Astanael

Category: Uncategorized

  • Tiny Old Ones

    All theses books, all these tales about the Great Old Ones made us forget about the Tiny Old Ones.
    They are the one who will survive our demise and laugh at our expense.

    Happy solstice to all of you.

    ALL of you. You, your friends, your foes, the friends of your friends, the friends of your foes and the foes of your friends, event the foes of your foes and the long slender figure hanging on on your shoulder just outside your field of vision.

    Didn’t you know ?

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Nice Hat

    Currently watching the new Sabrina on Netflix, and I was not prepared for that.
    I was expecting something sitcomesque and light. I get dark witchcraft, creepy ghosts and giant living baphomet.
    Nice.

    Also, nice hat. Great Moebius vibe.

    Are y’all ready for the solstice ? I’ll post an Old One tomorrow !

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Terror on the Orient-Express
    William Wellington

    January the 6th, 1923, Lausanne (Switzerland)

    The door bell rang downstairs. Edward get up of his chair and said :
    – Pleas excuse me for a moment, I was expecting someone that you might want to meet too. I’ll be right back.
    The moment Edgar left the small and cumbered kitchen, a large man came in, opened a shelve, took a bottle and sat at the table. There was a long awkward silence, only ruptured by the noise of James that fled to the stairs, causing no reaction from the giant whatsoever.
    Henry tried a “hello” and some other greetings, only getting back a long and uncomfortable blank stare. Choura joined in, but after a few pointless minutes of one-sided conversation there was still no response. The colossus took a notebook and painstakingly started to wrote some words, then proceeded to show them to Henry.

    “Today is good day. Hello. Nice to meat you.”

    Henry shivers. Not because of the strange words, or the creepy typo. But because he saw now clearly the broken face of the giant as he lean into the faint light. Steel plaques hastily screwed to the skull, complete facial paralysis, deformed skull… He began to saw a story, the horrible tale of a victim of the great war, scorched by hellfire, shrapnel-mutilated and hastily repaired by a tired field surgeon in some god forsaken mud-filled trenches.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from the Terror on the Orient-Express Chaosium Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign

  • Terror on the Orient-Express
    A New player

    January the 6, 1923, Lausanne.
    06:45 am.

    Upon descending the Orient-Express, a cold fog grasped the four friends. pushing them to an open cafe just near the station. The bartender let them stack their heavy pile of luggage in a corner while waiting for the Grand Hotel carrier. They ordered a large breakfast, complete with chocolate dipped croissants, milked cafe, tea and a huge assortment of sweets and little Swiss chocolate squares. This warm and cozy pause is much welcome after such a journey, and the silence of morning in Lausanne was a bliss after the loud aver lasting ambient noise of the train.

    Aaah silence thought Henry… only troubled by the delicate tingling of faience, the song of a lonely bird and the strident screeches of car tires drifting upon snowed pavement.

    From across the place, a vehicle suddenly appears, coming from one the adjacent streets, probably leading down to the Lake. The car literally jumped in the air, and flew for what seemed an eternity before landing brusquely and starting drifting, closing in dangerously to the cafe, only stopping just a few meters before reaching the vitrine.

    Cihat was already up and ready to drag Choura away, when he felt the tight grip of the old russian on his arm. Choura was livid, and so was Carl. They were both looking intensely at the conductor of that just stepped outside of his vehicle.

    – Oscar ? He’s alive !? How could it be ?
    – No, that’s not him. Maybe… James ? His brother, the race pilot ? Oscar told me once about him, but how… ?

    The newcomer went straight for them, his fist tightly clenched. Behind him, the car was still smoking and clanking. On the passenger seat, what seemed like the real owner was livid and still hanging onto his seat as if his life depended on it. Something told Carl James Couteau has not bought the official story of the Lhassa meteor that cost the life of Oscar. This will be a hard and long talk. 

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from the Terror on the Orient-Express Chaosium Call of Cthulhu RPG campaign

  • The Valkyries from Yuggoth

    Sjörn died in battle, with honor. The Valkyries came and took his soul to Valhalla.

    So is the tale, written on his tombstone. The tale of a brave and fearless warrior, one of the finest. Curiously, his son Feyr never talks about his father. Except once…

    It was the time Canute the Great unified the Dane. Feys Sjörnson was completely and utterly wasted, drunk to the bones. He sang with the others, dance with the maidens of the house and drank some more. Then one of his men complimented the largest maiden of the lot by saying that she had the hips of a Valkyrie. Feyr went red and screamed that she lacks two more pair of arms, that Valkyries were hairless, that their wings are made of leather and their arms of lobster, that the souls of men were inside their skulls and you have to cut it open to really free the soul. His men took him away to let him sleep and he never spoke of it again.

    Pencil Doodle on A6 Sketchbook
    Commission for Kenegan of  Cthulhu Hack

  • Cecil Tarrow

    Hogwarts School for Talented Wizards, September 2001

    Cecil is quite the shy one, he doesn’t like to stand out much and only his closest friend knows why. Alastor remembers him as a jovial and enthusiastic boy, back when they were playing in Diagon Alley. He hadn’t seen Cecil since his fathers and him went abroad. So when Alastor’s father told him that Cecil’s got into Hogwarts too, he was delighted to see his old friend again. And then was devastated to learn about Cecil’s father painful death.
    Since then, Alastor vowed to act as a big brother and stay forever close to Cecil, even if Cecil is older than him and quite capable to take care of himself.

    Cecil is terrified of flying to the point he actively search to be dispensed, but so far with little results. He likes drawing and joined the Arts & Crafts Club. Recently he discovered a strange burnt journal under his bed. With his closest friends Alastor, Pâris and Artemisa, they started to investigate what led to strange turn of events during the year 1977…

    Pencil Doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Player Character for Harry Potter RPG

  • Wind magus, Sadness

    Swirling softly
    Sorrow’s creeping
    Hope’s vanishing
    Sad, aren’t we?

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Wind magus – Furor

    When little bits adds up,
    When each little wave syncs
    Then comes resonance
    Then comes the furor

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Wind Magus – Kindness

    I wasn’t satisfied with the lazy sketch of a very interesting character from yesterday.  So I made some more.

    Pushing here and there, gently, the wind magus create air currents, Warmth flows circles around him, as he kindly swirl the breeze.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Wind Magus

    I’m not *creating* wind. You cannot create out of nothing.
    I’m merely pushing things here and there. That’s all.

    Pencil doodle on A6 Sketchbook