Graham.”
Graham slowly nodded.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Graham Pic
Here's a pic of Graham from a cover of Far-Fetchers. Far-Fetchers was a comic project that only appeared in ashcan form.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
TERRA SQUIRMA
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The mud was comforting. Graham adored how it tried to hold his feet prisoner with each step. The squishy suction playfully reminded him that the stable ground did not stray too far from his feet. It helped him forget that his first flight was fast approaching. He was dreading the arrival of Friday, only four days away. Graham was not ready to take to the air. His puny wings did not fill him with confidence. He pictured himself tumbling off the mountain, rather than soaring deep into the clouds. Besides, he was doing just fine on the ground. Terra firma felt so stable. Just looking up at the sky made his stomach feel light and queasy.
The young gargoyle reached down to pluck several more mukka roots out of the mud fields. The lumpy, pink vegetable was the main crop of the clan of trolls who lived next to Graham’s village. The other gargoyles avoided the trolls, claiming they were dirty and stupid. Graham didn’t believe that. His best friend was a troll. Graham glanced behind him to see his friend, Ot, working feverishly to catch up to him.
“My basket’s almost full, Ot. How are you doing?” asked Graham, pausing a moment to stretch. His tiny wings flapped ever so slightly.
The troll looked up and smiled. “Yes, but I’m half as muddy as you are. Perhaps you should consider less splattering. Looks like a dip in the waterfall might be called for.”
Graham scooped up an extra moist clump of mud and tossed it at Ot. The troll, moving surprisingly fast for someone so stubby and plump, dodged the mud pie. “My goodness, your aim is terrible today. That’s the fifth time you’ve missed me.”
Graham rolled his eyes and resumed plucking the roots from the sloppy ground. One of these days, he’d manage to hit his target, he thought as he wrapped his fingers around a particularly stubborn mukka root. “I have time for one more basket, then I have to get home. Grandfather has something important to tell me.”
Ot nodded, his smile withering into a more serious expression. “Is it about his crossing over? Is it time?”
Graham dropped his basket and trudged over to his friend, the tiny rim of horns along the gargoyle’s brow curled upward in anger. “Who told you about that? Who?”
“Your sister, Flenn. She was at the waterfall and she just started blathering on about all sorts of things, the weather, the flowers, how your father was growing frustrated with the council. I tuned her out. Honest, I did. Except…” Ot’s eyes darted from side to side.
“Except?”
“Well, she started to cry. I felt sorry for her. She started telling me about your grandfather, about how gargoyles age, about the ritual of crossing over.”
“She is such a blabbermouth.” Graham threw up his hands and stomped back to his basket. He picked it up and flung the carefully collected mukka roots onto the ground. Graham was about to hurl the basket into a nearby patch of trees when his friend spoke softly, almost as if his voice would shatter the fragile air around them.
“Is it true?”
Graham sat down on a nearby rock and exhaled sharply. His voice was slightly shaken when he spoke, “It’s true. As gargoyles age, our bodies calcify, slowly turn to stone. Grandfather can still move about, but is bedridden. He is saving his strength for the crossing. He must have enough flexibility to climb a mortal church and…”
“So he really does have to return to Earth?” Ot’s face wrinkled in fright.
“Yes, it is tradition. Our bodies harden and we become guardian statues. Our presence on a church is supposed to scare away evil spirits.” Graham picked at a patch of dried mud on his orange skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“My sister and I just found out last week. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would that worry me? You’re not turning to stone anytime soon, are you?” Ot looked intently at his friend, afraid if he looked away the gargoyle would indeed turn to stone.
“No, that’s not it.” Graham paused and looked up at his friend. The gargoyle’s eyes were watery. “He’s the only one who…”
“What?”
At that moment, Ot was hit from behind by a very large mudpie. Graham and his friend looked up to see their worst nightmare approaching. Blord the village bully and his gargoyle band of misfits were zeroing in on them.
“I figured I’d find you rolling around in the mud with your troll friend, Graham,” spat Blord, as he beat his immense wings with vigor.
“Blord, just go away. I don’t want this right now.”
“Want what? Surely you’d rather hang out with me instead of some oafish runt.” Blord gestured for his fellow gargoyles to arm themselves. The boys swept up large palmfuls of mud. Graham noticed that Blord did not dirty his own hands with a mud projectile.
“Ot is a friend.”
Blord’s eyes narrowed. “Ready.”
“Don’t involve him.” Graham stepped in front of the troll and crossed his arms. He was now blocking them from pelting his friend with more mud.
Blord’s eyes flared in anger. “Aim.”
The gargoyles held their mud-filled hands high.
“You’re going to regret this,” Graham bellowed, attempting to sound strong and confident, not squeaky. Graham didn’t think he had succeeded. His voice still sounded nervous and twittery.
“Fire!” Blord beat his wings in joy as his gang bombarded the young gargoyle and his troll friend with volley after volley of mud missiles. “Let the mud fly! Ha-Ha!”
TERRA SQUIRMA
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper
The mud was comforting. Graham adored how it tried to hold his feet prisoner with each step. The squishy suction playfully reminded him that the stable ground did not stray too far from his feet. It helped him forget that his first flight was fast approaching. He was dreading the arrival of Friday, only four days away. Graham was not ready to take to the air. His puny wings did not fill him with confidence. He pictured himself tumbling off the mountain, rather than soaring deep into the clouds. Besides, he was doing just fine on the ground. Terra firma felt so stable. Just looking up at the sky made his stomach feel light and queasy.
The young gargoyle reached down to pluck several more mukka roots out of the mud fields. The lumpy, pink vegetable was the main crop of the clan of trolls who lived next to Graham’s village. The other gargoyles avoided the trolls, claiming they were dirty and stupid. Graham didn’t believe that. His best friend was a troll. Graham glanced behind him to see his friend, Ot, working feverishly to catch up to him.
“My basket’s almost full, Ot. How are you doing?” asked Graham, pausing a moment to stretch. His tiny wings flapped ever so slightly.
The troll looked up and smiled. “Yes, but I’m half as muddy as you are. Perhaps you should consider less splattering. Looks like a dip in the waterfall might be called for.”
Graham scooped up an extra moist clump of mud and tossed it at Ot. The troll, moving surprisingly fast for someone so stubby and plump, dodged the mud pie. “My goodness, your aim is terrible today. That’s the fifth time you’ve missed me.”
Graham rolled his eyes and resumed plucking the roots from the sloppy ground. One of these days, he’d manage to hit his target, he thought as he wrapped his fingers around a particularly stubborn mukka root. “I have time for one more basket, then I have to get home. Grandfather has something important to tell me.”
Ot nodded, his smile withering into a more serious expression. “Is it about his crossing over? Is it time?”
Graham dropped his basket and trudged over to his friend, the tiny rim of horns along the gargoyle’s brow curled upward in anger. “Who told you about that? Who?”
“Your sister, Flenn. She was at the waterfall and she just started blathering on about all sorts of things, the weather, the flowers, how your father was growing frustrated with the council. I tuned her out. Honest, I did. Except…” Ot’s eyes darted from side to side.
“Except?”
“Well, she started to cry. I felt sorry for her. She started telling me about your grandfather, about how gargoyles age, about the ritual of crossing over.”
“She is such a blabbermouth.” Graham threw up his hands and stomped back to his basket. He picked it up and flung the carefully collected mukka roots onto the ground. Graham was about to hurl the basket into a nearby patch of trees when his friend spoke softly, almost as if his voice would shatter the fragile air around them.
“Is it true?”
Graham sat down on a nearby rock and exhaled sharply. His voice was slightly shaken when he spoke, “It’s true. As gargoyles age, our bodies calcify, slowly turn to stone. Grandfather can still move about, but is bedridden. He is saving his strength for the crossing. He must have enough flexibility to climb a mortal church and…”
“So he really does have to return to Earth?” Ot’s face wrinkled in fright.
“Yes, it is tradition. Our bodies harden and we become guardian statues. Our presence on a church is supposed to scare away evil spirits.” Graham picked at a patch of dried mud on his orange skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“My sister and I just found out last week. I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Why would that worry me? You’re not turning to stone anytime soon, are you?” Ot looked intently at his friend, afraid if he looked away the gargoyle would indeed turn to stone.
“No, that’s not it.” Graham paused and looked up at his friend. The gargoyle’s eyes were watery. “He’s the only one who…”
“What?”
At that moment, Ot was hit from behind by a very large mudpie. Graham and his friend looked up to see their worst nightmare approaching. Blord the village bully and his gargoyle band of misfits were zeroing in on them.
“I figured I’d find you rolling around in the mud with your troll friend, Graham,” spat Blord, as he beat his immense wings with vigor.
“Blord, just go away. I don’t want this right now.”
“Want what? Surely you’d rather hang out with me instead of some oafish runt.” Blord gestured for his fellow gargoyles to arm themselves. The boys swept up large palmfuls of mud. Graham noticed that Blord did not dirty his own hands with a mud projectile.
“Ot is a friend.”
Blord’s eyes narrowed. “Ready.”
“Don’t involve him.” Graham stepped in front of the troll and crossed his arms. He was now blocking them from pelting his friend with more mud.
Blord’s eyes flared in anger. “Aim.”
The gargoyles held their mud-filled hands high.
“You’re going to regret this,” Graham bellowed, attempting to sound strong and confident, not squeaky. Graham didn’t think he had succeeded. His voice still sounded nervous and twittery.
“Fire!” Blord beat his wings in joy as his gang bombarded the young gargoyle and his troll friend with volley after volley of mud missiles. “Let the mud fly! Ha-Ha!”
Opening
This is a blog for those who appreciate misunderstood monsters. Welcome to the twice weekly blog (updates Monday and Friday) of Brian Clopper. I am a published comic book artist who is taking the plunge into serializing my Cascade novels. These novels tell the stories of the denizens of Cascade, a patchwork world of magic and myth. Graham the Gargoyle is the first novel and was originally published by myself for sale at conventions. The first printing is sold out. Rather than reprint it again myself, I thought I'd try to grow my audience by placing my projects online. Look for Norton the Vampire, my second Cascade novel, to be serialized at this site next. After that, it's all new material made exclusive for this site.
THE SETTING:
The MAGICAL REALM
of CASCADE*
When mortal belief in magic began to die out, the magical and mythological creatures of Earth found their life forces fading. Rather than face apathy and extinction, they banded together and migrated to another dimension where their combined powers could sustain them, a magical haven called Cascade. There they thrived, and a multimystical society was born.
THE SETTING:
The MAGICAL REALM
of CASCADE*
When mortal belief in magic began to die out, the magical and mythological creatures of Earth found their life forces fading. Rather than face apathy and extinction, they banded together and migrated to another dimension where their combined powers could sustain them, a magical haven called Cascade. There they thrived, and a multimystical society was born.
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