Current Residence: Immediately behind you.|
Shell of choice: Electron
Personal Quote: "Ha! No."
The World Ender's Club - The SerpentThe serpent moved with the current, far enough below that the surface shadows couldn't be seen. The boat was up there, the serpent could feel, but not see. The weight of it spread through the water, even far above. The pole moved steadily through the deepest parts, and the serpent kept clear of it. It thrummed in the dark, and the serpent could track it from afar.The World Ender's Club - The Serpent by Isengim
Memories did not come when called. Above was a boat, and in it was... what? Prey? Enemy? Something else entirely? The serpent did not know. The current pushed it lower, close to the sand and stone of the riverbed. It lashed its tail in frustration, and drove upwards against the press. The water was cold near the bottom, and the river-body not much warmer. But there was heat above. The serpent could feel heat coming off the boat in waves, sinking down into the depths. It wanted the heat, the burning source that it could not see, but feel as surely as it felt the current's insistent push.
New Houston: The Morning StarNew Houston is a broken city in its soul; it gives the indistinct sensation of past disaster. A visitor has the itching notion that if they could shut out the noise and neon, look past the walls, they would see evidence of cataclysmic ruin. As if they could see the streets from far enough away, from enough height, they would see the bowl of a volcanic caldera in the geography. Or perhaps that the flagstones of the shops, crowded so tight the walls scream, conceal the bones of a city razed to dust. It's geography doesn't do the tourist industry any favors, a few too many bayous that run black, too little foliage of the non-plastic variety.New Houston: The Morning Star by Isengim
The port-side half of the city was every bad dream Vegas had ever had, and everything Revolutionary Paris proved to be. Daylight there is a rumor, a cultural myth perpetuated alongside mermaids and the Chupacabra. Vietnamese is the lingua franca, shot through with fragments of pure Texan. Xuống y'all.
The dockside visitor has much to contend wit
Phoenicia I It wasn't that violence made him itchy, but his muscles did ache afterwards. Adrenaline crash, someone had once told him, a grinding of chemical gears. No issue, but he did feel odd, rubbing a kink out of his neck while pointing the pistol with the other. He certainly felt he was losing traction with the hostages, and that annoyed him. He hadn't counted on the local police dragging their heels, or certain federal agencies pecking over the situation like competitive vultures.Phoenicia I by Isengim
All that was left for him was the wait, and the furtive glares of hostages. In truth, he regretted much of what was happening. The last few years had been good ones. He'd had a good job, and dependable friends. But if all went well, Mickey Kincaid would be another dead alias, obsolete. Mickey, who had recently come over from Ireland with certain connections and a reputation in small circles. Mickey, with the shy smile, who popped his knuckles compulsively, and could sing the Irish nation
How long have you been on DeviantArt? Five years.
What does your username mean? When I first decided to create a profile, I ran into the problem that many of the mythical/heroic names I preferred were taken by blank profiles. Around 1am that night, I decided to randomly remove one letter from the name 'Isengrim', from medieval myth and fable. Been meaning to fix that....
Describe yourself in three words. Geek, infrequent, eclectic.
Are you left or right handed? Positive polar x-axis.
What was your first deviation? Oh, God:
It wasn't the best, or the worst night of John's life, simply the most real. His life was painfully normal, his decisions never profound, and his experience neither good nor bad.
By the time he came to make the decision, he realized he'd already made it. He'd never experienced resolve like that before, and it might have scared him, but his mind was made up.
John went to the bar with something in mind. He couldn't have told you what it was; he came in almost a dream state, unsure and indomitable. He wasn't sure what he sought, but he knew her by sight. She was a succubus, not a human seductress, but a horned one. Her yellow eyes flickered when John sat down next to her. Her name was a lie, but that suited too. The liquid courage blurred it all together. All John knew was that she was what he needed.
He never remembered how they arrived at the hotel. She leaned against the door. Her scarlet lips told him there was o
What is your favourite type of art to create? I can only write, so far.
If you could instantly master a different art style, what would it be? Pen-art.
What type of art do you tend to favourite the most? Digital art.
If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be? Arg. :iconDark-Precipice and I get along swimmingly, and chat about writing a lot. On the other hand, has some neat ideas about art that I'd like to pick on. Both inspirational artists.
How has a fellow deviant impacted your life? Honestly, I wouldn't still be writing openly if it weren't for a whole bunch of fellow deviants. Too many to list.
What are your preferred tools to create art? Stash Writer, when it works. Ballpoints.
What is the most inspirational place for you to create art? I have no clue.
What is your favourite DeviantArt memory? Gah.