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Description
I'm pleased and beyond for this artwork by the amazing featuring not only myself , but the Duke's own OC of Brasidas too! Now this artwork in itself is awesome , but I was floored by the added storyline that this scene tells! ( more of the Duke's marvelous Imagination ) I'm re-posting it here with hopes you'll enjoy it as much as I did! Thanks again my friend!, great work in all! ..................................... ( from the view of Brasidas ) ..................... Of course you all know the grandiose 's mysterious Vladen 13! What does the thirteen mean? I don't know, but I do know that it's connected with a mysterious past and with a cadre of heroes and villains emblazoned with other numbers! No hero goes unrecognized. Sometimes, however, recognition can be a bad thing.

...

I have mixed feelings about vigilantes. On one hand, I admire them for having the guts to stand on their own two feet. On the other hand, their holier-than-though attitude disgusts me. Sure, most of them wind up in a pool of their own blood; the victims of forces they never really understood. But sometimes one of them manages to actually stir up a little trouble. And that's where people like me come in. It isn't that I have any special proclivities for violence, but I know how to disappear after the grocer-gone-law-bringer gets his aforementioned "guts" strewn all over an alleyway.

...

They didn't really have a name for him, just a description. And what a description! A ghost - a shade - an amorphous, floating shadow that wound and twisted itself into impossible contortions, striking fear into the hearts of the wicked, blah, blah, blah. A demon, some said. Others insisted on calling him - or it? - a fallen angel: an avenger and a savior.

Ha. Yeah, I know it sounds like a bunch of crap. Stuff like that doesn't really happen, right? I didn't think so...

But then I saw him...it.

It was the time of night where steam seemed to come off the roadways, and the rain hadn't helped with the mugginess. I listened to my own footsteps. You know when you listen to yourself walk alone in a hallway and the sound of your own walking makes you feel powerful? That's what I was doing on that empty street.

I remember smiling to myself, thinking I was such a clever son-of-a-bitch. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about these vigilante sorts. You see, I didn't know where to find my mysterious target, so I let the word slip that I was going after "the shadowy man with the thirteen on his suit." News would travel, and if this guy was half as good as people suggested, then he'd pick up on it. And these vigilantes, they can never resist going up against their would-be-assassins. They LIVE for that kind of notoriety; for the grandeur of a showdown. Flies, honey, you know the deal.

I kept my hand on the butt of the SMG I kept tucked nice and neat under my coat. It was a little sloppy, but there wasn't anyone around to gawk at me. This part of town wasn't exactly what you'd call "inhabited."

I don't remember why I stopped. I think it was the feeling of being watched. Yeah, yeah, shut the Hell up, I know it's cliché. But the fur on the back of my neck stood right the fuck up! Looking over my shoulder, I saw him...plummeting from the god damned rooftops! For a split second I figured he'd accidently kill himself, but no such luck.

It was everything the descriptions said...and so much more. Maybe I'm just manufacturing memories, but I could sweat he floated down, wafting towards me like the ghost of Christmas Future. You know, the tall guy from that book they keep making into movies? Every bit as silent, and every bit as ominous. I think it was probably his face that melted my smug-ass smile, because I wasn't smiling when things got underway. It was grey, and it lacked a couple of features. But it wasn't blank...It filled me with a sense of unease. Resolute eyes upon a mouth-less canvass. Maybe it was at that moment that I realized that I wasn't dealing with your run-of-the-mill vigilante.

"Wrong move hero!" I shouted as I let blaze, yellow and red flashes illuminating the darkened, smoke-filled streets. The rapid bang, bang and the corny one liners always made me feel so confident...until I saw a shadow move. A partner!? I figured. But no! It was an arm, slithering up from the shadows in spite of the fact that my amorphous foe was a good twenty feet away! A black, meaty hand grabbed the hot barrel of my gun and wrenched the muzzle down. For the love of god, it wouldn't have ben different if a great white had the gun in its jaws! I couldn't lift it an inch, spitting hot lead into the pavement, showering me in old asphalt.

*Click, click, click*

I cursed something I'm sure as the clip emptied into the ground. I looked up, and that horrifying grey face was getting closer, sliding along the ground. I got my first good look of it by moonlight. He wore a black suit with a blue tie. Gotta give the guy points for style! Ha ha...creepy SOB. I remember the thirteen on his chest. I don't know what it means, but at the time I was just hoping I wasn't 14! Sickos keep track sometimes, you know? But something about this guy...he wasn't a sicko.

I grit my teeth when we came face to face. "What the Hell are you!?" I never got an answer before I felt another hand grab the back of my neck... You know, I still don't have any answers. What was he? Why am I still alive? I don't want answers. I don't want to know a god-damned thing about 13... You figure it out.

Description
I'm pleased and beyond for this artwork by the amazing featuring not only myself , but the Duke's own OC of Brasidas too! Now this artwork in itself is awesome , but I was floored by the added storyline that this scene tells! ( more of the Duke's marvelous Imagination ) I'm re-posting it here with hopes you'll enjoy it as much as I did! Thanks again my friend!, great work in all! ..................................... ( from the view of Brasidas ) ..................... Of course you all know the grandiose 's mysterious Vladen 13! What does the thirteen mean? I don't know, but I do know that it's connected with a mysterious past and with a cadre of heroes and villains emblazoned with other numbers! No hero goes unrecognized. Sometimes, however, recognition can be a bad thing.

...

I have mixed feelings about vigilantes. On one hand, I admire them for having the guts to stand on their own two feet. On the other hand, their holier-than-though attitude disgusts me. Sure, most of them wind up in a pool of their own blood; the victims of forces they never really understood. But sometimes one of them manages to actually stir up a little trouble. And that's where people like me come in. It isn't that I have any special proclivities for violence, but I know how to disappear after the grocer-gone-law-bringer gets his aforementioned "guts" strewn all over an alleyway.

...

They didn't really have a name for him, just a description. And what a description! A ghost - a shade - an amorphous, floating shadow that wound and twisted itself into impossible contortions, striking fear into the hearts of the wicked, blah, blah, blah. A demon, some said. Others insisted on calling him - or it? - a fallen angel: an avenger and a savior.

Ha. Yeah, I know it sounds like a bunch of crap. Stuff like that doesn't really happen, right? I didn't think so...

But then I saw him...it.

It was the time of night where steam seemed to come off the roadways, and the rain hadn't helped with the mugginess. I listened to my own footsteps. You know when you listen to yourself walk alone in a hallway and the sound of your own walking makes you feel powerful? That's what I was doing on that empty street.

I remember smiling to myself, thinking I was such a clever son-of-a-bitch. Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about these vigilante sorts. You see, I didn't know where to find my mysterious target, so I let the word slip that I was going after "the shadowy man with the thirteen on his suit." News would travel, and if this guy was half as good as people suggested, then he'd pick up on it. And these vigilantes, they can never resist going up against their would-be-assassins. They LIVE for that kind of notoriety; for the grandeur of a showdown. Flies, honey, you know the deal.

I kept my hand on the butt of the SMG I kept tucked nice and neat under my coat. It was a little sloppy, but there wasn't anyone around to gawk at me. This part of town wasn't exactly what you'd call "inhabited."

I don't remember why I stopped. I think it was the feeling of being watched. Yeah, yeah, shut the Hell up, I know it's cliché. But the fur on the back of my neck stood right the fuck up! Looking over my shoulder, I saw him...plummeting from the god damned rooftops! For a split second I figured he'd accidently kill himself, but no such luck.

It was everything the descriptions said...and so much more. Maybe I'm just manufacturing memories, but I could sweat he floated down, wafting towards me like the ghost of Christmas Future. You know, the tall guy from that book they keep making into movies? Every bit as silent, and every bit as ominous. I think it was probably his face that melted my smug-ass smile, because I wasn't smiling when things got underway. It was grey, and it lacked a couple of features. But it wasn't blank...It filled me with a sense of unease. Resolute eyes upon a mouth-less canvass. Maybe it was at that moment that I realized that I wasn't dealing with your run-of-the-mill vigilante.

"Wrong move hero!" I shouted as I let blaze, yellow and red flashes illuminating the darkened, smoke-filled streets. The rapid bang, bang and the corny one liners always made me feel so confident...until I saw a shadow move. A partner!? I figured. But no! It was an arm, slithering up from the shadows in spite of the fact that my amorphous foe was a good twenty feet away! A black, meaty hand grabbed the hot barrel of my gun and wrenched the muzzle down. For the love of god, it wouldn't have ben different if a great white had the gun in its jaws! I couldn't lift it an inch, spitting hot lead into the pavement, showering me in old asphalt.

*Click, click, click*

I cursed something I'm sure as the clip emptied into the ground. I looked up, and that horrifying grey face was getting closer, sliding along the ground. I got my first good look of it by moonlight. He wore a black suit with a blue tie. Gotta give the guy points for style! Ha ha...creepy SOB. I remember the thirteen on his chest. I don't know what it means, but at the time I was just hoping I wasn't 14! Sickos keep track sometimes, you know? But something about this guy...he wasn't a sicko.

I grit my teeth when we came face to face. "What the Hell are you!?" I never got an answer before I felt another hand grab the back of my neck... You know, I still don't have any answers. What was he? Why am I still alive? I don't want answers. I don't want to know a god-damned thing about 13... You figure it out.