HUBERT SPALA

[HUBERT SPALA]

INKTOBER #8 - Teeth

While the Wharf Town is rightfully proud of its general safety, the city itself was - as is common - risen on the ground of ancient, crumbling ruins. And now, the forgotten canal systems and catacombs are still housing some unspeakable horrors, tribes of critters that never tasted the air above ground and remnants of the bygone ages. While the City Watch and various daring adventures venture into the choking depths to make sure nothing too malignant takes root there, there are sitll some beings that lurk under the feet of the common citizenry, thirsting in their peculiar cravings. One of such entity is the Teethking, the Molar Monarch, the collector of fangs. This formless abomination is surely one of the Others, a brutish, crude magical creation of the lunatic wizards that wrought raw matter of reality to their twisted will. Now it skulks it’s mass through the murky tunnels of the crumbling cannals, devouring any flesh it can find and incorporating the teeth of its victims into it’s new growths and half-formed appendages, either creating new maws to slobber over new prey or just sprouting the excess teetch through the glistening skin of its tentacles, using them as sharp weapons against its victims…

Inktober 2020 art will become avaliable in fully colored variants in ‘Posterra: Folks of the Wharf’ artbook, including extended lore, two short stories and map of the Wharf Town and surroundings. Stay Tuned!

[HUBERT SPALA]

085 - Yanus

Not all mutants are mindless beasts with rotten brans and cancer-ridden bodies. Some are perfectly amicable and… well, still tumor filled. Yanus is a self-proclaimed guide to the Maze of Glass in the Droughts, a cheerful, gibbering spirit at heart(s)

[HUBERT SPALA]

077 – Kimera

Despite the sheer madness of most wizards and mages in the bygone era of the brutal and utterly awesome Tower Wars, they still tend to put a lot of effort and thought into the monsters they wrought against the straining sensibilities of reality. After all they all had a function and they should excel at it, so careful design was required for them to perform such a role well. Sure, mistakes were made, and some truly abhorrent abominations were quickly tossed to the darkest pits and deepest bowels of the Earth to wither there (or grow, multiply and start a new civilization – maybe). Sometimes however, especially when hard pressed in a losing duel, they would just cram some ramshackle spells together, mix and match random body parts, sew them into a patchwork creation just to quickly fill in their braying ranks with new muscle to fight and bleed aetheric ichor in their stead. In such way Kimeras were made, or rather, it became a term for such unfortunate entities, made hastily, often without any idea or notion behind, just a maddening need to create fresh bodies for the grinder of their brutish conflicts.

[HUBERT SPALA]

072 - Charnel Fiend

Posterra is a breeding ground of the most monstrous nightmares. It was a place ltitered with terrible mutants, arcane abominations and dark gods long before the Dreadwake split the skies open and bled it’s fractal unreality into the material universe, casting it’s corrupting influence far and wide, aiding the creation of even more impossible horrors. To wander the face of Posterra by night, even in the few well guarded cities, was to court danger. Cunning predators stalked every ground in search of prey, but when their precision and practice can be a terror to behold, it was the crazed, unhinged entities that cast true dismay in the heart of every community. Lumbering, blood-madenned beasts, made of the weave of darkest dreams, of flesh knitted in grotesque combinatiosn, held together only by their inability to understand that they should not exist in the first place. These monsters are manifold, none ever alike to the other - a seemingly tossedf at random mass of teeth, glistening guts, muscles, sinews, excess body parts. Some by a sheer stroke of luck manage to get a mostly functional form, just enough to let them hunt for more meat to accomodate into their unholy frames…

[HUBERT SPALA]

059 – Lunatic Skitter

As the drums of war pulse on the air, the tide of madness marches to war. It is a terrifying and comedic sight at the same time, as the forces beyond the Veil have a flimsy grip on our reality and all they can muster is somewhat crooked mimicry, like a picture cast in a broken shards of a mirror that was already wonky to begin with. From an oozing mass of fractal insanity soldiers emerge, forming rank and file of peculiar soldier, each alike and at the same time, each its own curious figment. Some march backwards, other lope on all fours, some sing, some cry, some try to tell jokes in languages that was lost to time or perhaps didn’t emerge yet. As the army marches, it scatters slowly, blobs of unreal matter craving shape and function, even as it tears at their very essence, sparkling them with agonies that doesn’t wrack them simply because they don’t know yet how to process the sensation. New forms emerge. Some huge, hulking – braying beasts that believe brutish strength is the way to go. Other narrows, slims and emerge enlightened, chosen by the Titans to carry their unmaking capabilities. More turn into leaping beasts, bounding hounds of dark, oozing matter. And then, some ask why they should be bound to this strange ground by some uncanny force? Why can’t they soar the sky which atoms scorch at their phantasmal, roiling skin? They sprout wings of every shape and size, shedding weight off their frame to turn light and lanky, adapting rapidly to forms they spied through the Veil on this foetid, blossoming, unruly shore of reality…