The Adventurous GIT

Another art-inspired fiction. Source   Best source I've been able to manage.  If there is an artist's direct page,  feel free to message/comment and I will update ASAP.      There were birds chirping somewhere nearby. The light of the late afternoon suns forced its way through the canopy into the hollow where the Golem awaited, peaceful and still. The gnarled fingers curled into dirt and stone, intimating their original form, uselessly. The stone lining the hollow had worn smooth over the years of rain and erosion, creating soft cascades of water that could have been soothing. Or torture .       The Golem had once had a Name. It had once had a Home. The ache to feel the cool comfort of the planetary embrace far below and the lover's caress of warm breezes far above gnawed at the Golem's soul. It held on to those memories as fiercely as it had once held on to the ground below during the Storm Times. W ho is screaming?...

More art-inspired short stories. This time, Batman set in 1459. Original Artist's gallery can be found : HERE The Crusader : "I don't follow, sir. Is he a Man of God, or some form of heathen demon?" asked the noble as the rope tightened across his chest. "Oh, he's both. He's neither. Best not to ask too deeply, My Lord," answered the highwayman, who's crude Crusader raiment (stolen, no doubt) was crusted with symbols of the wild tribes painted in blood. "If he be a Man of God, surely I can appeal to him. I am no mere Lord. I have quite a few friends in Rome. He need not suffer under these Demons which afflict him," the rich man whispered. "And what would Rome have to offer us ?" came a gravelly voice behind him. The noble's brow flushed with heat and sweat as he turned to face the monster that had attacked his caravan and killed his guards with a primal fury. Swallowing loudly, he quickly spoke, ...

Context: Artist Even Amundsen felt that it wasn't entirely fair that the Scandinavian countries missed out on a magical school in the Harry Potter Universe, so he crafted some amazing art for the staff of this school, called Vølurheim. I've taken it a few steps further and whipped up some quick fiction based solely on my own impressions from his amazing, amazing art. The story is mine, the art and characters are his. Art by Even Amundsen      “It's tradition , Professor Hulda!” Sven protested shrilly as he levered himself up on the stretcher.      Hulda Kvænangsdottir looked up from her patient, Albin. The large boy was in his final year of schooling. Nearly a man. Nearly dead. Her fierce blue eyes glared back angrily at the Quidditch Captain as her hands continued to apply salamander oil to Albin's exposed, frostbitten skin. “Tradition!” she spat back. “Like the Healer having to save one of you foolish boys every year from certain dea...