In Westeros beyond the wall in the far north stands the tree of the Three Eyed Raven.
Tree of the Three Eyed Raven
Commissioned summer 2016
Monthly Archives: December 2022
Storm
Artist: CHI
Grabbing the box, he realized he didn’t have enough time to load the clips before the newcomers would discover him. Taking all of his spoils he retreated through the nearest door. He found himself amongst the cells. Back in the main room he could hear someone entering the police station. He needed to find cover quickly, so he could get his weapon loaded. The room he was in had 5 cells on one wall. The wall on the other side and space between formed a sort of hallway. Each cell was three concrete walls with a set of bars and a door set in them as the fourth wall. He hurried down to the last cell and then went back to the fourth one. He figured his first instinct would be the same as anyone’s; get as far away from the front as possible. This would naturally mean the fifth cell. This would also mean after someone found the first couple cells empty, even though they may search them all with the expectation of finding someone hiding, it would likely be the last cell that housed the hidden someone. He also figured that the person’s most laxed moment would be at the fourth cell, right before they surprised their prey hiding in the corner of the last cell.
He knew it was a long shot, but it was all he had. He entered the cell and set the rifle and box of bullets on the bed. The moonlight from the window glinted off a piece of metal extruding from under the dusty, dingy mattress. When he withdrew the metal he found it was a shank someone had crafted. He tucked it in his pocket and began loading the clips with bullets. That was when he heard footsteps entering the room with the holding cells. He froze. There was no way he’d be able to finish loading the clip fast enough to use it on the new comer without him hearing it. He quietly sat the bullets and the clip down and took the shank in his hand. His heart was beating fast and loudly. He had no idea why the person approaching couldn’t hear it thumping in his chest. He readied the shank as footsteps drew closer.
The newcomer was in the process of stepping in front of his cell when a voice called from the front. “Sean. I think someone else has been here recently. Be careful.” The voice warned. Sean turned back toward the direction of the voice and replied. “Gus, I got th.” He watched Sean tighten his grip on his honeybadger and return his gazed to the cells. Moving quickly, he caught the honeybadger that slipped from Sean’s hands as Sean grabbed his own throat and tried to hold in the blood that spilled from it. He stood and watched as Sean fell to his knees and eventually tumbled over dead. Gus called out again. “Sean? Sean?” His body tensed. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Gus came to the cells to check on his friend. He hefted the honeybadger and leveled it at the doorway and waited. Sure enough, the dead man’s partner appear in the doorway. The fear of the moment consumed him and in reflex he squeezed the trigger tightly and held. Gus was thrown back onto the floor, riddled with bullets. The shotgun Gus carried fired a shot into the ceiling as the body fell. The moment passed and the danger gone, he finally released the trigger. The honeybadger was now empty. It could not have had a full clip to begin with but in his panic, he had spent whatever it had. He dropped the weapon and checked the shotgun. That one shot had emptied it. He muttered a curse at his carelessness.
Firing full auto like that had been wasteful. Wasteful and loud he thought. At that moment he heard noises from the front. He slowly peered out of the doorway and to his horror he spotted several of the unturned. They had been drawn by all of the noise from the gunfire. He stumbled back and slipped in Sean’s blood which was still pooling in the hallway. When he slipped, he drop the shotgun and between the gun and his body hitting the floor he made enough noise to tell the growing crowd exactly where he was. He scrambled back to his feet careful not to slip in the blood pool again. Returning to his hiding place, he resumed franticly loading the clips knowing these few rounds would mean the difference between life and a certain gruesome death. He removed the last bullet from the box and pressed it into position inside the clip. He then reached down for the rifle. Everything had been happening so fast since he located the bullets that he hadn’t had time to notice before, but now it was painfully obvious. The rifle, an eaglefire, was a military grade weapon much like the honeybadger. The clips he had been loading and the bullets had been loading them with were civilian issue and therefore non-compatible. Three guns! He had three guns and no bullets. He had two fully loaded magazines and no weapon to make use of them. All he had against the approaching horde was a single poorly crafted shank. His heart sank. He fell back leaning against the wall his head hung low.
The sounds of the unturned shambling down the hall a steady reminder of what was to come. After a few seconds his body stiffened, his hand gripped the shank tighter and he lifted his head, determination in his eyes. They may kill him but not before he shanked as many as he could. He stepped out of his cell and slowly approached the first walking dead man plunging his weapon into its head. The creature fell tripping the next immediately following. He re-deaded five more before they began to overtake him. There were hands all over him, grabbing, pulling and holding him. He began to envy the lonely corpse up front who had strategically used his last bullet on himself. Not this way, not like this he thought to himself as the crowded mass forced him off balance. He fell, head slamming against the concrete floor sending him into blissful darkness. The town of Valley Bottom, barely a town at all, was quiet. Its population of 150 restless dead slowly moved about aimlessly wandering the streets with no purpose, no hopes or dreams to bog them down. Those in the streets remained completely oblivious to the muffled sound of some of their brethren welcoming three more to their ranks inside a darkened police station. No screams or cries, just the moans of the undead and the ripping of flesh. These were now the common sounds of Valley Bottom, the sounds of the new world, the sounds of the Unturned.
CHI
In northern Westeros on the grounds of Winterfell deep in the godswood, stands an old Weirwood tree. This imagery captured before winter came.
Winterfell Weirwood tree
Commissioned summer 2016
Hamster, Hanibal Hamster
Artist: CHI
Infinity Spark 