This is a Yantra Tattoo, performed mostly in thailand by buddhist monks or practicioners of thai occultism ( wicha). They take forever to create, due to the intricacy of the patterns plus, it’s done with ink and a sharp bamboo stake over many hours.
It’s not just beautiful, though. Yantra tattoos are a form of magic- charms etched into skin. They can supposedly do everything from protect you from all physical harm (If you obey certain rules) to bringing fortune, compassion, and luck.
I want one of these so fucking bad. If you’re interested, there’s more
I remember when the news hit me, I was lazily drinking a beer trying to bore myself to sleep on an odd bout of Insomnia. I was watching the news channel in the hopes that parliamentary debates in some country I hear about in jeopardy. Then the annoucement happened, it was live. A convoy in Iraq, Iran, Syria, some middle eastern country got hit by something. I was going to change the channel, but then I saw what the cameraman saw, and the world changed.
Okay, News from your friendly Internet Dream-God-Thing
So, since my Endocrinectomy last year I’ve not had as much energy much less creative drive to keep doing my little character portraits. I plan to slowly get back into rhythm though. If only to keep my creativeness from atrophying into nothing.
So, I present to you, A Kobold speaking into a Mic.
…Law AND Cities.
Honestly there have been days where I wish that D&D gods were more viable spiritual options.
Chewgum the Albino was enjoying his steamy constitutional unaware that beings conspired to eat him alive!
"Almost Christmas." Ivan would say to himself, as if it mattered to him that the cold air was listening. "So what do I do then? I could go back to that cold closet I call an apartment and have a few smokes…" His voice trailed off, he hated his apartment. Ivan had worked with his hands and back for all of his adult life, he earned his keep through labour, he was supposed to enjoy his retirement. But his wife got some illness he couldn’t pronounce much less help with, the vacation savings went into her treatment. The house was too big and had too many memories, he gave it to the kids hoping that they’d help him make new ones. "You’d think I’d have raised them better, than to leave this old man in the cold," Ivan remarked to the smiling man in the suit on the front page newspaper. But oh it was cold, his hands were freezing. Maybe if I just rub them and blow onto them I can get some heat back into them, he hoped. No, a cigarette. His search through the many layers of clothing successfully found a pack of smokes, but he was without a lighter. Ivan grinned like the fool he was at his situation, he remembered a chuck jones cartoon from his youth, how a rabbit just snapped his fingers to get a light on his thumb. Like a private joke between him and the world Ivan snapped his fingers…
Howdy. Y’wanna take a seat? Take the one across from me, heck, order a drink, the whiskey’s pretty fine here. Though if’n ya don’t mind, I’ll keep drinking my lemonade. Yer shaking a bit boy, what, do I make ya nervous? If it’s the gun that’s making ya nervous I can holster this sucker, I mostly keep it out for appearances, the thought of a bullet in the gut tends to keep people with more greed then sense from trying to steal from the pot. But you ain’t here to steal, are ya? You’re here to talk, drink, and maybe gamble for a spell.
So, you’ve got the sight. I thought you paled pretty good when you walked in through those doors. You can see my eyes don’t you? Don’t you go screaming like a buzzard into the night here, get a hold of yourself, otherwise people’ll think you’ve drank downstream from a goldmine. That’s right, take a breath, I’m not gonna hurt ya. As a matter of fact I’m impressed, Irish right? No? Welsh? No? Huh. Usually when a redhead’s seeing through me they’re one or the other. Before you ask, I ain’t ol’ scratch. Yeah, I know if I was I’d be denying it anyways, but I ain’t. So don’t go thinking that you’re soul’s in peril or any of that hogwash, if ya ain’t riding with me you’re as safe as the west allows. Me? Call me Martin. Well, if that don’t beat all, you’re the first sonnovabitch to laugh at the name. Here’s a coin for having the guts t’do it.
"What did Sir Crofton call it again?" He asked his female companion.
"I believe he referred to it as an ‘unspeakable horror of prussian engineering,’" she responded.
They stood there down this narrow street, they could have been talking about the weather from the tone of their voices, unphased but curious to the outcome.
"I believe Sir Crofton to be horribly wrong on that score," he said continuing the conversation, "I doubt very much that was built on this earth at all." He resettled his feet as a tremor went through the block.
"An otherworldly mechanism then? Excellent! No need to worry about killing a human pilot." Others would have found themselves publicly shamed by biological urges beyond rational control, but these two stood idly as if waiting for the giant to notice them. "Well Kathrine, shall we take to dinner after this?"