These images are of Cora Venix, a tattooed feline with the temper of her tattoos comprising of the Crow and phoenix.
Forty Four (Illusion) Mobile
Forty Four (Illusion)
Twisted Hear No
Cora Venix Outfits with Tunic DT
Cora Venix Outfits DT
Cora Venix Outfit with Tunic B
Cora Venix Outfit with Tunic A
Cora Venix Outfit B
Cora Venix Outfit
Project Render at 50%
The following poems are randomly selected from part A of the Garden series.
If you are patient, the whole story may appear. There is a doorway on this site, that will open to the poetry collection, both in context and complexity.
West Coast ( Kindaal's Thoughts )
Where's the Runner, he's been gone too long?
I sent him out to report on how Ferral is going.
Then again, he may be on his way now.
One thing is for sure, my temper is growing.
My patience was at it's tethers end,
So I sent out another Runner on the third day.
The second Runner was only gone for the night,
When he came back, this was all he could say.
"I looked all over the Between Kindaal,
To see nothing, except it's heat haze.
I climbed the Highlands, to see a disturbance,
It looked like the Two Towers were ablaze."
It seems to me that Ferral has progressed well,
Better than I had possibly thought.
Well, time to make a move forwards,
To help Ferral on his fantastic haunt.
Lying still, in a centre of silk,
Silk which has been spun with great care.
A millennium old tradition of craftsmanship,
Captures the Two Eyes, of the Fair.
A silk that can be woven,
A Fair woman's fine flowing dress,
Or used in high emotional states;
Where as it would be used to relieve stress.
The Dincara weave this silk,
Into incredible skyscapes of cumulus clouds,
Capturing the invaders insatiable curiosity;
Imprisoning their thoughts and souls, so proud.
The masters of Sight, are the Dincara,
The professors of sculpture and creation.
They are different in sizes and shapes,
Surpassed only by their shades of creations.
A Modest Tender
I was born to be gentle, yet powerful;
If only the Ancients knew, what I know.
For I am wiser than the Elder Ancients;
Considering I was conceived a million millenniums ago.
I am the youngest of my relations,
However, I have far more important duties.
They range from assisting the blind with light,
To giving enough warmth to the little cuties.
My closest friends, the Nooms, are also Tenders,
In the sense, that they carry out what I do.
Well Not as much, they can be quite lazy,
But I consider them as my nocturnal shoe.
Only one, is greater than myself, Emalf,
Being the Only One, who created me, you as well.
The Great One has many names and faces.
The God of gods, persuader of the infidel.
We are the "All Ferocious of the Fierce,"
Warmongers, strategists, destroyers of evil.
Known only as the Niknogard,
Seen only in the guise of a humble weevil.
The Dihpa are seen as a succulent dessert,
Believe you me, we all have a sweet tooth.
Our motto, for the Royal Tenders Guard,
Is, "Destroy all evil, uphold honour and truth."
To hear the battle cry of the Niknogard,
Will deliver a blow to the heart;
To the good, 'tis the blow of uplifting;
To evil, 'tis the sound of Death's Cart.
"Destroy all evil, uphold honour and truth,
Sever the roots, burn it's liars,
Uproot all evil, and as for proof,
We will behead, Nothing's Squires."
Nothing's Inhabitants pt 3
I have travelled beyond the Garden,
Beyond Nothing's shallow void;
Encountering foes beyond reckoning,
Of whom I have battled and destroyed.
The awe of my universe,
Stretches the limit of many a mind.
The splendour of it's magical beauty,
The wars and hatred of it's kind.
Of this Universe no place is better,
Than in the Garden with my friends.
They're unique, in colour and creed,
Personalities created in different blends.
I befriended, care, and protect,
These creatures of the Garden,
I hope, that you too,
Befriend your creatures, of the Garden.
The Wanderer's Wish
If I died in your arms,
Where would you lay me?
If I needed to be helped,
Would you come and save me?
All these questions that could be asked,
The answers, I need never know.
For they are locked away,
Only you know how high the roses will grow.
The colour of our roses,
Bloom in burgundy and blue,
Thorns of hatred are blunt;
Isn't this the way we grew?
A fragrance beyond all encounters,
Deep colours like blood flow,
Into our hearts, deepening this love;
Only you know, how high the roses will grow.